Chapter Six
I was in my late teens when Gwyneth Paltrow and Brad Pitt dated. Along with many people, I barely remember this happening, but I have a surprisingly accurate recollection of one thing: what she was wearing when they attended the Oscars in 1996. A gorgeous white slip dress that hung on her perfectly; at once both sexy and glamorous. While Kate cut out pictures of puffy princess gowns with capped sleeves and winding trains to slip into her wedding binder, I coveted the simplicity of the slip dress. Kate envisioned herself getting married as Cinderella, but when I thought of my wedding, I wanted to be Gwyneth Paltrow.
Now on the rare occasions when I thought of weddings, they did not feature me in a slip dress, or any dress for that matter. Now weddings were just events that needed to be attended. Parties where I tried to determine how long a couple would stay together based on the length of their tedious speeches.
Which is why no one was more shocked than I was when I volunteered to help plan one. I knew in my heart that Ben and Kate would defy the odds, that their love would last forever, but I was probably the last person who should have been planning the event that would send them on their journey. And knowing that I was planning it with Mr. Cheerful Pants didn’t make getting out of bed on Sunday morning to go meet him any easier.
But I wasn’t doing this for fun. I was doing it for Ben and Kate. And I was doing it to prove that I could. So, after a solid ten-minute pep talk, I forced myself out of bed and got ready to go meet Luke.
Kate had organized the first wedding planning meeting and I was grateful she’d picked a Starbucks; at least I would be drinking good coffee while I hated my life. Pumpkin Spiced Latte season had started early this year and, while out loud I scorned the pumpkin spice lovers of the world, inside my soul I secretly was one.
I stood at the glass door, peering in, trying to see if Luke had arrived. The trademark Starbucks smell made my mouth water, but I was still not super eager to go inside.
“Hey there!”
I jumped and spun around to face Luke’s giant grin.
I put my hand on my heart. “Jesus, you scared the crap out of me.”
He laughed. “Sorry. I may be big, but I’m also super stealthy. Like a ninja.” His hands karate-chopped the air between us. “Are you going to go in or just stand outside?”
I opened the door with a sweeping gesture. “After you.”
He walked in with a spring in his step. “Nice! I didn’t know Pumpkin Spice season started in August!” He beamed. “I’ll have a grande pumpkin spice latte, extra whip,” he said to the barista and then turned back to me. “Can I get you one?”
“Sure,” I said, secretly pleased I didn’t have to pay for my expensive treat. “No whip on mine though.” He held his hand up when I did the obligatory reach into my purse for my wallet.
I nodded a “thank you” and sat down at a nearby table.
He walked over to wait for the coffees, his navy soccer shorts cheerfully swishing. I peered at him through my eyelashes as he shoved his hands into his pockets. I mean, I wasn’t dressed up by any means, but at least I’d made a bit of an effort with my teal polka dot dress. It wasn’t like he’d just come from the gym. He certainly didn’t look like an athlete.
He sure was friendly though. He spent another five minutes chatting with the barista after our coffees were ready. Were we going to be here all day?
“Sorry about that.” He sat down and took a sip of his coffee. “It turns out I went to high school with her sister in Toronto. Small world, eh?”
“Saskatchewan is relatively small,” I grumped as I sipped my coffee. “Everyone is connected somehow.” I refused to buy in to his cheerful attitude.
“Right you are!” And he clearly refused to be taken down by my shitty one.
“So.” He leaned in, narrowly missing a sticky glob of something in the centre of the table. “Aside from planning weddings, what do you like to do for fun?”
And there it was. I had been wondering when he was going to ask me out. I’d been doing my best to make it clear that I was only here to get a job done, but I guess Luke was just like any other man.
“First of all, planning weddings isn’t really my idea of fun, and secondly, sorry, but I’m not interested.” I sipped my coffee and forced a smile.
He tilted his head in confusion. “Interested in what? Doing things for fun?”
“Listen.” I jumped right in with my standard spiel. “I’m sure you’re great and everything, you seem very…unique…but I’m not interested in dating at the moment.”
He looked absolutely clueless for half a second and then burst out laughing.
“Oh, you thought I was asking you out?” he said after he calmed down. “No, sorry, you misunderstood; I was just trying to get to know you better because we’ll be working so closely together.”
Oh.
“Oh,” I said, flipping my hair back. “Well, good.”
“Good!” He grinned like I didn’t just embarrass myself. “I’m glad we got that cleared up. Now, let’s talk wedding. Question though, if you don’t like planning weddings, then why are you helping to plan this one?”
I sighed, not wanting to reveal that planning this wedding was basically my lifeline. “I’m doing it for Ben and Kate,” I said. “So they won’t be stressed out.”
“Makes sense. That’s very kind of you.” He pulled out his laptop and flipped up the lid to reveal a sticker that said Good Vibes Only.
“Good Lord,” I said softly.
“Cool hey?” He turned it around so he could admire it. “My friend gave it to me, the one I was with when we first met at the AA meeting. He makes them, you know, to keep his mind off things.”
“Is that why you were at that meeting?” I asked. “To help your friend?”
He nodded. “I find it rewarding to help those who are close to me.”
I nodded in return, unsure of what to say. Luke appeared to be very good at expressing his feelings, something I was not able to do as easily.
By the time we finished our coffees, we’d gone over a list of potential venues—prioritized by need and then price—and had made a good start on a guest list to send to Ben and Kate for review. Both of them had been sporadically texting me names throughout the week, and, while Luke was giving me his thoughts on gift registries, I compiled them all in a Word document. I was pretty proud of myself.
Luke knew a graphic designer who worked at a print shop, so we chose some sample invitation designs for Ben and Kate to look at as well.
Before I knew it, two hours had gone by and we’d accomplished quite a bit. I didn’t want to admit it, but I wouldn’t have done that much on my own in two hours. I probably wouldn’t have done that much in two weeks. I guess having Luke help hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.
“That was a great planning session,” he said when we were finished, closing his laptop with a satisfied grin. “This wedding is going to be epic.”
Epic? Who still said epic?
I stood up and grabbed my purse as he slid his laptop into a puffy red case.
“Thanks for coming, Julie.” He reached out his hand like we’d just settled an important business transaction and I shook it half-heartedly. “I know I wasn’t your first choice for co-planner.”
“It wasn’t that it was you,” I lied. “I had just thought I was going to be planning it by myself.”
He nodded as if he completely understood. “I hear ya,” he said. “But I appreciate you letting me help. I love stuff like this. I’m used to planning construction projects. It’s nice to be able to do something fun.”
“Well, if this is your idea of fun, you’re welcome to it.” I pushed my chair in. “It seems like you’re good at it,” I added.
Luke gasped and I jumped.
“What?” I said, looking around anxiously. Did a bird fly into the window? Did Starbucks run out of oat milk?
He put his hand on his chest in mock astonishment. “Did you just compliment me?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“Don’t get used to it.” I tried to hide the smile that was tugging at the corners of my lips.
We said our goodbyes in the parking lot and made plans to meet back at the same Starbucks in a week—“our office,” he called it. And, of course, we both had homework. We each had to contact five venues on the list and inquire about availability and cost, something I had already started to feel anxious about. I needed this wedding to be a complete success, which meant starting with a perfect location. It was already less than a year until the wedding; I really hoped we hadn’t left it too late.
After I left Starbucks, all I wanted was a drink. I longed for the buzzy comfort, thoughts hiding in the cloudy residue, tension draining from my body with every sip. In the past I would have easily given in to the temptation, but now, whenever I felt that way, I knew I needed to stop those thoughts in their tracks. So, Sunday night, I went back to Group.
I quietly slipped in after everyone had sat down. The plastic folding chairs were arranged into a not-quite circle and Corie was getting ready to start. She smiled and winked as I joined, her hands stuffed casually in the back pockets of her loose-fitting sweatpants.
Someone had propped open a couple of windows and the room, while usually hot and stuffy, was actually a comfortable temperature. The sweetness of the end-of-summer evening wafted in, masking the stale, old-building smell. My shoulders relaxed and the tension started to dissipate.
“Okay, everyone.” Corie clapped her hands together. “Tonight, I’d like you to think about who you’re here for and, if you’re comfortable, share that with the group. I hope, above all, you’re here for yourself, but there is no wrong answer. As long as you’re here, that’s all that matters.”
The room went silent. Everyone looked at the floor, at the walls, anywhere but at Corie or at one another. She smiled and looked around the room. “Anyone?”
I shifted in my chair.
“Julie, great!” she said.
“Um, no…I was just….”
“Go ahead,” she said gently. “This is a safe space.”
“Well,” I started. I wasn’t used to this, being uncomfortable in front of other people. I was always the extrovert, the centre of attention, the life of the party. Opening up was harder than I thought without the comfort of a medium booze buzz.
“I’m here because I fell off the wagon almost two months ago.” I glanced around, still somehow expecting judgment, despite the genuine friendly smiles and faces alert with encouragement. “Before that, I was sober for seven months.” I paused among the murmurs of support. “Until I mistakenly thought I could have a drink at my brother and best friend’s engagement party.”
When Ben and Kate had announced their engagement, I’d been as thrilled as anyone. I’d known it was coming; they were perfect for each other. So, who could blame me when I’d wanted to have a glass of champagne to celebrate? I’d been sober for seven months. I knew what I was getting into.
“I thought I could handle it,” I said, remembering saying the same thing to Ben and Kate as they’d both looked anywhere but at my face, Ben’s hand on his neck, Kate’s expression somber.
“I thought I’d conquered my demons. I knew my limits. I could totally drink casually now, you know?” I said to the room. They knew.
Turned out I couldn’t.
That first sip was pure bliss. The tang of alcohol on my tongue, the fuzzy warmth in my stomach. My whole body relaxed. I was finally able to breathe again.
I tried to only have one. But that glorious feeling, the heightened joy, the crystal clarity, the comforting glow. If I felt this way after one, I would surely feel even better after two. And then I’d stop. Once I’d hit the peak of boozy nirvana, I’d allow myself to gently float back down.
Two glasses of champagne had turned into three, which had then turned into who knows how many as I’d continued my one-person party by sneaking sips or finishing off bottles when people weren’t looking. Or, at least, when I thought they weren’t looking.
“And, as anyone who has ever had a drinking problem knows,” I continued to explain to a room full of people who surely did, “once you hit that peak, you’ve already passed the point of no return. The more you chase the joy the more elusive it becomes. And then, before you know it, it’s gone. And you’re alone. And miserable. And all you want to do is lie down and close your eyes and sleep for days. Until the nausea stops. Until the spinning subsides. Until everyone stops looking at you like they’ve just eaten a bad piece of shrimp.”
After being sober for seven months, I couldn’t hold my alcohol. And I couldn’t hide it like I used to. But, more importantly, I didn’t want to hide it. When Kate found me in the bathroom at the engagement party, splashing my face with water, wiping the mascara off with a paper towel, I didn’t lie. I didn’t say I’d eaten something bad. I didn’t suggest that maybe I had the flu.
All I said was sorry. And I let Ben carry me to the car. And I let them take me home.
“I guess I won’t ever be able to drink like a normal person.” My face flushed with shame as I recounted the end of the night, Kate holding back my hair, watching me puke the hardest and well-earned seven months of my life into a bucket by the side of my bed.
“So, of course, I got back on the wagon,” I finished, looking around, meeting eyes filled with kindness, feeling the power of everyone’s trust. Everyone nodded, a couple of people even clapped.
But I wasn’t finished.
I cleared my throat and wiped my palms on my dress, knowing my body was trying to tell me something that my brain refused to align to.
Stop lying, it was saying.
And so I finally did.
“Except,” I said, my eyes lowered, “I actually fell off the wagon two more times after the engagement party. I guess I really wasn’t on the wagon to begin with.” I looked up, surprised I’d said anything, surprised I’d revealed a secret that I hadn’t even told Kate.
Kate had been so busy with Ben and her freelancing work, and I had been so sure I could do it myself, that I’d fallen back off the wagon not once but twice. And I’d fallen hard. Back to drinking a bottle of wine by myself before 6:00 p.m. Back to trolling online dating sites and inviting randoms over to play. Back to trying to hide from my life, the life I’d been trying to hide from since my early twenties.
The second time I’d fallen, I’d almost gotten caught. Ben had stopped by to check in and I was still sleeping at noon. Luckily, I’d had the good sense to hide the wine bottle outside in the trash the night before. He didn’t say anything, but I’m pretty sure he knew. I’d seen that look in his eyes before. Disappointment. Worry. Fear.
“That’s when I decided to try AA,” I said. “It had worked for so many people. All I had to do was pretend I was super motivated to hop back on that wagon and be a better me; pretend that I wasn’t full of shame and remorse for wasting almost a year of my life; that all I needed was twelve steps and a higher power.”
The truth was I wasn’t motivated to hop back on the wagon. I wasn’t doing it for me at all. I was doing it because, once again, I’d let down the only people I loved. The truth was that taste of champagne at the party, that taste of being able to relax and feel good about myself and say what I wanted, and do what I wanted, and not have to try so hard to be perfect—that was something I had missed desperately. I’d missed the taste of being able to forget.
The room was silent as I finished, the heads that had been nodding knowingly throughout had stilled. “So, that’s why I’m here. I’m here because I messed up. I’m here for Ben and Kate. I’m here so they don’t have to carry me for the rest of their lives.”
“And what about yourself?” Corie asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Aren’t you here for yourself as well?”
“Sure, I guess.” I shrugged. “I mean, I mostly just want to prove to them that a Julie can exist in their lives who isn’t a fuck-up. I’ve even volunteered to help plan their wedding and I hate weddings. Maybe you guys could give me some wedding ideas?” I joked, my go-to strategy for digging myself out of something uncomfortable.
Corie nodded and laughed along with the rest of the group. “Thanks so much, Julie,” she said. “We appreciate your honesty.” She looked around the room. “All right, who’s next?”
I sat back in my uncomfortable chair and breathed out slowly. I hadn’t realized my shoulders were raised until they’d lowered back into place. Telling the truth had been easier than I thought. Maybe this group would really help. Maybe I wouldn’t have to do this alone.