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So much has changed in the past twenty-four-hours that I’m struggling to grasp onto something familiar. Lo, my one constant, will no doubt hear about the events last night. I wish they would come from my lips, but it’s already mid-afternoon and I still can’t pry myself from the sheets.
“Do you really think I can just move on?” He chokes. “Let it go like any other fucking day?” Oh… “We have to try,” I say in a small voice.
We don’t talk about our addictions. Not outright. We bury them with booze and sex and on the occasion where we feel lost we return to the nostalgia of comic books. Fear steals my ability to form words. I think I know the answer, but I’m so terrified of changing the structure that we have in place. My constant. My Lo. I selfishly don’t want that to end.
“Why?” The word knifes me. A tear escapes and he says, “Because I can. Because when I was eleven-years-old and tasted my first drop of whiskey, I thought it’d bring me closer to my father. Because I felt empowered.” He touches his chest. “Because I never hit anyone. I never drove. I never lost a fucking job or lost any friends that mattered. Because whenever I drank, I didn’t think I was hurting anyone but me.” He takes a shallow breath and rubs a shaky hand through his hair. “That is, until last night. Or maybe for the past two months. Or forever. I don’t know anymore.”
“I’m an alcoholic.” He’s never said that out loud, never admitted it in that way.
“I love you, but I want to love you enough that I never choose alcohol over you. Not even for a moment. I want to be someone you deserve. Who helps you rather than enables you, and I can’t begin to do that until I get help for myself.”
He’s going to leave me. Two things have held me together thus far. Sex and Lo. They never used to mix, but losing both at the same time feels like someone ripping off a vital organ and refusing to hook me to a machine.
“Stop,” he forces. “I’ve already argued with your sister about this. I’m staying here. I’m giving this a shot, and if it doesn’t work, then I’ll go. But if I can be here for you and for me, then I have to try.”
He’s about to eliminate alcohol completely from his life. He hit his rock bottom. Have I hit mine?
and smile. I stare at a pair for a long moment, their gray hair short and nearly identical. They bicker about a spill on the man’s shirt, and the woman leans over to help him wipe it up. I want that to be us. I want to grow old and yell at Lo for dribbling coffee. I want him to be my forever. For the first time, he may be on the right path towards reaching that. I can only hope I’ll join him too.
Sometimes I wonder if he’s going to have to fight this forever. And then I realize, I may have to fight that long too.
They look alike. Both have brown hair, even though Ryke’s is a little darker. Both have brown eyes, even if Lo’s are a bit more amber. Ryke’s tan has started to disappear in the winter, and his skin starts to resemble Lo’s Irish hue. They could be brothers, but Ryke has broader shoulders, a stronger jaw, and thinner lips.
I watch Lo, and I start to see a new future. It’s there, still blurry, but it looks brighter and better. I just wonder if it still includes me.
His lips find mine again, and he kisses me as he rocks slowly, as though telling me everything is right, everything is okay. He’s here. I’m here. That’s all we need. It’s our greatest lie.
Wide space separates us, and so does the emotional sex and his drinking.
Why is it so hard for Jonathan to understand that Lo has a problem? And then it dawns on me. Maybe because Jonathan hasn’t come to terms with his own.
Something’s wrong. I see it in Jonathan’s face. He pales beyond his natural Irish hue and almost drops his whiskey.
“What is wrong with you?” Ryke shouts at Jonathan. “No, you know what? I know what’s wrong with you. You never fucking change. Go back to believing you’re a great fucking man, but I won’t let you ruin Lo’s life.”
Lo staggers back and raises a hand to pause the argument while he sorts out his thoughts. And then he looks up with furrowed brows and says, “You’re a bastard child?” Ryke cringes in hurt, and he shakes his head once, so terse and pained that a tear flows from his eye. Lo points to his own chest with a trembling hand. “I’m the bastard?” Ryke nods once.
“Fuck you,” Lo sneers. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? You’re Jonathan's son. Sara Hale is your mother, but she’s not mine, is she?”
“I’m your brother.” “You were also the thing that tore apart my parents,” Ryke says, his voice shaking. “I spent years resenting the idea of you. My mother hated you, and I loved her, so what the fuck was I supposed to believe? And then I went to college, and I gained some distance from her. I started thinking things through, and I came to peace with you. I’d leave you alone. You’d be some sort of wealthy prick that Jonathan Hale would raise. And then I saw you.”
“So you saw me,” Lo says. “Am I as pathetic as you imagined?” “No. You’re kind of an asshole, but so am I. We really must be brothers.”
Lo rubs his eyes again. He can’t stop crying. I see the hurt coursing through him like jagged tidal waves, crashing and crashing until he loses breath and focus and drowns beneath the rapids. He screams into his hand—angry, pained, pissed. He slowly drops to his knees and puts a palm on the carpet.
When I look up, I see Ryke and Rose exchanging hesitation. I understand now. They’re afraid of our closeness. We’re not good together. Not yet anyway.
“I feel like I’m dying.” “You’re not.”
“Penn sent me a letter this morning.” He pauses. “They’ve kicked me out.”
“So what are you going to do?” “I don’t know,” Lo says. “How about get healthy first?”
“Have a nice night,” Anderson says with a fake smile. He spins back to the front, waiting for us to leave. We do, and in my heart, I know that everything is about to change.
I think there’s a part in Jonathan that believes Lo will return home for money, that he’ll come back to him when he realizes the hardship of the working class. Maybe Lo will. Or maybe he’ll finally say goodbye to his father and never turn back.
In the end, it was not a boy who helped me. It was my sister.
“What do we say?” I breathe. “Goodbye?” “No.” He shakes his head. “This isn’t goodbye, Lil. I’ll see you.”
“I’ll always be yours. No distance or time apart will change that, Lily. You need to believe that.”
“I never wanted to leave you here”—his chest constricts underneath my palms—“and put you in pain, Lil. You have to know that…that this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” He licks his lips. “It’s harder than saying no to my father, than rejecting the trust fund, this, right here, kills me.”
“Wait for me.” The words come out choked and pained. “I need you to wait for me.”
He knew the only way for me to truly fight is if I have something to lose.
I open my mouth, wanting to express all of my feelings at once. I love you. I’ll wait for you! You’re my best friend and my soul mate and my lover. I’m so proud of you. Please…come back to me. His lips upturn in a hopeful smile. “I know.”
