Chapter 33
My knee bounces with such ferocity I worry the people sitting near me might think we’re having an earthquake. Though not common in the area, tremors are not unheard of. The plaid bowtie around my neck grips me a tad tighter than I’d like, and with my propensity to be a fumbling nebbish, I wonder if I can actually pull this night off. My week has been filled with sleepless nights and more conversations with Gonzo than are probably considered “normal,” but he’s such a perfect listener. When I asked him if trying to attend both Olan’s anniversary meeting and the award ceremony was plausible, he peered at me and started to lick himself. Down there. Thanks, buddy. So helpful.
Daily walks by the ocean helped more than I anticipated. The water centers me. Calms me. Helps me focus and think. I know I’m supposed to be at this meeting. I’ve got just under half an hour until I need to jet to the ceremony. I’ve got this.
“Breathe. Try to relax,” I whisper to myself.
The chairs are closer together than I anticipated, and more people fill the space than I expected. There must be close to a hundred people. On television, these meetings are always small gatherings with folks sitting in a small intimate circle. Not here. The walls are mostly bare, and besides row after row of metal folding chairs, there’s a long table off to the side with urns of coffee and a mix of store-bought and home-baked treats. I spot some Oreos and wonder if I can nab a few on my way out. My mouth waters at the thought of the crispy wafers and creamy filling. Free therapy and food. My mom was right.
I peek at my watch. The meeting should start any minute, but as I scan the room, there’s no sign of Olan. He’s not usually a show-up-late type of guy, and sweat begins to bead on my forehead. My plan to be here for Olan’s anniversary speech and then motor to the Teacher of the Year ceremony might be doable, but I’d rather my dress clothes not resemble a wet T-shirt contestant once I’m there. I rushed to arrive early, making sure to secure a parking spot near the community center’s entrance, so I’ll have less ground to cover when I bolt to my car in about twenty-five minutes.
At lunch today, I was petrified about chatting with Dr. Knorse about my plans, but our conversation turned out better than I’d anticipated.
“What do you mean we’re not all going together? Why not?” Her chin was high, nostrils flaring slightly.
“I have a personal matter I have to attend first, but I’m coming… maybe a few minutes late, ten at most. I’ll be there before they even begin announcing awards, I promise.”
“Personal matter? What’s going on? Are you okay?” She’d tilted her head and softened both her face and voice ever so slightly. This must be Dr. Knorse attempting empathy. At this point – with only a few weeks of school left, my Teacher of the Year journey coming to an end, and by extension, the school’s future all but decided – it was time to come clean.
“Tori.” I used her first name and waited for flames to fly out of her ears. But she only nodded.
“I’ve been dating someone.”
Her left eyebrow lifted.
“Olan Stone, Illona’s dad.”
I winced and waited for her reaction. Nothing. She sat stone-faced.
“We’ve been seeing each other on and off, and well—”
Dr. Knorse interrupted me. “You’re afraid of what people will think?”
“Yes, that’s part of it. And I was worried about the award. And our funding. If I did anything to jeopardize the school, I’d feel horrible. I don’t want to let anyone down, but there’s something I need to do. For him. For us. There’s a meeting I can’t miss. But I’m leaving at seven twenty-five. I’ve set my alarm,” I say, brandishing my phone as proof. “I’ll literally be a five-minute drive away. I will be there.”
She nodded. Taking a deep cleansing breath, she said, “Marvin, may I be frank?”
“Of course.”
“I know the staff here thinks I’m a hard-ass. Excuse my French. And that assessment isn’t unfair. I run a tight ship. My job requires a certain level of harshness, and while I certainly don’t want people to dislike me, I can’t worry too much about it.”
I rubbed my chin as she talked, waiting to see where we were headed.
“Teaching is a demanding job. I want my staff to work hard and do their best for our students, but I also know the importance a personal life plays.” Her eyes glanced down for a moment. “Do I love that you’ve been secretly dating the parent of a student in your class? Not particularly. But there’s no specific rule against it. I wouldn’t shout about it while Illona’s still in your class, but there are only a few weeks of school left. Once she’s not your student, it becomes way less problematic.”
“So, we’re okay?”
She leaned forward and placed her clasped hands on the table.
“We’re good, Marvin. You do what you need. But get your ass to the ceremony. Excuse my French. Again.”
Over the last few days, I’ve replayed my mother’s words in my head many times. Knowing Olan would be speaking, I’m hoping my attendance might demonstrate my commitment to him. To us. Once I decided being a few minutes late to the ceremony wouldn’t impact much, it was a no-brainer to find a way to attend both.
Practically every folding chair in the room is occupied, and people seem to cluster with small groups of friends or at least people they know. I continue to search for Olan to no avail. A man with a friendly face hands me a roll of raffle tickets, and my confused expression prompts him to say, “Take one. We give away books at the end of the meeting. Maybe it’s your lucky day.”
I rip a ticket off and pass them on, happy to have something to keep my hands busy. I fold, roll, unfold, and refold the ticket with my fingers repeatedly, praying some luck rubs off on me.
A petite woman with blown-out sandy hair steps up to the lectern, lays her hands across it, and addresses the group. Her name is Kay, and she’s an alcoholic. I wonder if I’m the only one here who isn’t an alcoholic, but my mom assured me anyone can attend this type of meeting. There are administration items I don’t quite understand, and a small wicker basket comes around for donations. I panic because I have no cash. I never have cash. If I have cash, I spend it. Immediately. Usually on candy. The man beside me sees me fumbling with my wallet, winks, and tosses a ten-dollar bill in, saying, “I got you.”
I blink a few times and reply, “Thank you,” my voice hitching. His kindness and generous heart put me at ease.
Kay leads everyone in the Serenity Prayer, and I listen and concentrate on the words. It’s one of those prayers I’ve heard many times, but if someone asked me to recite it from memory, I couldn’t. Accept the things we cannot change. Have the courage to change what we can. The wisdom to know the difference.
My mind drifts to my mother. Our small apartment. I can’t change my childhood. Neither can she. But she’s sober now. And Lord knows, she’s trying with me. Olan can’t change his past, but we both can change how it impacts us. Olan’s already begun his work, and now I have the opportunity to release the weight of the past. Not to forget, but to forgive my mother and live my life.
“We’re now going to start with anniversaries. First up, one-year anniversaries,” Kay announces.
Okay, here we go. The reason I’m here. There are so many people in the room. Maybe Olan’s sitting near the front, and I simply can’t spot him in the crowd. I crane my neck and dart my eyes around in every direction, searching for his handsome face.
A woman stands up. White and probably in her forties, she smiles at Kay and envelops her in an embrace. Her feathered taupe hair falls just past her shoulders. Something about her face emotes such sincerity, I’m drawn to listen.
“Hello, my name is Linda, and I’m an alcoholic.”
The entire room calls back, “Hi, Linda.”
“Thank you. Today, I stand here, one year sober, and what a journey it’s been. If someone told me a year ago that I’d be standing here, in front of you all, sober, I would have laughed in their face and shouted, pour me another glass of wine.”
The room laughs, and I check my watch. Ten minutes and I need to bolt, and still no sign of Olan. My hand twitches with the temptation to text him, but I’m determined to be a surprise. Grand gesture and all that jazz.
“For the longest time, I used booze to avoid my problems. It started with a glass here and there to take the edge off my day, help me relax, and get a good night’s sleep. But soon, one wasn’t enough. Two wasn’t enough. I started stockpiling wine. Cheap bottles. Boxes. I wasn’t picky. Joking helped. I called it my ‘mommy juice.’ Well, I understand now how completely stupid that was. And while the shame began to creep in, I got to the point where it didn’t matter. Looking back, there were issues I was ignoring. Big issues.”
The room gives a collective sound of agreement, encouraging Linda to continue.
“Growing up, I’d always wanted a family. A few years after college, I met my husband, and when we finally married, I thought, this is it. Now I’ll have a family and the perfect life I’ve dreamed about. But we struggled to have children. The whole process was taxing, financially and emotionally. After years of treatment and trying, we finally got pregnant. And when my beautiful daughter was born, the gift I’d been hoping for, trying for, I thought, okay, now, now everything will fall into place. But it didn’t. I had horrible postpartum, not helped by a fussy baby. I felt like a complete failure and discovered the wine helped. Going back to work after maternity leave, the wine helped. Arguing with my husband over something stupid? The wine helped. It helped with everything. Or so I thought. But really, it simply masked what I wasn’t dealing with.”
Linda’s words resonate with me. My mother. Olan. Myself. I may not have a drinking problem, but yowzers, I’ve been doing my best to ignore my demons. Enough of that nonsense. It’s not productive. It’s literally holding me back. I steal a glance at my watch and realize I need to get moving, and still no Olan. As I look back up at Linda, my phone vibrates in my pocket. My heart leaps into my throat.
Jill: Get your butt here. The doctor is chomping at the bit.
Marvin: On my way.
I stand to leave, and Linda pauses and stares at me.
“I’m sorry, I have to go… to the bathroom. You’re doing great, though. Amazing speech.”
I pump my fist in the air to cheer her on, and because I’m thinking about grabbing Oreos and not watching where I’m going, I trip over a chair, falling into a burly man who does his best to catch me.
“Slow down there, buddy.”
“Sorry, I have to go.”
Fumbling to my feet, I move as fast as my legs will carry me outside and dash to my car. It’s seven twenty-five, and the ceremony starts soon. It’s a five-minute drive if that. There shouldn’t be much traffic on a Thursday evening. I’ve got this. I’m tempted to text Olan. He wouldn’t miss his anniversary meeting unless something happened. Where the heck is he? Dr. Knorse’s terse face flashes in my head, and I slam myself into my car, immediately jamming my key into the ignition and turning it, but nothing happens. I try again. One final attempt and the gas light flashes red. My heart falls through my bootyhole. I’m out of fucking gas.