I hope it was also cathartic for him.
“Do you want to talk about why you’re so sad?” I ask.
“I don’t want to unload on you.”
“I’m here. I’m asking.”
He looks up at the sky.
“It all just hit me at once, you know?” he says. “The insanity of being here, the stress and anxiety of trying to wrangle everything, shit happening at home, at work, our fight. Hurting you.”
His voice breaks on those last words, and something inside me releases. It’s not anger—I let that go earlier. It’s something deeper, something tender that was more bruised than I’ve been acknowledging to myself.
“It’s okay,” I say. “We can talk about it more later, when you’re feeling better, if you want.”
“I just feel like I’m falling apart,” he says. “And it’s so important to me not to be that person anymore. But it’s been building and building and then tonight, I don’t know, I almost cracked. I really wanted to drink. And I didn’t, but it puts the fear of God into me, how tenuous this all is. My stability, my sobriety—this whole rickety life I’ve built.”
I guiltily recall the martini I had at dinner—how he ran off right after I ordered it.
“Oh, God,” I say. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be drinking in front of you. It’s so insensitive. I wasn’t thinking—”
“No,” he says forcefully. “It’s not your fault, it’s not about that. I just let myself get overwhelmed, and I know better. I’m good at home, I’m good alone, I’m good in my routine. I shouldn’t have come on this trip. I knew better.”
He looks like he hates himself.
I can’t bear to see it.
“Felix,” I say. “I’m so glad you came on this trip. Because if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met you. And no matter what happened between us, meeting you was one of the nicest things that’s happened to me in a long time.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I know. I’m choosing to. Because it’s true. I needed to get out of my head, to have an adventure, to feel awake again—and you did that for me. Okay? And yes, things went south, and yes, that sucked, but I don’t regret it. And you know what? You might get caught up in fear or temptation, you might break down, you might struggle. I don’t know much about recovery and won’t presume to tell you everything is fine if it’s not. But I do know this: you got through it. Everything is wildly out of control, but you’re here, breathing, sober, with a cup of tea. You got through it.”
I look into his eyes as I say this, and he doesn’t break the gaze.
“Thank you,” he says. “For being so kind to me even after, well. You’re a nice person.”
“Is there anything that would make you feel better?” I ask. “Get your mind off things?”
“Well, I’m going to find an AA meeting tomorrow. Call my sponsor.”
“That’s great. Anything else? Like maybe something food related that would be a fun distraction?”
“Actually, you know what?” he says. “I really did want to take you to swim with those pigs.”
I laugh, hard. “Um, okay. I admit I was excited about that, but are you sure that’s whatyouneed.”
“I want to do something that makes you happy. Before we leave. Will you go with me? Tomorrow?”
“Sure,” I say.
I think it might be a nice, unloaded way for us to part as friends.
“Done,” he says. “I’ll set it up in the morning.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say.
He pulls away from me. “I’m going to shower now. I might have been smoking.”
