Chapter 30 #2
gross the couch is. The shot goes down easy and sweet.
“Phelps seemed so nice when I met him a couple weeks ago,” says Allie. She perches on the arm of the couch farthest from me.
She sounds chagrined. “I guess you can’t always tell a book by its cover.”
The sugar does feel good as it hits my system. I grab another, squeeze it loose from the paper cup, and down it goes. If everyone
was as thoughtful as Allie, the world would be a better place.
“You don’t know these people like I do,” I say, setting down the crumpled paper cup. I wipe a trace of stickiness off my lips
with the back of my hand. “These are really good, by the way.”
“Thanks,” she says.
“I just have a different view of friendship. Like . . . have you heard the Proverb about iron sharpening iron? That’s what
I believe in. People challenging each other to be better. It can be a painful process, but . . .” I shake my head. “These
people are total enablers. Like leeches. They just suck the resources from each other.” I mime a grabby motion with my hand.
“They’re takers. You know?”
“I’ve known a few takers in my life,” says Allie ruefully.
“And then they get together every year to celebrate, as if any of their horrible life choices were something to celebrate!
It’s all just so . . .”
“Ironic,” supplies Allie.
“Yes! Ironic.”
“Here.” Allie hands me a third shot.
“Like, whatever you think about pro-life, pro-choice, you don’t abort a baby without telling the father! Right? And I think
we can all agree, you don’t cheat on your spouse! But they’re not even ashamed. And Doug, sure, he’s the one with the drug problem, but
come on, Hellie, you’ve been enabling him for years! Trust me, I had an alcoholic father, and I had to face the reality that, even though my mom is super strong and stuff, she
enabled him to keep doing what he did, she kept making the money he used to feed his habit, so that responsibility is on her
too. You know?”
Suddenly I’m feeling teary. It’s thinking of little Jenn, not understanding why Daddy got so mad sometimes. Why her allowance
disappeared from her piggy bank over and over. Why Daddy couldn’t come with us to Christmas at Grandma’s. I imagine Mom thought
she was protecting me by not spelling out your dad is an alcoholic who regularly steals our money. Instead, by the time I was old enough to put two and two together, it felt like betrayal. I was so stupid. The last to know.
Dang it. Now a tear is rolling down my cheek.
“Will loves these people more than he loves me.” I sniffle. “He’s given everything to them. All I asked for—all I wanted—”
“It’s okay,” murmurs Allie.
“All I wanted was a real man, someone strong, to—to step up and protect me—to serve our family instead of being a burden on
it. And instead, I repeated all my mother’s mistakes. I feel like such an idiot. You know?”
“Will is an alcoholic too?” Allie says gently.
“No! I mean, he’s addicted to these people. They use him, they take advantage of his kindness, of his money—our money—but he won’t see it, he keeps coming back, and then somehow it’s my fault?”
It is just like substance abuse. Something that corrupts you, but you keep coming back to. And Will, just like an alcoholic
in full addiction mode, denies it.
It’s not a problem! It’s called loyalty, Jenn. It’s called love.
Will’s voice somehow blends with my dad’s voice, when I was sixteen and finally got up the courage to ask him, Daddy, are you an alcoholic? He denied and denied. It’s not a drinking problem, I just like the taste of whiskey . . .
I wanted to scream in my dad’s face, Wake up! You have a problem! And your problem is hurting me!
Instead, I swallowed all those words. But I did make a promise to future Jenn that I would never be anyone’s enabler. Never
let anyone get away with what my dad had gotten away with.
“That sounds really hard for you,” says Allie.
“It has been. It is,” I say, grateful for just an ounce of understanding.
See? I’m not crazy. Allie gets it. It’s the whole outside perspective thing. It’s the people upstairs who have distorted reality,
when everything I did, I did to save people.
Burning down the restaurant saved us from a horrible investment.
Keeping the fifteen thousand was supposed to save Will from ever giving money to Phelps again.
Telling Bennett about the cheating was to save him from the heartbreak of finding out years later that he’d been the stupid one.
As for Bunny, Mr. Max had the right to know about her plans to abort; he was the child’s great-grandfather, and our only hope of saving that baby was the power of prayer.
Breaking up Doug and Hellie’s marriage was to help Doug lose his enabler, so he could finally have a chance to get clean.
And Hellie—she would be free to start again and make better choices.
Find a better partner. Someone she could actually become a mother with!
Why can’t any of them see that I’m not the bad guy?
I’m just the only one who actually cares about a better future for all of us.
The rest of them are happy to splash in their pigsty.
Maybe my flaw was trying to show pigs there’s a better world out there.
“Want the last one?” says Allie, gesturing to the final Jell-O shot as she rises and picks up the three empty cups. “I’m going
to head back up and maybe go home. It’s been a long night.”
I take the last shot and Allie adds the cup to her crumpled stash. The sugar is helping. I feel more relaxed already. Not
as panicky.
“I think I’ll go upstairs too,” I say. I can’t hide here in the basement much longer. I’ll tell Will we have to leave. He
won’t object . . . it’s not like we can stay at Phelps’s house forever . . . we’ll have to drive home at some point . . .
and I’m pretty sure based on my mental review that his only “evidence” is our daughter’s little story, which means I have
nothing to fear.
Ooof. When I try to stand, I’m feeling a little unsteady. It’s the exhaustion of the night. Our normal bedtime is nine thirty,
and tonight has been so intense. I sit back down on the couch.
“You okay?” says Allie.
“Fine, I’ll just be another minute.” I wave vaguely at her. She’s young. She probably stays up past midnight all the time. “You . . . you go ahead.”
“Okay. Well, it was nice meeting you.”
“You too,” I say, leaning my head against the back of the couch. I close my eyes for a second.
I’m not sure how much time has passed when I hear noise on the stairs.
“Huh?” I say out loud, wiping drool from my mouth. My hand feels sluggish and heavy. How long was I asleep? “Who’s there?”
“It’s me,” says a voice.