8. Dakota
“Breakfast is ready!” I shout over my shoulder, putting the plates of pancakes and fruit on the counter for the girls. “Let’s go before we’re late.”
They come running in from the family room, getting on their respective stools. “Mom, did you call Christopher,” Rain asks, picking up a blackberry and eating it, “about skating?”
“I have not,” I tell her, “but I will. I’m going to go get dressed.” Grabbing my cup of coffee, I walk up the stairs.
The last time I saw Christopher was four days ago when I opened my eyes and found the television on the menu and Christopher still sitting next to me, but his head was back and he was sleeping. I thought about waking him up, but instead, I fell right back asleep, only waking up at seven o’clock when his alarm on his phone started blaring. I felt him sit up next to me and opened my eyes, seeing him turn it off before rubbing his face. He looked over at me, the sleep still in his eyes. “It’s seven o’clock.” His voice was thick with sleep.
I stretched my arms over my head. “I can’t believe you slept all night sitting up.”
“Me too. I’m surprised I don’t have a kink in my neck. This couch passes the test.” He chuckled before he got to his feet. “I guess I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Yeah, I haven’t had a chance to sing naked yet.” I tossed the cover off me before standing. “I really have to get on that.”
“I will never live that down.” He grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch and held it in his hand before he turned and started to walk out of the room.
“You didn’t even take your shoes off.” I followed him out of the room. His head down, looking at his shoes.
He stopped at the front door and turned to look at me. “Thank you for last night.”
“I didn’t do anything.” My voice was lower than I wanted it to be.
“No, but you didn’t tell me to fuck off.” His hand reached for the handle of the door, and he opened it. “You let me come in instead of doing your own thing.”
“You’re welcome.” I smiled at him. He gave me a quick nod before he walked out of the house to his truck. I watched him pull out of the driveway before I closed the door and went on my way.
Now here I am, four days later, and Rain has brought him up every single day, sometimes twice a day. I walk into my bedroom, going to the closet to grab an outfit for today. “What does one wear to a survivor meeting?” I ask myself as I take a sip of the hot coffee in my hand. I pull out a pair of black jeans, slipping into them before taking out a long, white button-down cotton shirt. I look over at my sweaters before I select a beige crop one that falls to my stomach, with the white button-down coming out on the bottom. “This looks clean cut.” I look at myself in the mirror before sitting on my little bench and putting on a pair of white sneakers.
After I brush my teeth and hair, I am one minute ahead of schedule. We rush out of the house, and drop-off is over before I know it. The girls and I have gotten into a smooth routine. I’m even starting to get into the groove of things. I go to therapy twice a week—usually on Monday, after the weekend, and Friday, right before the weekend.
The weekends are when I think it hits me the most. It’s usually family time, but our family always feels like it’s missing something, so I go above and beyond to make sure the kids don’t feel like they’re missing anything.
I pull up to the address I plugged in my GPS, then park and get out. I grab my black crossbody purse, holding it in my hand so tight that my nails cut into my palm. I look around, seeing a couple of people standing outside the door. One of them holds a white Styrofoam cup. As soon as I get to the door, he smiles at me. “Are you here for the Nar-Anon meeting?”
“I am.” I look at him.
“I’m Shawn.” He extends his hand. “I’ll be running the meeting today.”
“I’m Dakota.” I nervously shake his hand. “But everyone calls me Koda.”
“Nice to meet you, Koda,” he says. “You can go in and sit anywhere you like.”
“Thank you,” I reply, pulling open the door and second-guessing why I’m even here. Maybe it’s too early in the grieving process for this. I walk down the five steps to the open blue doors, and my knees almost give up on me with each step. The room is bare, with just white walls and wooden chairs in a circle. I look around, trying not to turn around and run back out of the room. I see a brown table in the corner with a silver coffee pot and a stack of white Styrofoam cups beside it. I stand here I don’t even know how long. My mouth feels dry, like there is no liquid in my body.
The back of my neck tingles, while my stomach feels like there is a tsunami going on in it. “Hi.” I look over to the side and see a woman with long blond hair. “I’m Callie,” she says with a smile, “you’re new.”
“I am.” I try not to seem as nervous as I am. “Does it show? Is there an arrow over my head flashing?”
She laughs at my stupid joke. “Yes.” She points over my head. “It’s red right now.” I hold my purse in front of me with both hands. “We were all new once upon a time.”
I think about her words when I hear clapping and look over to see Shawn walking in without his cup. “We’re starting the meeting. Everyone, please grab a seat.”
My feet move for me, grabbing one of the seats and sitting down. “I see some new faces,” Shawn says, looking at me and another man sitting across from me. “We’ll go around the room and introduce ourselves. I’ll start, my name is Shawn, and I’m a recovering addict. I’ve been clean for the last twelve years and four months. Four thousand five hundred and one days. I was on every single drug you can think of.” His voice goes softer. “OD’d five times. The last time, it took them eight shots of Narcan to start my heart again. Left me in a coma for two months, which is why I was able to get clean. Woke up and knew I never wanted to do that again. I relapsed two months later for a week, and that was when I looked the devil in the eyes and walked away. But I’m also here because I’m not only in recovery, my wife, Callie, stayed an addict long after I got clean. The pressure to stay clean and also get her clean was an enormous monkey on my back.” He smiles. “But she’s here, and I am thankful every single day.” Callie smiles at him. “Who’s next?”
I wait until I’m the last one left to speak because listening to everyone’s story makes me feel like I’m not alone. Like what I went through wasn’t out of the normal for someone who is living with an addict. Like I didn’t do anything to make him do what he did. There is a mother who is trying to get her grown son to go to rehab, and he’s not listening. He has her sleeping on the floor because he has sold everything they have.
“My name is Koda,” I start nervously, “well, Dakota, but everyone calls me Koda.” I laugh but feel the tightness right above my stomach. “I’m married to an addict.” I use the present tense, and then I catch it. “I was married to an addict.” My palms get sweaty. “Ninety-seven days ago, my husband died of a drug overdose on our couch.” The tears that I’ve had in my eyes for everyone else’s story slide out. “The day after our daughter’s fourth birthday. Luckily for me”—I look down at my hands—“or unlucky for me, I found him. I knew he was using drugs, but I didn’t know what kind of drugs. I didn’t know where he got them from. I didn’t know how to help him.” My voice trembles. “I really wish I could have helped him.”
“Wasn’t your place,” a man named Shepard says, shocking me. “I mean, it was your place to help him, but it was his place to want the help.”
I nod at him. “That’s what everyone says, but how does one go on? How do I not feel guilty that I didn’t try harder? How do I look my girls in the eyes when they get older and learn the truth that their mother didn’t do enough?”
“No one can answer that for you,” Shawn says. “Only you can do that.” All I can do is nod.
The rest of the meeting is just everyone talking about how they can get the person they love help. How they’ve tried countless times, again and again, and have come up empty-handed. When I finally walk out of there and get in the car, I think I’m about to have my first serious nervous breakdown. I put my hands in front of my face when the sobs come, and my phone rings at the same time. The speakers in the car tell me, “Dr. Mendes calling.”
“Hello,” I answer, my voice breaking.
“I guess I called right on time,” she replies softly.
“How did you know?”
“I knew you were going to the meeting today, and I was wondering how it went.”
“It was fucking brutal. So many stories about how people got better, and the only thing I could think about is, why the fuck didn’t Benji want to be better?”
“Maybe he didn’t know how?” She tries to answer my question with another.
“Well, he should have. If not for me or him, then for our girls,” I snap. “He chose drugs over everything.” My voice goes louder. “Who does that?”
“An addict,” she says softly. “You can sit down and ask the ‘why me’ question each time and hope he somehow answers you.”
“I have to accept that my husband was sick,” I admit softly. “That what he had was a sickness.” I swallow. “A disease.”
“I think if you are going to heal, you need to work on forgiving him before anything else.”
“Yeah, easier said than done. I feel sorry for him for about two point five minutes before the sorrow turns to plain-out anger that he did what he did.”
“I want you to start a list,” she suggests. “A to-do list. One thing on that list should be something to do for the kids, and one thing has to be something to do for you. Not for you that includes the kids. But just for you. Like go for a bike ride for an hour or have a picnic with yourself while the girls are at school. It has to be something for you and no one else.”
“I haven’t done something for myself in a long time,” I admit.
“Well, now is the time to start.”
“Take charge of my life,” I agree with her.
“We can call it whatever you want to call it. We can discuss it on Friday.” I can see her smile at me.
“Sounds good. Thank you for checking up on me.”
“It was my pleasure, Koda.” She hangs up the phone as I pull out of the parking lot. Going to the supermarket, I pick up things for dinner before stopping to grab myself some flowers because I’ve never bought myself flowers, and I like how they look.
When I get the kids from school and daycare, the first thing Rain asks is if I called Christopher. I know I can’t put it off for much longer. So when I’ve started dinner, I pick up the phone.
Pulling up the text chain of the two of us. Lately, I’ve answered him with a we are all good but thanks for asking. He still calls daily. I still don’t answer him, but I’ve started answering his texts.
Me: Hey, I have a question for you.
I put the phone down, thinking he’ll text me when he has a minute, but instead of texting me, my phone rings, and I see it’s Christopher. “Hello.” I put the phone to my ear while I pull out the chicken casserole I put together when we got home.
“Hey,” he says, and it sounds like he’s walking, “what’s up?”
“You didn’t have to call.” I chuckle. “It could have waited.”
“For you to change your mind and then say forget it?” He laughs, and I have to remember that he knows me and has known me for a really long time. “What can I help you with?”
“Do you know of any skating classes?” I ask, holding the phone with my shoulder as I put the casserole dish on the stovetop. “Rain really wants to go skating.”
“What are you guys doing now?” he asks.
“We’re just about to eat.” I look down at the casserole dish, the steam hitting my face. “Why?”
“I can see if I can get some ice time at the rink I go practice at,” he says, “but if it’s too close to dinner.”
“What about after?” The words come out of my mouth and shock not only Christopher but me. “See if you can get some time after. If you can, why don’t you come and eat?” He stays silent. “Unless you have dinner plans with someone else.”
“No, I have nothing planned. Give me five, maybe less.”
“Okay,” I agree, putting the phone on the counter. It takes him two minutes to call me back. “That was fast.”
“He answered my call,” he jokes with me. “You should try it sometime.”
“Did I not answer my phone twice?”
“That you did.” His voice is smooth. “Okay, he has an opening from six to seven.” I look over and see that it’s just a little after five. “I can be at your place in thirty-seven seconds.”
“Thirty-seven?” I shake my head.
“Thirty-five if I don’t have to do the last stop sign.” I hear the door slam on his end. “Then we can get the girls and go skating.”
“I can take them.” I look over, knowing Rain will love this.
“Already in the car and halfway there,” he states. “See you soon.”
He hangs up before I can say anything, and he wasn’t lying when he said it takes him thirty-seven seconds to get here. The doorbell rings as soon as I take the plates out of the cupboard. “Go get the door,” I tell the girls, who run to the door, and then I hear the squeals from both of them.
“Uncle Chrissy!” Luna screeches at the top of her lungs. “Mommy, Uncle Chrissy is here!” She runs into the room to tell me before running back out. I smile as I plate the girls’ dinner and then look over to see the three of them walking back into the room with Luna in Christopher’s arms. He’s wearing a black jogging suit. “Look, Mom.”
“I see.” I smile at him as he puts Luna down. “Go wash up for dinner,” I tell them, and they run into the bathroom.
“You were not lying about thirty-seven seconds.” I stay in the kitchen and watch him walk toward me.
“Smells good in here,” he compliments. “Did you tell the girls yet?”
“How much do you think I can get done in thirty seconds?” I tilt my head to the side. “I didn’t even have a chance to plate dinner.”
“I can do a lot in thirty seconds,” he states, looking at the food.
“I don’t know if you should boast about something like that.” I bite my lower lip to stop myself from laughing when his head whips up.
“Wow, walked right into that one.” The smirk fills his face.
“That you did.” I shake my head and prepare him a plate, then hand it to him.
“For the record, longer than thirty seconds,” he boasts, and I can’t help but giggle at him. He takes the plate. “What did you do today?” he asks, walking to the stool and taking it out.
“I attended a meeting with recovering addicts,” I report, and his head flies up so fast it’s shocking he doesn’t give himself whiplash. He’s about to ask me something when the girls run back into the room.
“Let’s eat,” I say, looking at the clock, “because Uncle Christopher has a surprise for you.” I look over at him, and he looks at the girls.
“You have to eat all your food.” He points at their plates. “Then I’ll tell you.” He smiles at them, his eyes lightening. He then looks at me. “You too.”
“So bossy,” I mumble, making the girls laugh as I look over and realize that he’s the only one who really expects nothing from me. Eddie expects me not to talk bad about his son. He expects me to protect his reputation. Everyone expects me to be okay and be my old self. But Christopher doesn’t expect me to be anything or say anything. He just wants to know if I need help and what he can do to help me. I then look at my flowers and put something on my list for myself.