42
Two hours later, my phone lights up. Tess.
I drop onto a bar stool and swipe to answer. “Hi.”
“Hi, Kenzie.” There’s a pause. “Hold on. Grandma’s asking me something.”
I reach for the pen on the kitchen counter and start doodling in my notebook, trying to soothe the raw spot left by that strange and horrible encounter with Joel and his foster parents.
I’m still reeling, my thoughts and emotions skidding everywhere, like tires on black ice.
Turbo sits at my feet, like he knows I need the company.
On the other end of the line, I can hear muffled conversation, then a choked sound from Tess that might be laughter she’s trying to smother.
“Sorry about that,” she says when she comes back on the line, her voice amused and exasperated.
“What happened?”
“Grandma asked Google to play calming ocean sounds,” Tess explains. “But it started playing Baby Shark instead, and she absolutely lost it.”
“That song is definitely not calming.”
“Exactly. Hopefully, she’s got it all taken care of now.”
“What’s up?”
Tess exhales. “I was debating whether or not to tell you this.”
Her tone is so serious I stop doodling and straighten in my chair. “Okay, that’s a scary opener.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it to be.” She sighs again. “Look, I’m just going to tell you, and you can decide what to do with the information.”
“What information? What’s going on?”
“I went to Cooper’s Hill yesterday.”
My brow furrows. Cooper’s Hill is a town about thirty minutes away.
“Okay,” I say, wondering where she’s going with this.
She hesitates. “And I saw Joel.”
A sense of dread lances through me. My mind immediately darts to the worst case scenario. “Was he with another woman?”
“No,” Tess reassures me hastily. “Nothing like that. He was alone.”
Relief floods through me so fast I slump forward. “Okay. Then what?”
“I saw him walk into one of the buildings downtown. The community center on the corner.”
“I think I know the one.”
“They hold meetings there.”
“What kind of meetings?”
“AA meetings,” she says gently.
The hum of the refrigerator is loud in the quiet. I take a few minutes to breathe, to let the shock fade while my mind races, fitting the puzzle pieces together.
Joel doesn’t drink. Not even a sip. And he’s remained silent on his reasons why. His foster parents were guarded, almost wary, around him. As though they never quite knew what version of him they’d get.
“I know he doesn’t touch alcohol,” Tess adds. “And when I saw him go in there... I don’t know...it just clicked.”
It clicks for me too. The obsessive training. The discipline. The walls he puts up. Maybe he’s been to the edge and made terrible mistakes. And maybe he’s still trying to atone for them.
I rub my chest, trying to ease the tightness there.
“I haven’t told Aaron,” Tess says. “Or Sofia. Just you.”
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“I thought you’d want to know.”
I pick at a mark on the counter. “I do. And I appreciate you telling me.”
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
“I’m not sure. Talk to him, I guess.”
“That’s a good idea. Get it out in the open,” she says. “I should go. Grandma’s still demanding ocean sounds, and Google’s now playing the Jaws theme. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
We hang up, and the quiet settles heavy around me.
Joel. At an AA meeting.
Tess seeing him walk into the building isn’t proof. We could be jumping to conclusions, but it would explain a lot.
It’s scary to imagine what he’s been through. To know he’s still fighting it and probably will be for the rest of his life.
I have no idea what it’s like to live on the edge of a dark place, to fight the urge to step over it every day.
My anxiety flares, but I remind myself it’s Joel, who, despite all his shadows, has only ever shown me gentleness and restraint. The wildest I’ve seen him was in the storeroom. He was barely holding on to his self-control, but he didn’t hurt me. And yes, the hint of roughness was exciting.
Does his past scare me a little? Yes.
Could I be with someone carrying a past like his? Also yes. Because he isn’t pretending it away. He’s facing it. Most importantly, he’s trying. And that matters.
His addiction isn’t his whole story. It’s part of his story. We all have parts we’re not proud of. I want to accept every version of him.
I sit at the kitchen table and stare at nothing in particular. A heavy feeling settles in my chest.
Joel has his shadows. And maybe, in my own quieter way, so do I.
Mine might not look like escaping into a bottle. But mine take the shape of saying yes when I want to say no. Shrinking myself to make other people comfortable. Keeping the peace even when it comes at the cost of my own.
I’ve spent so long trying to be the easy one. The soft one. The one who smooths things over, keeps everyone happy, never asks for too much.
Somewhere along the way, I started confusing kindness with self-erasure.
Maybe that’s why I understood Joel’s restraint even before I had words for it.
Because I know what it’s like to carry the weight of expectations you never agreed to but still feel responsible for.
I know what it’s like to keep parts of yourself locked away, just in case they’re too much for someone else to handle.
His shadows are louder. Mine are quieter. But they both come from the same place—fear, control, the desperate hope that if we manage ourselves well enough, no one will leave.
And yet, he didn’t leave when I was a mess. When I cried, when I panicked and blurted out that we were fake engaged, when I broke into his studio...he stayed.
A car pulls into the driveway. I push back my chair and cross to the living room window.
Joel.