Chapter 16
Wren
“Tadaaa!” Samantha says in a sing-song voice the moment I open my eyes. She sits with her arms spread out theatrically to reveal the cupcake in front of me. It’s massive—might as well be called a cake at this point—with a juicy dollop of swirly cream and sprinkles on top.
I look up at her with a wide smile. “It’s huge!”
“Mhm! It should be, since we’re celebrating two big milestones. Your twenty-eighth birthday and your six months sober. That is huge!”
Feeling slightly overwhelmed, I lean back into my seat and glance around.
We’re at the back of the restaurant, where we usually hang out after meetings.
Today it isn’t very busy, so people don’t pay us attention.
I guess I should have expected this from her, but it still took me aback a little.
In a good way. There’s a stupid smile on my face I can’t seem to control.
“Thanks a lot,” I say as I reach for the cupcake. “Did you make it yourself?” It’s heavy and soft, and oh, it smells fucking delicious. Fresh. Sugary. Sweet. Just how I like it.
Samantha frowns, almost as if she’s offended, and crosses her arms over her chest with a snort. “Of course I made it! I wouldn’t get you some store-bought subpar crap for something as big as this,” she says, rolling her eyes playfully.
I grin, already halfway through removing the paper cup. “You know, this is why I chose you as my sponsor. Guaranteed homemade treats. That’s all that matters, really,” I say between chews.
The icing is the perfect consistency. Not too sugary, either. There’s a strawberry flavor in it, and small pieces of actual fresh strawberries inside. But the batter has something else, a slight hint of…
My heart skips. Is it…?
“Are there almonds in this?” I ask as a few bits of cake fall on the table in front of me, and sprinkles awkwardly stick to my upper lip.
Samantha’s eyes bulge out. “Oh shit! You aren’t allergic to nuts, are you?! I thought you said—”
“No, no!” I laugh. “It’s fine, I’m not. It’s just…” It’s just that anytime I smell or taste anything even remotely similar to almonds, I can’t stop my mind from flooding me with memories of Rus. “Thank you. It’s delicious,” I blurt out quickly, before I get swept up in that again.
I wish I could explain how much this means to me. Samantha could never understand how healing it is to have someone like her. Not only as my sponsor, or a mentor, or a friend, but also as a motherly figure.
I know it isn’t her responsibility to be that for me, and I consciously work on not letting our relationship get into any overly-dependent state that could sabotage it or make it unhealthy, but as a woman in her late fifties who cares for me and is always there to help, Samantha fills that role—one I thought has been forever ruined for me. I can’t deny that.
“Seriously, though,” I say after a moment, putting the remaining half of the cupcake down onto the paper cup to savor it later. “I appreciate this. And you.”
“I know you do, dear,” she says with a crooked smile and tilts her head in that affectionate manner while she studies me. “You did that all by yourself.”
I snort. “I…never thought I’d make it to twenty-eight, honestly.”
“Ha. Yeah, most of us feel that way at some point. But hey! Every day, year, month…is a blessing. To be able to grow old is a gift we must cherish.”
Seeing her and the other older members of the group, living and thriving and having fulfilling lives in their forties and onward, has been good for me.
With everything Samantha has gone through, the horrible things she talked about in the meetings, being in her presence and feeling the peace in her soul when I look into her eyes, having been sober for over fifteen years, gives me faith. It’s inspiring. Assuring.
“You surviving to twenty-eight is more than so many have been able to experience. And six months sober, too? I hope you can taste how proud I am of you through that cupcake, Wren. It was made not only with love, but also with pride and respect,” she says firmly, raising her dimpled chin with a wide smile.
I make a doubtful grimace, looking down. My hair falls into my face, so I push it away. “I really think we should count it more like five, considering—”
“No. Nope! You didn’t relapse, even if you came close, so it counts, my friend. Celebrating your successes, as long as they’re true, is never a bad thing. Trust me, I wouldn’t have made it nearly as far if I oftentimes hadn’t over-hyped myself a bit to get through it.”
A warm, calming sensation spills throughout my chest. It always does when I spend time with Samantha. She grounds me so much.
And I guess she’s right most of the time, too.
“I shouldn’t play favorites with my sponsees…
I know, I know!” she says in a hushed tone, raising her hands in an apologetic gesture, “But the progress you’ve made in the last five months is some of the most incredible I’ve seen, okay?
Now, don’t let it go to your head!” she warns, pointing her finger at me with a smirk.
Samantha knows me too well. She knows enough about how I tend to start feeling like I don’t need help when I’m doing well for a while, only to find myself alone and without support when things come crashing down. But that’s in the past. That’s not a pattern I’m gonna keep repeating.
I have that experience. I respect it for what it is, and I’ve learned from it.
With a much softer expression, she continues, “Your initiative, your discipline and interaction in meetings, your continuous work in therapy, how seriously you take it… This is a positive flow that you can keep going as long as you don’t lose sight of your goals.
I’m not trying to sugarcoat it so that you think life’ll be an easy ride from now on.
All I’m saying is that you are capable of making it, you are making it, and there is no excuse in the world good enough to ever change that, alright? ”
I look down at her hand stretched out on the table and hesitantly reach out. I let her squeeze me tight. Emotions well up inside me when Samantha smiles at me in a way my mother never did.
She’s right. For the first time since falling into this shit, I feel genuinely good and optimistic about my progress.
It feels like I’m actually going somewhere, not just running around in circles, stumbling up and down and down and up, stuck and stagnant. Lost like a rodent in a maze. I know the maze is there now. I’ve seen it from above. There is no excuse to wander into it ever again.
Things are finally clicking in my brain, as though the parts of it that were shut down from the trauma and pain, and my own neglect of my mental health for years, are opening up and mending.
And yet…there’s one more thing missing.
It’s not holding me back or preventing me from bettering myself, but it’s there, always on my mind, and it feels like I can’t put the entire picture together until I’ve sorted it.
I sense Samantha’s gaze on me. She’s studying me with that calculating expression, her full lips pursed and graying hair cascading down the sides of her face as she tilts it slightly.
“You’re still going tomorrow?” she asks.
Her voice goes lower in a way it does when she isn’t all too excited about what I am telling her.
Biting down on the inside of my lip—and tasting the sweet icing with a hint of almond flavor—I dart my eyes across the restaurant with a deep sigh. “Yeah. Still think it’s not a good idea?”
It’s hard to remind myself that her disapproval isn’t the law, and that while Samantha is a great mentor, she’s just a person and I’m free to make my own decisions instead of simply following what she tells me.
No matter how much I wish it could be that easy.
One of the things I still struggle with.
“I never said such a thing, Wren. You know that. My only worry is you yourself not really knowing what you expect from this impromptu visit.”
Frustration nips at me, but only for a moment. With a nod, I meet her gaze. “I get what you mean, but I feel confident that…that I won’t break down and want to use, even if he rejects me.”
“So you are going with the hope that this omega does the opposite of rejecting you.”
I frown while Samantha chuckles. She’s a little too good at getting exactly what she needs out of me. Has this crazy skill of putting up a mirror in front of people and making them face things they might not be able to vocalize yet.
I run my hand through my hair. “I…suppose, yeah.”
“You’re hoping he’ll be where you left him and will want the same thing you do.”
I let out an uneasy laugh. “Is it really that naive?”
Yeah, the thought of driving all the way to see Russell again and finding him with an alpha by his side scares me.
Probably more than it should. It’s uncomfortable and unnerving enough that I’ve been ignoring the possibility, because otherwise I might talk myself out of going at all.
But it’s not worse than the idea of doing nothing. Of not making that journey.
“It’s certainly hopeful. Idealistic, perhaps. Naive…well, naive doesn’t mean ‘never gonna happen,’” she says in that wise tone, slowly clasping her hands together.
That doesn’t make me feel much better.
She must think I’m crazy.
“The calls just aren’t enough. There’s a disconnect. Distance. They always…leave me wanting more, and I can’t stop thinking about him. I want…more. And with the house finally getting a buyer and me having to sign off on some things, I guess it’s as good an excuse as any.”
“Are you sure you are ready to go back?” she asks, her words careful. Samantha knows that even with all the therapy I’ve been going to, my mother is a sore subject. I suppose that’s not changing in the foreseeable future, but I am okay with that. Because healing takes time.
I nod firmly, despite my body tensing up at the mention.
“She isn’t there anymore. I’m going back there for him. It feels different. It really does.”
More than anything, I just need to find out if what we had truly was as special as it felt. If it meant something to him the way it did to me. If Russell also dreams about those moments and thinks about me all the time, and if there’s some crazy world in which we could work out…somehow.
I don’t even fucking know how that would look, but all I do know is that I want to try, and I’m ready to fight for it if I have to.
“I either go and find out that it was nothing more than a special moment in time born out of extraordinary circumstances, at which point I will have to accept that and move on, or discover that he…maybe feels the same way I do, and it has a chance to be something more. But I know that if I don’t go, I’d regret it. I need to do it.”
I need to see him. Feel him. Not his body, but his spark.
I need to find out if the memories of what happened are clouded by my emotional vulnerability at the time or something more. I’ve been going crazy not being able to do more than hear his voice through his shitty landline.
And it’s so damn awkward. Both of us seemed to work well off each other in real life. This phone thing just isn’t the same.
“Are you sure you’re ready for that possibility, Wren?
This means a lot to you. I get it. What happened was a turning point in your journey—the spark that genuinely made you turn your life around.
So I don’t want you to have those memories tainted and risk this cracking the foundation you’ve built. That is all.”
I smile at her, knowing she means well. Her concerns are understandable. Still…
“I feel like I can handle it. I really do. Yeah, what happened was a turning point, but the foundation of my sobriety and everything else is more than just that. It’s you and the group and therapy and a bunch of other things.
I want…I want to go there and for Rus to be another good thing.
And if it can’t be, then all he was supposed to give me was the time we spent together.
I’ve thought about this.” Rather extensively.
“And I won’t let whatever happens set me back. I know I won’t. I’m stronger now.”
I mean that. I do.
Even if I might be in denial a little. Even if deep down, in my heart, I can’t stop myself from believing that this is meant to be something more. The dreams I’ve been having about him, about us, and the way my thoughts keep gravitating to him every day…
But I won’t know until I do it. So I’m going to.
Samantha pats the top of my hand with a supportive brow wiggle. “Very well. You call me either way, right?”
“I’ll call you if I need anything. I always do,” I say with a smile.
“You’re leaving tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah.”
“Well then, I shouldn’t keep you. It’s already late,” she says, glancing at her watch. The meeting has gone on for longer than usual today, so it’s almost nine. “You need to get proper rest before driving so far.”
“Thanks again for the cupcake. You’re the best…but you already know that.”
“Thanks for being you, Wren,” she says with a wink.
We hug, and Samantha lets me hold her past the point of what might be socially acceptable—like she just knows that’s what I need—before she releases me and squeezes my shoulder.
“Make sure you wash up and wear something nice if you are trying to impress, hm?”
I scratch my short stubble with a playful frown. Yeah, I probably should.
When I surprise Russell, I want his eyes to go wide with excitement.
I want him to see how my skin has gotten healthier.
I want him to notice the weight I’ve gained, to see me looking healthy and whole instead of sickly and weak.
Most of all, the main reason for me turning up without telling him is to get the unrestrained truth in his initial reaction.
That, I think, is what will make or break everything.
The moment his eyes fall on me, there will either be relief and joy—the same relief I will feel finally seeing him again—or…
it’s going to be something else, anything else, at which point I’ll know that I can only thank him for the good he gave me when he took care of me in that storm.
I so hope it’ll be the former.
I forsook the dual gods a long time ago—back when I was a teenager and night after night of prayers didn’t save me from my misery at home. But today, for the first time in all those years, I think about praying for a blessing of tomorrow’s journey.