Playing, p.18
Playing, page 18
Walker shoots me a hopeful look as he pushes himself out of his chair. He moves into the kitchen.
His parents' attention turns to me.
His mom takes a long sip from her water glass. She looks at it wistfully, like she wishes it was wine. "How did you two meet?"
Uh… I can't exactly say I brought him back to my place to nail him. "A friend's party."
"I'm always telling my younger coworkers that socializing is the best way to meet someone. I know all the kids are on Tinder and OkCupid these days, but it's not the same as an actual conversation." She takes another sip.
"It's not. I, uh…" Thought he was hot and likely good in bed. "Your son is incredibly charming."
"He takes after his mother." His father nods.
She beams.
It must be true. His dad seems more behind the scenes. His mom is quiet, but there's something magnetic about her eyes. The same eyes as Walker. And as his sister.
"What do you do, sweetheart?" she asks.
"I'm a PhD candidate." I fold my hands in my lap. "In psychology."
"Oh." She turns to the door, right as Walker enters with a set of plates. "You didn't tell me you were dating a smart woman."
"You didn't ask. You only asked if she was pretty." He sets plates in front of each of us, moves back into the kitchen, returns with silverware.
"She is." She looks to me. "He gushed about how gorgeous you are."
My cheeks flush. "Thank you."
Walker's eyes meet his mother's. "Bree isn't here?"
"She's at a meeting." There's a tone to her voice. An I don't want to hear your opinion about that. She turns to me. "I hate to talk shop at dinner, but, sweetheart, what are your thoughts about the twelve-step program?"
She's asking because of the PhD thing.
Not because she knows I've been through rehab. Because I go to meetings. Because I have a tenuous relationship with said meetings.
She has no idea I'm on shaky ground.
That I've ever been on shaky ground.
I muster all the confidence I have. I need to do this for him. I need to help him convince his parents. "It's hard to find accurate statistics, but most suggest that rehab in combination with a twelve-step program works best. Addiction is always difficult. Most people try to quite a few times before it sticks. But having a support network helps."
Walker moves into the room with two trays of food. One of chicken curry. One of rice.
His mom smiles. "Walker mentioned you love Indian food. We're excited to have him over. And to meet you. Walker has never introduced us to anyone. We thought, maybe…"
"Jen." His dad rubs her hand. "Go easy on the poor girl. Were you thinking about marriage in grad school?"
She nods true.
Walker sets the trays down, returns to the kitchen for more.
I try to pick up where I left off. "It's important having people who support you. Friends. Family. And other people who understand what you're going through."
His parents nod along, hanging on every word.
"Will she be back tonight?" I ask.
His mom stares at her glass. "She goes out for coffee after meetings sometimes. She knows to text when she's finished at eight."
They seem like they keep her on a short leash.
So how did she end up at Walker's place high last night?
"Does Sabrina work? That can help, having purpose, feeling like you're part of the world." It's what made the difference for me.
Her mom nods. "Yes, she works at a boutique at the Grove. She loves it there."
She must get into trouble after work. Or before. Or when she says she's working but really goes out with old friends.
It's easy to give into temptation.
It's possible last night really was one little slip. It's possible she is doing well.
"You should ask her manager for her schedule." Walker places a glass of water in front of me then takes his seat. He motions to the food let's eat.
"We're trying to treat her like an adult," his mom says.
He fights a frown. "You got my message?"
"Of course. But…" His mom picks up the serving spoon and scoops basmati rice onto her plate. "We're not throwing Bree back in rehab because of one slip."
He presses his lips together.
"I understand you don't approve of the way we handle things, but we're trying to give Bree her space. She has to come to this conclusion on her own." She sets the spoon back then scoops chicken tikka masala onto her plate.
"That is true." I take the serving spoon, focus on filling my plate.
Walker leans back in his chair. Presses his palms into his thighs. He waits until I'm done serving myself then grabs the spoon, fills his plate.
He stabs a piece of chicken with his fork. "You're right." He makes eye contact with his mom. "We need to treat Bree like an adult. She says this is one slip up, fine. But if she does it again, you need to give her an ultimatum—she gets clean or she's out of the house."
"Sweetie, we have done that." His mother cuts a tiny piece of chicken, brings it to her mouth, chews, swallows.
"No, you've threatened. But you always bail her out. You need to stop. To pull away her safety net." His voice wavers for a second then it's back to confident. "It sucks. I get that. I don't want Bree to die either. But you're not helping her like this. That money is just going to more needles in her arm. She needs to know you mean it, that she can't live here in exchange for a rehab stint a year."
"Walker, sweetie. You don't understand how hard it is for her. She's trying. She goes to meetings every week, sometimes twice a week. She goes to therapy. She wants to get better." His mom takes another tiny bite.
I mix my chicken with rice, scoop a bite. It's amazing, rich, tender, fresh. The tomato sauce is creamy and tangy in equal measures. But it still doesn't taste good.
I can feel every bit of Walker's hurt. His frustration. Like it's mine.
Is this how relationships are supposed to go?
It was never like this with Ross. Not even close.
Walker's voice is low. Hurt. "I know she's trying."
"You do?" I sound more surprised than I mean to.
"Yeah." He runs his hand through his hair. "Part of her wants to get better. But that's not enough. It's not working. I need you guys on my side. I'll be the bad cop. But I still need you to back me up."
His mom turns to his dad. They share a knowing look.
She turns back to him. "And what if she says no and she leaves? Where are we then?"
"Where are we now?" he asks.
"She's with us. She's safe," his mom says.
"Not from herself." His hand curls into a fist.
I reach for him. Place my palm on his wrist.
His fist unfurls. He looks to me like I'm his lifeline, the only person who understands him.
"She checked out of rehab early. How long do you really think it will be until she's using everyday again?" he asks.
His mom frowns.
Hurt seeps into his voice. "This is it for me. I can't keep rescuing Bree. If she doesn't get clean this time, I'm walking."
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. That's the right decision. The mature, healthy decision.
But it's not easy.
I squeeze his hand.
He squeezes back.
"She's your sister," his mom says.
"I know." He stares at his plate. Mixes chicken and rice. "But I'd rather be an asshole than an enabler."
His mom looks to me like I have all the answers. "What do you think, Iris?"
Okay, this is it. I need to nail it.
"I don't know Sabrina, but Walker filled me in on her history." Under the table, I squeeze harder. "There isn't one answer with addiction, but whatever you've been doing hasn't been working. You need to draw that line. You need to make sure she knows that staying high isn't an option. That it means she's out of the house and out of your lives."
His mom swallows hard. "And if she chooses staying high?"
"She has to hit rock bottom on her own." And we have to hope that's enough.
His mom looks to Walker. "You're sure about this?"
"Yeah. I already called the center. They have a spot for her next month," he says.
She looks to her husband.
He nods.
"We need to think about this, sweetie." Mrs. Williams presses her lips together. "I know that isn't what you want to hear. I know you want all or nothing. But if Bree is destined to use forever, I'd rather she do it here than somewhere else."
Walker's lips turn downward. He stabs a piece of chicken. Stares at his food like it's poisonous. "I'm not gonna wait forever."
She nods. "I know."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Iris
"You're my good luck charm." Walker brushes a stray hair behind my ear. He stares into my eyes like I'm the source of all the beauty and wonder in the universe.
It's right there on his cell phone. A text from his mom.
You're right. We need to push her. Let's set something up in a few weeks.
His parents are going to throw down an ultimatum.
They're going to push his sister into rehab.
It's fucking weird they're telling him in a text.
But it's good.
My shoulders relax. My chest warms. It's like it's my sister who's finally getting help.
His relief is my relief.
I want this for him so badly. "You would have gotten through that without me."
"Maybe. But I wouldn't take that bet." He plants a soft, sweet kiss on my lips. "Pretty sure that was eighty percent you convincing them."
"It's the PhD thing."
He nods. "Yeah. It would annoy me that they think I'm an idiot because I'm not in school, but I'm too happy to care."
Light bounces off our sleek white table. We're at a trendy ice cream place in Beverly Hills for dessert and… well, I guess it's a celebration now.
My coffee ice cream with chocolate chips on top is rich, creamy perfection.
And he's here. And this is going to be okay.
And we…
Well, if he really does mean the past is the past, then we'll be okay too.
Does he mean that?
I'm trying to believe it.
I want to believe it.
"What about last night?" I suck ice cream off my plastic spoon. "When I stumbled into your place to find your sister high on your couch?"
"She'd have been there either way."
Probably true. "She always goes to you?"
"Yeah." He licks chocolate chip ice cream from his spoon.
"And you're the only person who really lays down the law?"
"As far as I know."
"She wants you to help. Deep down."
"Incredibly deep." He sets his spoon down, slides his arms around me, and pulls me onto his lap.
There's all this trust in his eyes. I want all of it. I want to deserve all of it.
"I feel greedy as fuck."
"Are you about to steal my ice cream?"
He shakes his head. "Taking all your help. Monopolizing the conversation."
"I'm glad to help. And listen."
"Still." He stares up at me. "You're thinking something."
"Always."
"What?"
Something I'm not ready to say. I reach for something else. "About those summer internships."
Walker brushes my hair behind my ear. "Which way are you leaning?"
"I don't know. Do you want me to stay?"
"I want you to live in my bed."
"I'll get chaffed."
"It will be worth it."
My smile spreads over my cheeks. God, he does something to me. Makes me feel like the world is going to be okay. "I can stay."
"You don't have to."
"I know." I want to. "I have time to decide."
He nods. "You're still thinking something?"
"This is good. I'm happy for you. Really."
"Me too." He plants a soft kiss on my lips. "But there's something else."
"Maybe."
"Your sister?"
"Always." It's always the same. But I'm starting to think it's salvageable.
"Anything I can do?"
"No." I take another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. It tastes sweeter. I'm starting to believe him. "I think I'm going to call her."
"Yeah?"
"Apologize for everything. Ask to see her. To buy her coffee. She works in Santa Monica. I could do it anytime. I just…"
"Scared she'll say no?"
"Basically." I sink into his body, resting my head against his.
"You want me to hold your hand?"
"No. That won't help. My ex… Ross. He was a friend of hers. She wasn't happy about that."
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"You stole her boyfriend."
"No. Maybe. She had a boyfriend at the time." Maybe Lily did have a thing for Ross. She made him sound so great when she described him. I thought it was because she wanted to set us up. But she might have wanted him for herself. "It was more than that. I leaned on her more than she could handle."
He pulls me closer. "Tell me about it."
"Don't you want to celebrate?"
"I want to hear this."
Okay. I want to tell him. But I'm not about to bring down the mood with my ugly past. Not if it doesn't matter to him.
I run my fingers over his neck. "It's a long story."
"I've got all night."
I motion to the door. "This place closes in an hour."
"Damn. I forgot that this ice cream shop is the only place in the world where we can have a conversation. Fuck. We better hurry up."
"Asshole."
"You can come over."
Maybe. I want to. But—"I have an early class."
"We can go to your place. Sleep."
"Can we?"
He laughs. "Fair enough." He turns me so we're face-to-face. "You don't have to say shit. I meant it, Iris. The past is the past. But I want to be someone you can lean on. If you want to talk—"
"I do. I just… I haven't really talked about this with anyone."
His eyes stay soft. Understanding.
"Lily was always the pretty, athletic one. She still is. She's in a volleyball league. She's good. I was more—"
"The Star Wars geek?"
"Yeah. I looked up to her. I thought she was the coolest person in the world. She was smart too, but she didn't apply herself. If she wasn't into a subject, she'd half ass it, whereas I'd study even harder, bring home straight As."
"You seem like the type."
"I always got the grades. I did well in college. But then I graduated and I hit a wall. I was lucky. I got a job pretty fast. I was excited about the future. Then… then I got my GRE scores back. They were terrible. I'd bombed. It was the first time I really failed at something."
"That must have sucked."
"Yeah. But I wasn't ready to face the possibility of failure. I couldn't stand how badly I wanted to go to grad school. It hurt. So I told myself I didn't want it. I told myself I didn't need the GRE. I tried to convince myself that my boring administrative job was what I wanted."
"Did it work?"
"Not really. I was miserable. I didn't use my brain at work. I felt so dull and listless. For a while, I tried to fill the gaps with other stuff. Work out plans. Reading three books a week. Drinking too much. Perfecting my winged eyeliner."
"That's why I can't stop staring into your eyes?"
"Of course." I press my palm against his chest. His shirt is stiff, but I can feel the heat of him underneath it. "I was sure I was stuck. That nothing would ever change."
He brushes my hair behind my ear.
"And I felt bad for feeling bad. I had a job even though I had a psych degree. I made enough to afford my own apartment. To get takeout for dinner and buy a membership at the nice gym. I was lucky."
"Most people need more than an apartment to be happy."
"Yeah. I know. I knew. I knew how complicated people were, how much a fulfilling job affects your satisfaction with your life."
"Does school fulfill you?"
"Yeah. I love it. I think, deep down, I knew I wouldn't be happy unless I was pursuing grad school. But I was too scared to face it. It was easier to close myself off to that possibility. But it made me desperate for any sort of approval or excitement. That was when I started seeing Ross. He was a good guy in certain ways. But not others."
"He hurt you?"
"No." Not the way he means. "He always convinced me to do stupid things." Like swallow a handful of prescription pain killers to numb my feelings. "Drink too much. Then get in a car with him even though he'd had a few. Go to a stranger's place. Skip a condom. I was stupid. But I… I am clean, if you were wondering. I got tested a few months ago. We hadn't for a while."
He nods. "I am too."
"Yeah. We, um, I'm on the shot. So, we could not use a condom sometime."
"Fuck, Iris, I'm trying to concentrate here."
"Oh. You want to?"
His nod is heavy.
"I, uh… I should get back to the topic."
"Right away."
God, he looks cute all needy and horny. And sex makes sense. Sex doesn't poke or prod at my secrets. Sex doesn't beg me to spill my guts.
We should go back to my place. Fuck like rabbits. Use our mouths for something much better than conversation.
But he's still staring into my eyes with all the trust in the world.
Like I'm his salvation.
Is it possible he meant it?
That the past really is the past?
That he won't leave when he knows the truth?
Please, please, please let it be possible.
Walker runs his fingertips along my chin.
I force myself to keep talking. "But Ross, he didn't make me happy. So I turned to Lily." Then to drugs. And when that didn't fulfill me, I'd blame her too. "I'd get mad at her. Blame her for my dissatisfaction. I got her fired once."
"Fuck, really?"
"Yeah. I kept calling and showing up at her office. She wouldn't pay attention to me. And I needed… I guess I needed to face reality. But I thought that if only she'd talk to me, she could fix it. She used to fix everything. When we were kids."
"I get that. And the dissatisfaction."
