Little by Slowly: a Story of Love and Recovery

they pass a public trash can, and they move silently down the road.

  "So, you wanted to talk about something… About us," she says, moving her hands back and forth between them, emulating his earlier gesture.

  "Yeah," he says. "I talked to Russell earlier about sponsoring you."

  "You did? I thought we were going to keep that between us for now."

  "He's my sponsor, and, like I said yesterday, the sponsorship relationship is based on honesty. I felt like I had to tell him."

  "What'd he say?"

  "He echoed all the concerns I expressed last night. And if I were just worried about the gossip, then we wouldn't have a problem. But that's not what I'm worried about. I mean, I am worried about what they think to a degree, but those concerns seem superficial and are the least of my worries. If I were able to look the Ellyns and the Russells of the meeting in the eye and say that I have no interest in you, then I could overcome those superficial concerns. But I can't do that."

  "What are you saying?"

  "I'm attracted to you, Jessi. I'm saying that I'm attracted to you," he says. "And, since you're at the most delicate stage of your recovery, I think you should be talking to someone who you're sure doesn't have an ulterior motive for helping you."

  "So, you're saying that you're helping me just so you can get under my skirt?"

  "No, that's not—"

  "No, I know, Sam. I'm a big girl. I can handle it if you're attracted to me. I'm engaged. Well, semi-engaged. And I'm strong enough to not allow your attraction to affect my progress."

  "But I don't think I'm strong enough to handle you're not being affected by my attraction."

  "Sam, come on," she says, stopping and looking at him. "I need you."

  "I know you think you need me, but you just don't know anyone else in the program. I'm sure anyone would be happy to help you."

  "But you'd still pick up the phone if I called, at least until I have a new sponsor, right?"

  "Of course."

  "Fine, then that's how we'll deal with it. You won't have to be my sponsor."

  "I get the feeling that you're not taking me seriously."

  "No, I'm taking you seriously. I understand that you think I'm pretty," she says and playfully bumps into him with her shoulder. "And you're afraid that your attraction to me might not only be a curiosity to the group, but a distraction to our sobriety, and, in particular, mine, since mine is so vulnerable," and here when she says vulnerable she tucks her chin near her shoulder and makes a face like she were caricaturing a little girl.

  "No. Well, yes, that's part of it. But if my attraction to you were simply physical, as you're intimating, then I wouldn't worry about it. But it's more than that. I like spending time with you. I was thrilled when you called me today, and even more thrilled that you wanted to meet with me."

  "But you pushed for me to come meet you."

  "See. That's what I'm talking about. Did I push to meet with you to protect you from drink? Or so I could spend time with you?"

  "Well?"

  "I don't know. I hope that it was because I wanted to help you. I believe that's why I asked you to come, but I also can't deny that I wanted to see you for my own selfish reasons. I was more than happy to throw away my work day to spend some time with you. And I can't suppress the idea that I want to be around you, like to be near you, and it makes me afraid of what else I might happily throw away to be near you, makes me wonder—if this continues—what I'd throw away once I realized… You know.

  "No, what?"

  "Once I realized that I can't have you."

  "Sam, this is—"

  "I'm sorry. I know that we—"

  "We've only just met, and—"

  "I know, Jessi. But, to be frank—"

  "Oh, now you're going to be frank?" she asks, jokingly, always trying to disengage emotionally.

  "I've been lonely," he says, looking at her, trying to keep things serious. "This has been the loneliest three months of my life, the most clear-eyed, desperate days I've ever experienced. I'm the one who's vulnerable here. I didn't know I wanted this. I wasn't looking for this. But once you came along, and I started to feel that… Well, once I started to think about you, I just—"

  "Okay. Okay, Sam." she says, and for the first time he feels that she's finally getting the point. "Now, you're making me feel bad."

  "That wasn't my intention."

  "No?"

  "I'm just trying to be honest, to let you know that I'm happy to help you, but the best way for me to help you stay sober is for me to get out of your way. Having me around could only complicate things for both of us."

  "But you've helped me today."

  "Sure I have. I've let you see me argue with my ex-girlfriend, and watch me have a fist fight with my boss. I've been showing you all the right ways to be sober."

  "Yeah, I know. But I've thought less about drinking these last couple hours than I have in a very long time. You've done your job. You've kept me busy. And who knew sobriety could be so exciting?"

  "I suppose you've caught me on a good day," he says, smiling at her, trying hard to ignore the sting on his lips. She smiles back.

  They walk down the road for awhile, not knowing where they're going, neither one saying anything at all.

  After a while, Jessi says, as if she had been running through the right words to say as they had been walking, "I don't want you to think I'm not taking you seriously. I mean, everything that you've said about how you… You know… Feel."

  "Yeah?"

  "But… And I acknowledge it's a completely selfish need. But for today, at least, I need you to stay with me."

  "I can do that. I was planning on doing that. For today, at least."

  "Good. Because I can't face the day alone. I wouldn't have lasted another hour at home alone."

  "You're alone a lot?"

  "Lately?" she asks, and without waiting for Sam to answer, she says, "Yes."

  "Where's your fiancé? I mean, your semi-fiancé?"

  "Gone. After the incident at the restaurant, he moved out. I don't even know where he's staying. He doesn't want me to know. I see him when he shows up, and I usually don't know when that'll be, or for how long."

  "Sounds like a great guy," Sam says.

  "Hey, come on. Now you sound like you have an ulterior motive," she says, playfully bumping against him again, which he felt was a passive-aggressive, or just thoughtless, flirtation.

  "No. I just meant that, objectively, he should be more supportive."

  "Oh, he's been an absolute pillar of support the past three years, but I have lied and schemed too many times. He had every right to do what he did, and if he hadn't left—and I hate to admit this, trust me—I'd probably still be drinking."

  "But now that you've been going to meetings—"

  "Two meetings. And I'm not sure the first one counts."

  "Yeah, but shouldn't you say something to him, let him know. Then maybe he could be more supportive now that you're trying to get some help."

  "Nothing burns those bridges of trust in a relationship like living with a drunk. You should know that. He knows that I was court ordered to attend meetings. He knows I've gone, but he's seen too many false starts to take me seriously. I haven't earned the right to be taken seriously, yet. It's going to take time."

  "Well, I take you seriously."

  "I know you do. That's why I need you. You haven't seen how much of a screw-up I can be."

  "This is your neighborhood?" Sam asks.

  "Yep. I'm just a couple of blocks away."

  They took the train toward Jessi's house after she started to complain of nausea. This is a common symptom of those withdrawing from drink. She wasn't comfortable just ambling around town any longer. And, so, she invited him back to her house, and now they're in a part of town Sam's never even seen.

  The area is clearly very upscale, and just being here makes Sam feel self-conscious. He's not a poor man. He does well enough. He even does well enough that he'll be
alright without his day job. He has enough independent projects, and can accept some of the freelance work that he has always rejected in the past, to keep his day-to-day life comfortable. But this neighborhood, this suburban Shangri-La of outrageous houses, is nowhere near Sam's income stream. This is the kind of neighborhood where the residents none too subtlely put their wealth on display.

  "You must've done pretty well for yourself as a financial adviser to be able to afford a house in this area. I thought you said you were terrible at it."

  "I wasn't always. I did very well for myself, and was a fairly successful adviser for my clients, too—at least for awhile. Besides, I never said I lost my own money, though I did lose a good portion of it, as everyone did after the '08 crash. I did, however, lose a lot of good people their savings by drinking away my diligence.

  "The house, though, is Michael's. He's a corporate litigator and makes a ton. He bought it before we met, and I moved in after we were engaged."

  "How long have you been engaged?"

  "Almost five years."

  Sam wants to say something here, like 'What's taking him so long?' But what can he say? He was in a serious domestic relationship for almost seven years and never even reached the engagement phase, let alone the marrying phase.

  "Had you guys set a date before the…? Before you threw your ring at him?"

  "No. Michael wanted to wait until he could take some time off. We were going to get married and take a month to spend in Europe. That was the plan anyway."

  "He's pretty busy?"

  "A corporate litigator? These days? Yeah, he's busy."

  "Yeah, I'm not sure I know what a corporate litigator does."

  "It just means he's an attorney who represents multi-national