Chapter Thirteen
Naomi
Okay, so the whole bonfire on a chilly summer night thing is pretty nice.
Definitely not something we ever got to do in South Florida and being in the middle of Boston doesn’t lend well to massive backyard fires.
But here, where the sun sets late and there are blissfully no mosquitos, and you can actually see the stars when you look through the canopy of trees…
Yeah, I’m starting to get why Nelly chose this place for her pre-nuptial getaway.
Since tomorrow and the night after are going to be out at some of the local spots, everyone decided that grilling in would be the best option.
The day had been spent in blissful leisure, not a flower in sight- thank God.
Elias and Cristian went fishing on the lake behind the cabin for several hours.
Nelly, Clara, and I went down to the pool at the clubhouse to sunbathe and I think Rowan and Graham went brewery hunting for tomorrow.
Or rather, brewery selecting. You can’t throw a rock without hitting one in these parts.
They also swung by the ice cream factory and picked up a few cases for us despite the fact that s’mores were already planned for dessert.
“I’m sorry,” Graham had asked, holding the container of peanut butter brownie out of the bride’s reach. “Are you complaining about me thinking about you?”
“I have a wedding dress to fit into in four days, Graham,” she huffed, still reaching for the ice cream.
He snorted. “Is that going to stop you from stuffing your face with marshmallows tonight?”
It most certainly has not. I think Nelly is on her third s’more already and it is entirely because with everyone she makes, she also consumes an entire glass of wine.
On the other hand, Clara is pacing herself, still a little hungover after last night.
She’s bundled up in a quilt, munching on graham cracker and melted marshmallow in Rowan’s lap, her porcelain cheeks flushed and diamond curls thrown into a messy bun.
As I watch, she holds out a finger to her husband, and he licks her clean of the dripping chocolate.
“I hate you both,” I mutter, taking a sip from my water.
Clara grins over at me. “Would you like a taste—”
“No,” Rowan snatches her hand before she can extend the marshmallowy digits my way, sucking them clean. Then he kisses her with a growl that makes her giggle. “Mine.”
“Jesus,” I roll my eyes. “Calm down, no one else wants her.”
“Rude!” Clara gasps. “I’m desirable!”
“Not with a gladiator wrapped around you like a vine.”
“Gladiator?” Rowan seems to think this metaphor over before nodding. “I’ll accept this comparison.”
Clara beams, taking his face in her hands- one of them only her last three fingers as she holds onto her s’more- kissing him square on the lips. “My big, handsome warrior.”
I make a gagging sound that earns me the finger from both of them as they commence sucking face for entirely too long. I mean, really? Don’t they need oxygen?
Across the fire Elias chuckles, holding out a burnt marshmallow for Nelly to cram between two crackers and two pieces of chocolate. Her sweet tooth has absolutely gotten worse since his enabling. But she works out twice as much, especially when he challenges her to Sunday morning beach races.
Nelly used to hate running when she was with Cristian because he always pushed her too hard with no real reward except it would make her feel better.
It is pure fact that forcing Nelly to sweat is a one-way ticket to her being queen of the cunts.
Elias, however, doesn’t push her for the sake of being healthier or because he wants her to look better.
Elias makes it a competition.
If Nelly can beat him in a footrace on the beach every Sunday, she gets a bookstore date.
On three separate occasions this year I’ve called Nelly only to hear Rowan or Elias cursing when one of them accidentally hammered their own finger building new shelves for her.
The woman owns more books now than she’s ever going to be able to read in a lifetime.
“Thank you, baby.” Nelly smiles, leaning over to kiss Elias as he settles back in his Adirondack chair. He just shakes his head adoringly, raising his beer to his lips.
God, why is everyone I know disgustingly in love?
Well, except for Cristian who looks just as sickened.
He finishes his beer and stands. “I need another. Anyone else?” His dad raises his nearly empty bottle.
Rowan raises a hand as well. Graham just shakes his head, he’s sunk low in his chair with his hood pulled up, quietly taking pulls off a joint he lit earlier this afternoon.
“Can you bring out the bottle on the counter?” Clara asks, taking another bite of her dessert.
“Which one?” Cristian raises a brow. “There are like four open in there—”
“I’ll go with you,” I stand. “I need a sweater anyway.” I take Clara’s empty glass on my way, and Nelly’s when she finishes the last sips.
My calves burn from the yoga routine I did this morning as we climb the steep hill to the cabin.
The surrounding forest is amazingly quiet.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard fewer sounds in my entire life.
If I look up I can make out thousands of stars, actual constellations I only ever heard about in science class or in movies.
Then again, I never would have taken the time to appreciate a view like this before. Nothing about my life prior to this last year ever included taking a moment to enjoy stillness, stargaze, just sit and watch my friends laugh and love and be so joyful in the lives they’re building.
I’m so happy for them, but I can’t help feeling like I made all the wrong choices.
Like I’m missing out on something that would finally give my life meaning where I never really found any before.
I spent the last ten years on a one-way road to meeting my father’s expectations.
A clear path to not being like my mother.
To not disappoint him or worry him or make my brother feel forgotten.
I just wanted to be right for them. Except along the way I allowed myself to dig a hole so deep I almost couldn’t climb out.
A hole meant to protect me from… I don’t even know what.
Being bored? Being discontent? Now it all just feels like I wasted so much time as I watch Orion’s Belt glitter against a pure black sky.
“Pretty isn’t it?” Cristian asks, pausing on the porch stairs to follow my gaze.
“Yeah… It is…”
Following him inside, I set my friend’s glasses on the counter, uncorking the chardonnay and filling both glasses the appropriate amount by sight alone. Cristian crosses to the fridge, grabbing and opening three more beers while I pull on my hoodie.
“Grab me a water,” I tell him, zipping the hoodie up to my chest. He does, cracking it open but leaving the top on before handing it over. I take a sip, twisting it closed again before putting it in the pocket of my sweater.
“How long have you been sober?”
I nearly drop the wine glasses, not because of the nature of the question, but because he asked at all. “Why would you ask me something like that?”
“Naomi,” Cristian gives me a pointed look, leaning his hip against the counter. “Come on. We’ve been friends since middle school—”
“We are not friends—”
“I know you. I notice things about you. I know that the last time I saw you, you always had a drink in your hand. And I know that you’ve gone through like half the water bottles today alone- we have reusable ones by the way- and you didn’t drink on the plane.
” He crosses his arms, nodding my way. “So, how long?”
Sucking at my teeth, I avert my gaze to the counter. “A year last week,” I tell him.
His eyes widen. “Wow! That’s awesome, Naomi—”
“Please don’t make a big deal out of it,” I beg. His brow furrows. “I don’t want to make Nelly’s week about me. So just… Keep it between us, okay?”
Cristian nods. “Yeah, of course, but…” His lips pinch in confusion. “Clara and Nelly don’t know?”
“No,” I snort, shaking my head. “No, I never told them. I didn’t want to worry them or interrupt the wedding planning. It was… Really hard for a while, but my brother was great, and my dad. They helped me a lot. I’m… I’m in a much better place. Still struggling, but it’s manageable.”
“You look more grounded,” he agrees.
“I am.”
“Does Graham….?”
“My sobriety is none of Graham’s business,” I tell him firmly enough that he raises his hands in surrender. “Please, don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t,” he swears. “Shit, is it difficult for you to be around all of us drinking like this?”
“No,” I shake my head. “Not anymore. Do I wish I could grab a glass and pour myself some wine? Yeah, but I always will. I just have to keep reminding myself that the alternative isn’t worth it.”
Not at all. Not even a little bit. The alternative nearly ruined my life. Nearly took my life. I’ll never allow myself to slip back into that place ever again.
Cristian grins, grabbing the beers while I grab the wine. He nudges my shoulder as we walk back out onto the porch. “Well, I’m proud of you, if that means anything at all.”
“It does not,” I tell him with a grin. He rolls his eyes but continues smiling as he takes a sip of his beer, following me back down to the bonfire.
Clara and Nelly both sing song their gratitude when I hand over their glasses, both already too drunk to notice I don’t have one. Too in love with their significant others to pay attention to me when I take the water bottle from my pocket.
But across the fire, I feel the burning stare of forest green eyes as they watch me lift the clear liquid to my lips.
I can only imagine what he’s thinking as he lifts the joint, the blazing tip illuminating his dark gaze.
I sink deeper into my chair, accepting the graham crackers and marshmallows and chocolate as they’re passed around again.
I laugh with my friends, listen to Clara sing campfire songs horribly while Rowan still gives her moon eyes, and smile when Elias grabs his guitar from the house and takes over for her.
I’ve missed this. Missed just being with my people, talking shit to each other, sharing ridiculous stories and eating too much food.
I love Boston, I even love my job as much as I hated all the classes I had to take to get it.
But nothing could ever replace this. No amount of money or partnerships or great coffee shops could ever fill the hole being away from my friends has opened.
After I moved to Boston, after I lost this grounding connection to the people I lived so much of my life for, the drinking had gotten worse.
My grades were nowhere near what they could have been, and I honestly don’t know how I managed to pass.
There are entire months of my time at Harvard that I don’t even remember buried beneath the haze of alcohol.
There are pictures on colleagues’ phones that I don’t remember being in where my skin looks sallow, my face bloated, and not a single person noticed.
Well, except Nathan. He got an apartment just up the road from mine around the time I started my first semester, kept an annoyingly close eye on me. Forced me to sneak drinks in ways I’m not proud of.
I had a problem.
Nathan knew it.
Graham knew it.
I didn’t know it until it was almost too late.
I was checked into a rehab facility for two entire months last summer.
My last summer before my final year of law school.
Excuses were made to Clara and Nelly why I wouldn’t be returning home.
I think my dad told them we were taking a family getaway to Europe?
Or a cruise? That’s how little I remember.
They could ask me about it tomorrow and I would absolutely butcher the lie.
Luckily, neither ever asked. They accepted the excuse of no cell service, sometimes texting or emailing to check in or discuss plans for the wedding.
When I got phone privileges back I would take their calls outside, in discreet places where my actual location wasn’t obvious.
I know I should have told them. I definitely should have said something by now I just…
I’m a fucking coward I guess. This is Nelly’s wedding and the last thing I want is to make any part of it about me or my illness.
All eyes should be on her and I will tell them.
I will tell them everything, eventually.
For now, I take another sip of my water, fold my legs underneath me and just allow myself, for once, to quietly appreciate the company I’ve craved these last four years.
Nelly is getting married in three days, and I am so lucky I’m still alive to be able to see it.
???
I’m getting ready for bed when I feel more than hear him lean against the doorframe. “What’s in the bottle, Naomi?” He asks calmly.
Turning, I take in his gray sweat pants, his hoodie left unzipped to reveal a plane white t-shirt. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and hooded from the joint he finally finished before we came inside, but he still looks pretty focused.
Focused on me. On the water bottle I just sat down on my bedside table. My shoulders drop with a sigh, too exhausted to do any of this right now.
“What does it matter?”
He sucks at his teeth. “Are you hiding it in here? If I check your suitcase will I find a bottle at the bottom—”
“If you go through my shit you’ll earn my fucking handprint across your pretty fucking face and we both know Nelly is really invested in the wedding pictures,” I warn him, fingers clenching.
Graham takes a deep breath. “What’s in the bottle, Naomi—”
I toss it to him. “It’s fucking water, asshole.”
He catches the bottle with ease.
“See for yourself.”
And because I’ve never actually given him a reason to trust me, he does, twisting off the top and taking a tentative sip. He seems surprised to find that it is in fact just water, capping it and tossing it back.
I turn away to avoid staring as he licks his lips. “Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—”
“Goodnight, Graham.”
For a long time, he doesn’t move, and then with all the subtlety of a buffalo he pushes away from the doorframe, muttering, “Buenos noches,” as he pulls the door closed behind him.
Closing my eyes, I take three slow breaths, willing thoughts of him away.
Willing away the urge to apologize for all the times he tried to help me and I denied him.
Willing away the part of me that wishes I could just go back and do it all over again.
Because that’s not how time works. It only ever moves forward and that’s exactly what I need to do if I am ever going to make it another six months. Another year. Just keep moving forward.
One day at a time.