Chapter 55 Ivan
The first week of living with Jay is nothing like I imagined.
It's better. So much better.
I expected awkwardness—two people learning to share space after years of being alone, bumping into each other in the small kitchen, figuring out whose turn it is to take out the trash, negotiating bathroom time.
And there's some of that, sure. There are moments of adjustment.
But mostly it just feels right. Natural. Like we've been doing this forever.
Jay throws himself into building our new life with an intensity that takes my breath away, that makes me fall in love with him all over again every day.
On Sunday morning, I wake up to an empty bed and the smell of coffee.
I lie there for a moment, disoriented, my hand reaching across the sheets to where Jay should be. The space is still warm but empty. Then I hear sounds from the kitchen—the coffee maker beeping, a drawer opening and closing, quiet footsteps.
I find him in the kitchen, already dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, scrolling through his phone at the counter.
"What are you doing up so early?" I ask, still half-asleep, rubbing my eyes. "It's Sunday. We don't have anywhere to be. We could have slept in."
"I'm looking at the AA meetings again," he says without looking up from his phone. "There's one at eight tonight at that church I told you about. St. Mark's, about ten minutes from here. I want to go. I need to go to get into the habit."
I pour myself a cup of coffee and lean against the counter beside him, our shoulders touching. "You want me to come with you? For support?"
"Not this time. I need to do this part on my own. I need to walk in there by myself, introduce myself, start building relationships." He reaches over and squeezes my hand. "But thank you for offering. It means everything that you would."
"Of course I would. I want to support you however I can."
"I know. But this is something I have to do alone." He pauses. "Does that make sense?"
"It makes perfect sense. You need to own this. It's your recovery, not mine."
"Exactly." He squeezes my hand again, then goes back to his phone. "The meeting is at eight. I'll probably be home around nine-thirty, maybe ten."
That night, he goes to his first local AA meeting here while I stay home. The apartment feels too quiet without him. I keep finding myself pausing, listening for the sound of his motorcycle, checking my phone for the time.
When he comes home, his eyes are bright and he's carrying a piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it in messy handwriting.
"How was it?" I ask immediately, setting down the stack of plates I've been trying to find a home for in the limited cabinet space.
"Good. Really good, actually." He drops onto the floor beside me—we still don't have a couch, won't for another week—and leans his head against my shoulder. "Different from the meetings in Macon, but good different. Bigger group, maybe twenty people. More variety."
"And?" I prompt when he doesn't continue.
"I met someone. He's been sober for eleven years," Jay continues. "Can you imagine? He came up to me after the meeting, introduced himself, asked if I was new to the area. I told him I just moved from Macon, and he asked if I had a sponsor yet. Just straight up asked."
"What did you say?"
"I said no, and he said he'd be happy to work with me if I wanted. No pressure, just putting it out there. Told me to think about it." Jay looks down at the paper in his hand. "But I didn't need to think about it. Something about him just felt right. Solid, you know? So, I said yes right there."
"That's amazing, Jay. I'm so glad. What's he like?"
"Older, maybe fifty? Hard to tell exactly. Works as a carpenter, builds custom furniture. He's got this calm energy about him, like nothing could shake him. You know how some people just feel solid? Steady? Like a tree with deep roots?"
"I like him already."
"Me too. I really do." Jay turns his head and kisses my shoulder.
"After the meeting, we talked for almost an hour.
Just the two of us, sitting in his truck in the parking lot.
He asked me about my story. And I told him everything, Ivan.
The foster homes, Henderson and what he did to us, the drinking, the pills, the night you found me on the bathroom floor. All of it. Every terrible detail."
"How did he react?"
"He didn't flinch. Not once. He just nodded and listened. And when I was done, when I'd spilled my guts completely, he looked at me and said, 'Sounds like you've been through hell, son. Let's make sure you don't go back there.'"
I wrap my arm around him and pull him closer, pressing my lips to the top of his head. "I'm really glad you found him."
"He gave me his number and told me to call him tomorrow.
Said we'll set up a time to meet for coffee.
He said the first step is admitting you're powerless over alcohol, which I already know in my head.
But he said there's a difference between knowing it up here—" Jay taps his temple "—and knowing it here.
" He presses his hand over his heart. "He said that's what the steps are for.
Getting the knowledge out of your head and into your bones. "
"That makes a lot of sense."
"Yeah. It does." Jay exhales slowly, heavily. "It feels different here. Good different. Like maybe I can actually do this. Like maybe I can actually stay sober for real this time, not just white-knuckling it."
"You can. I know you can."
"I'm starting to believe it. Not all the time, but sometimes. That's more than I had before."
We stay on the floor for a while longer, talking about the meeting, about his plans for the week. Eventually we get up and finish unpacking a few more boxes before heading to bed, both of us tired but content.
Monday morning comes early. Jay is up before me again, and I wake to the sound of him getting ready.
"Where are you going?" I mumble into the pillow, squinting at him in the early morning light.
"Iron Horse Vintage," he says, pulling on his boots. "That shop I told you about, the one that specializes in old bikes. I'm going to walk in and ask if they're still hiring. Face to face."
"You're just going to show up? No appointment, no phone call first?"
"Mick always said the best mechanics don't wait for opportunities to come to them. They create opportunities. They show up." He grabs his leather jacket and leans down to kiss me. "Wish me luck."
"You don't need luck. You're the most talented mechanic I've ever met."
"You're biased because you sleep with me."
"Doesn't make it less true. You're incredible at what you do."
He grins and heads out the door, and I lie in bed listening to the bike start up and fade into the distance.
Hours later, I'm at work, elbow-deep in electrical wiring on the third floor of the office building, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I almost ignore it—Frank doesn't like us checking phones on the job, says it's unprofessional—but something makes me glance at the screen.
It's a text from Jay: I got it.
I stare at the words for a second, not comprehending. Then my phone buzzes again.
The job. I got the job. Full time, benefits, starting next Monday. They want me to restore a 1968 Triumph Bonneville as my first project.
I'm grinning so hard my face hurts. My hands are shaking as I type back: I knew you would. So proud of you.
His response comes immediately: Couldn't have done it without you.
Yes you could have. You just didn't know it yet.
Three dots appear, disappear, appear again. Then: I love you.
Love you too. Can't wait to hear everything.
I slip the phone back in my pocket and get back to work, but I can't stop smiling. The guy working next to me notices.
"Good news?" he asks.
"The best news. My boyfriend just got his dream job."
"Nice. Good for him."
That night, Jay tells me everything over dinner—takeout Thai, eaten cross-legged on the living room floor again.
"The shop is amazing," he says, practically vibrating with energy.
"Wall-to-wall vintage bikes. And the owner, Rex—sixty, handlebar mustache, been running the place for thirty years.
He had me diagnose a Honda that'd been giving him hell for three weeks. Ten minutes to figure it out."
"And you did it?"
"Six minutes. Carb sync issues and a dying ignition coil.
" Jay's whole face lights up. "He shook my hand and asked when I could start.
The pay is good and there's health insurance.
Can you believe it? The first project is a 1968 Triumph Bonneville.
Complete restoration. The exact same year as my bike. "
I pull him into a hug. "I'm so proud of you."
"I'm starting to believe I deserve this," he says quietly against my neck. "The voice that tells me it's all going to fall apart—it's getting quieter every day."
"Good. Keep telling it to shut up."
He laughs, warm breath against my skin. "I'm working on it."
We spend the rest of the evening celebrating, talking about Jay's new job and planning his first week.
Sunday comes, and with it, our first official dinner at Rosalyn's as a couple living together.
Jay is nervous on the short drive over, fidgeting with his jacket, checking his hair in the visor mirror.
"They already know you," I remind him. "They like you. This isn't an audition."
"I know. But last time I was visiting as a guest. This time I'm... I don't know. More permanent. Part of your life for real. What if that changes things? What if they liked me as a visitor but don't want me around all the time?"
"It won't change anything except making things better. Trust me."
Caleb is waiting on the porch when we pull up. He's down the steps before we're even out of the truck.
"Jay! Jay! I learned a new dinosaur fact!" he shouts, his words tumbling over each other. "Did you know the Argentinosaurus was as long as four school buses? Four whole school buses!"