Chapter Thirty-Five
I hadn’t been to Group in months. At first, I’d been too busy with the wedding and then I’d been too sad to leave my house. And now, two days after I’d sent Luke my final email, I’d added the glorious feelings of heightened anxiety and crushing despair as I waited for him to respond. Every time I got an alert on my phone, my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. And every time it wasn’t him, I felt it fracture just a tiny bit more. It was official: feeling things was stupid.
All I wanted to do was get rid of the sadness; all I wanted was to be numb. And the only way I knew how to do that was to drink. So, knowing myself better than I ever have in my life, I picked myself up off the couch, threw on a pair of ragged jean shorts, a sports bra and a very old Chip Pepper tank top, and took my sorry ass on over to a meeting, making a phone call on my way.
Everyone was already seated when we arrived and they all turned when we walked in the door. I was, at first, startled by the looks of confusion—it hadn’t been that long—but then I remembered I hadn’t been there since I’d cut my hair. It had grown a bit, but it was still shockingly short, and I ran my hand through it nervously.
As a tentative smile curved my lips, looks of confusion turned to recognition and then to delight. “Julie!” Jenn yelled. “Oh my God, I love your hair!” Everyone stood up and walked over to greet me, some with hugs, others with kind words, all with warm smiles. I immediately felt better. These were my people. This was where I belonged. I couldn’t believe it had taken me this long to come back.
“So.” Corie leaned towards me hesitantly after we had all sat down. “How are you, Julie?”
“I’m okay, thanks.” I looked around and as soon as I saw the concerned faces, I understood the hesitation. “Oh!” I held up my hands and smiled. “I’m fine, don’t worry. I didn’t cut off my hair in a drunken stupor. I haven’t fallen off the wagon.” Everyone visibly relaxed. “I’ve just been busy,” I finished.
“Oh good.” Jess put her hand on my leg. “We were worried about you!”
I shrugged away her concern, not needing it but grateful for it. “In fact,” I said, “I made it to my one year of sobriety. Over a year now, I guess.” Time flies when you’re miserable, apparently.
I jumped as the room erupted. Cheers and whoops and “congratulations” and even a couple fist bumps. Everyone was so happy for me that I couldn’t help but be happy along with them. I hadn’t celebrated my achievement, with the exception of a quiet dinner with Kate and Ben. It felt good to be acknowledged. To be recognized for something that I’d worked hard for by folks who had gone through the exact same thing as I had. I hadn’t known I’d needed it.
“Oh,” I said, gesturing to the person sitting beside me who was gripping her phone like a lifeline. “This is my friend Marnie, she’s new.” I gave her a warm smile, which she returned hesitantly. She lifted her hand in a small wave and her smile widened as everyone welcomed her into the fold.
“Thank you,” she whispered and I squeezed her hand, grateful for all the people who had helped me; grateful for the opportunity to now help someone else. I couldn’t go back to my past self and give her the support she needed, but I could do my best in the present with Marnie. She deserved much more than my misplaced resentment.
As I sat back and listened to the shared stories of achievement and challenges, I realized how proud of myself I was. How lucky I was to have joined this group over a year ago. I may not have gotten a “You are all my heroes” cake or a one-year sobriety chip, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
After Group, for the first time in a very long time, I drove home feeling content. The positive energy of the meeting had filled me with bubbles of hope and, after dropping Marnie off, I sang along to my Spotify playlist as I drove. What a great meeting. I couldn’t wait to text Luke and tell him about it.
Fuck.
The thought had popped out of nowhere, and as it floated away to oblivion, so did my good mood. Why did I have to wreck everything by thinking something stupid?
I stood at my apartment building, rummaging in my purse for my keys, wondering why I didn’t just hold on to them when I got out of the car like a normal person, and, for the first time, started to feel angry. How dare he wreck my good mood by bursting his way into my thoughts? How dare he wreck the first good day I’d had in a month?
I pushed the heavy metal door open and pulled my key out so hard I almost broke it. How dare he not answer my email? I’d poured my heart out to him, for shit’s sake. I’d never done that before. To anyone. And he knew that. He knew that, and he couldn’t even acknowledge that he’d received it. He couldn’t even be bothered to reply to me at all.
I stomped up the stairs like a five-year-old, not caring who I was disturbing. How dare he just leave like that? With no goodbye. With no word at all. I’d said I was sorry. I’d said I loved him. What else could I possibly do?
I made it to my apartment door, out of breath and full of fury. I jammed my key into the deadbolt and rammed the door open with the heel of my hand, ready to throw my purse across the room in an anger-fueled eruption of immaturity.
“Fuck!” I yelled in a cleansing burst of rage, pulling my arm back, gripping my purse like a football.
But that was as far as I got. My hand fell to my side, my purse tumbled to the floor, my mouth dropped open in surprise.
Because there, standing in my kitchen, with a look on his face that could only be described as amusement mixed with absolute terror, was Luke.