Little by Slowly: a Story of Love and Recovery

honesty.

  It's not as if he doesn't trust Russell. His reluctance to talk about Jessi has more to do with all of the judgments that will accompany each new revelation. Russell, in general, is a very understanding man, a man of great empathy. And AA is supposed to be an organization that is light on judgment. Still, Sam has internalized all of the group's possible judgments already. He feels that he had been hasty in accepting Jessi's invitation for him to sponsor her. He can tell Russell that he, at first, discouraged it, which he did. He can say that it is only supposed to be temporary, which is half true—at least that's how he left it with Jessi last night. They were only going to tell people it was temporary, intending the lie to act as a smoke screen to hold the rebukes at bay. Still, that, even if successful, would only work for so long. And now, after a long and sleepless night of worrying over this, and even praying over it—still an act of absurdity to Sam, feeling as though he's only talking to himself—he's come to the conclusion that he and Jessi's arrangement really does have to be temporary.

  The real problem for Sam is going to be the charges of thirteenth stepping. He'll be accused—if not explicitly, then implicitly through looks and whispered asides—of trying to exploit Jessi's vulnerability as a newcomer for sexual reasons. It doesn't help his cause that she's pretty—very pretty—and young. It won't help him mount a defense when he knows he's attracted to her, and fears that there's no way that this simple fact wouldn't be transparent to anyone who sees him simply looking in her direction. In fact, he can hardly go five minutes without her coloring in all the lines of his thoughts, and he likes it, likes having her to think about, just wants to sit in front of his computer right now, stare at it like he's thinking over some complicated problem, and just think of Jessi.

  When will she call today? Will they go out after the meeting again tonight?

  He takes his hands from the keyboard. He's not going to get any work done like this. He grabs his phone and dials Russell.

  "Hello?"

  "Russell, hey, you busy?" Since Russell's self-employed, Sam can call him anytime of the day. In fact, Sam gets the general impression that Russell is so bored with his days that he welcomes the calls.

  "No, what's up?"

  "I talked to Kelly last night."

  "You called her?"

  "No, actually she beat me to it."

  "How'd it go?"

  "It was pretty rocky."

  "She'd been drinking?"

  "Yeah, she tried to talk me into going to Lucky's to meet her."

  "No."

  "She did."

  "How did you feel about that?"

  "Strange, really. I was walking to the train station when she called, and I was only about a block from Lucky's at the time."

  "Sam, you didn't?"

  "No. No, I didn't. But I won't say that the thought didn't flicker in my mind."

  "Was that all it was, a flicker?"

  "Yeah, the thought was gone as quickly as it came."

  "Well, that's natural," Russell says. "What do you think she wanted? Do you think she thought you might come and you guys could be what you were before?"

  "She was definitely making advances in that direction."

  "Sexual?"

  "Yeah. Or at least that's the impression I was getting."

  "Did you feel compelled to—?"

  "I did."

  "I wouldn't worry about that," Russell says. "Where'd you leave things?"

  "Were meeting for lunch."

  "When?"

  "Today. At Stripe's."

  "Oh, good. At least you picked a neutral location, a place with no alcohol. Not that you couldn't handle being around—"

  "I know what you're saying."

  "Well, I'll be here all day. You can call me if you get the slightest urge to do something that you know isn't good for you."

  "I will."

  "I'm not just talking about booze now."

  "I know."

  "You'll call me after?"

  "Sure."

  "No matter what?"

  "Yeah."

  "Okay," Russell says.

  "So, I'll talk to you later."

  "Wait. What happened with that girl last night?"

  Sam thought he had made it through the call without having to say anything about Jessi. He hoped he could hold off this conversation for a little while longer. One of the problems with AA, or any social group that gathers on a regular basis, is that people are naturally curious about any changes in the group, and are hungry to feed that curiosity. If they don't get facts to curb their appetite then gossip quickly fills their needs. Sam's guess is that everyone saw him leave with Jessi last night and curiosity and innuendo filled the space they left behind.

  "Oh, Jessi," Sam says, trying his best to sound indifferent. "Yeah, we went to get a cup of coffee."

  "Yeah? What's her story?"

  "Well, it's interesting. I wanted to talk to you about that," Sam says, deciding to just spill it all out.

  "What's up?"

  "She kind of asked me to be her sponsor."

  "What? That's not—"

  "Wait. Before you say anything, I told her that it was customary for a newcomer to take on a temporary sponsor, and that I would do it only if it were temporary."

  "But, Sam, you know how the program views members of the opposite sex coming together in these situations. It's fraught—"

  "I know, and I told her that. Honestly, I tried to talk her out of it. I urged her to call Ellyn, but…," he says, but stops to wonder if he did actually urge her to call Ellyn.

  "Well, I'm not going to tell you what to do here, but I see several problems that—"

  "I know."

  "Frankly, Sam, I don't even think you're ready to be anyone's sponsor. Let alone sponsor a newcomer that happens to be a woman. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're doing great, and your progress, your dedication, has been impressive, but still—"

  "I know."

  "You're single. And that will cause some people to question your intentions."

  "Yeah, but she's not. Single, I mean."

  "She's married?"

  "Engaged."

  "Well, that might help a little," Russell says. "If you decide to do this, then I would suggest making the temporary element of this sponsorship forefront in her mind."

  "I have. I will."

  "I'll cover for you as much as I can, but the group… Well, you know everyone. They talk."

  "Why do they even have to know?"

  "They don't have to know anything, but they'll find out."

  "I guess you're right."

  "I'm glad you told me about this, though."

  "Yeah, I was nervous about it. I know it's not an ideal situation."

  "I guess the main thing I'm worried about is how you'll handle all of this."

  "How do you mean?"

  "This girl. This Jessi. She's an attractive girl."

  "…"

  "Do I need to say more?"

  "I guess not."

  "Before you go too far with this you need to ask yourself if you're attracted to her. Can this relationship remain platonic, with no romanic intentions or entanglements? And, if so, are you okay with that? Or does it disappoint you? If you can be confident about the relationship's innocence then you're fine, but if you have any doubt, then don't do it. Don't replace one addiction with another. It'll jeopardize your sobriety," Russell says, and there is only silence left between them.

  Sam doesn't quite know how to respond. He knows the answers to all of these questions, and yet he can't… No. He won't answer them out loud.

  "Sam, you there?"

  "Yeah, I'm here."

  "Just something to think about," Russell says.

  "I'll do that."

  "Call me after your lunch with Kelly?"

  "I will."

  He walks into Stripe's and takes a seat at the lunch counter. He is not surprised that Kelly is late. She's not someone who's ever made it a priority to be on time. Everyone's t
ime is less important than her time. In the past, this character flaw has caused him endless irritation. Today, though, he is happy to see that she hasn't arrived. He can choose where they will sit, which gives him some control of the tenor of their conversation. She would've grabbed a booth. A booth would have forced an illusion of privacy, and could've made for a more intimate setting for their lunch. The counter keeps things more measured. You feel like your conversation, your body language is a little more on display.

  Sam orders a Coke and hears the door open behind him. He doesn't turn.

  She comes up behind him, puts her hands on the small of his back, and the tenderness of her touch reminds him of the best of her, how she could right his reckless ship with a simple touch.

  At least that's how it was for a time.

  But that time is gone.

  "It's good to see you, Sammy."

  "You too."

  "Sorry I'm late. The train… Well, the train…," She couldn't even think up a good excuse.

  "You missed your train."

  "Something like that," she says, sitting down next to him. She's chewing gum, which, if memory serves, she only did when she was trying to mask her drinking from someone. Since Sam is in the program, she's probably trying to make a good impression on him after all these months. She's probably trying to hide any trace of last night's drinking, and, possibly, even the smell of her get-out-of-bed booze, though he can still catch the slightest scent of alcohol in the air around her. She just generally smells like a drunk.

  "You look good," she says, looking at him, smiling, fishing for reciprocation.

  He knows he's supposed to return the compliment, but, frankly, she doesn't look that good. She looks like someone who just woke up from a blackout, suddenly remembered she needed to be somewhere, and barely threw herself together before she got out the door. Even on these days, though, she's still pretty. But she'd be beautiful if she could rise above her addiction.

  "I feel good," he says, not taking the bait.

  "Good, good," she says, and he can see that she's wondering why he didn't tell her that she looked good. There's a small mirror in front of them—full of the streaks and smears of a poorly done cleaning—and he watches her examine her appearance. It's not a mirror that flatters anyway, and wouldn't make anyone look particularly good. She combs her fingers through her tangled hair, trying to tame it. And self-consciousness is hanging all over her face.

  And now he feels guilty, cruel even.

  "I had a long night last night," she says.

  "Sounded like you were having a good time."

  "Yeah, you should've come."

  "I can't do that anymore, Kelly."

  "I didn't say anything about drinking."

  "So, you didn't drink last night?"

  "I didn't say that. I'm saying that I didn't say anything about you drinking."

  "No, but being with someone who's drinking at a bar where everyone else is drinking is not an ideal place for me to be right now."

  "I guess not," she says, resigning herself to this new Sam. "You're different now. You even look different."

  "Yeah, well, I'm not wearing the same clothes I passed out in last night," he says, half-laughing. She doesn't even smile. It was only then that he realizes that she's wearing the same dress she was wearing when he saw her standing outside last night.

  "So, have you found Jesus?" Kelly asks, and even he is surprised by the change in her tone, how biting her words are. It's clear that his clothes comment has hurt her.

  "No. No Jesus," he says, trying hard not to resume old contentious roles.

  "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that."

  "It's alright," he says. "Do you want to order some lunch?"

  "No, I might have some coffee, though."

  Sam calls the waitress over and orders some lunch for himself and a coffee for Kelly. They sit silently for a minute trying to come up with things to say. The waitress puts a cup of coffee in front of Kelly. She leans forward over the cup and breathes in its aroma. Sam looks over at her, watcher her tie her hair up in a ponytail in one quick, knowing motion, and, though he had always liked her hair long and laying out over her shoulders, he loves to look at that smooth, snowy slope between her neck and shoulder. Looking at her smooth skin, remembering, again, that old tenderness, his rigidity toward her begins to melt away.

  "Kelly, there are some things—"

  "Wait. Let me. I wanted to… I've missed you. That's true. And these last three months have been difficult, but I don't want you to think that I called you for some kind of romantic reconciliation. I called because I wanted to apologize."

  "I want to apologize, too."

  "Well, we can both apologize then."

  "I shouldn't have acted the way I did that night, our last night together. I could've handled things better. If I hadn't been drunk, I wouldn't have—"

  "I had an abortion."

  "What?"

  "I lied to you. I didn't miscarry. I had an abortion."

  As her words' meaning poured over him, Sam feels an anger rising, an anger he hasn't felt since… Since last time he was with Kelly.

  "I can see that you're angry, and you have every right to be upset with me, but I couldn't go on knowing that you thought—"

  "Oh, so now you've found morality?"

  "Sam. Sammy," she reaches out to his hand on the lunch counter. He pulls it away.

  "Will you quit calling me Sammy? You don't get to call me that anymore."

  "Sam, please. I'm trying to reach out. I'm trying to come clean here."

  "If you're looking for my forgiveness…," he stops himself. He catches a glimpse of himself in that dreary, smudged mirror, and it's not a pretty picture. The face he sees is a familiar one, but a face he hasn't seen in over three months. He takes a breath. "I came here to apologize to you, tell you that I was sorry that I blamed you for the miscarriage, that it was unfair of me to blame you. All this time, I was sure that you're drinking was the reason we lost the baby. All this time, I have been living with the guilt of not being able to lead by example. I have been carrying the weight of knowing that I wasn't able to stop drinking for you, for our baby's health. I was going to say that if I couldn't stop drinking, how could I have expected you to stop drinking. But now you've thrown this completely unexpected mess at me, and there's no way I can process it rationally."

  "But don't you see? There wasn't much of a choice for us. I had to do it. We were in no shape to be parents. You know that. I had no business being someone's mother. Look at us. Even now, we can hardly be civil to one another."

  Sam sits there trying hard not to say the things he wants to say—hateful things.

  "Do you think we'll ever get beyond this?" she asks.

  "I don't know. You sound like you've done a nice job of rationalizing your decision. Eventually, I'm sure I'll get beyond it, but I don't think we'll get through it together, as friends. We'll have to get through it separately, and on our own terms."

  "Sammy… Sorry," she says, catching herself, and it occurs to him how much her pet name for him was used to manipulate. "It doesn't have to be that way. We should be able to get through it together. I don't want you… I want you in my life somehow."

  "I don't think I can do that, Kelly."

  "Why? Because I still drink?"

  "No, because you killed our baby," he says, unable to bury his anger any longer.

  "Sam!" she says, looking around self-consciously. "What a thing to say, for Christ's sake. I thought you were more enlightened than that. You sound like some half-baked fundamentalist."

  "No, I don't mean… I meant that you killed what would've been our baby. Maybe, killed isn't the right word. But you ended the possibility of our child, and you never even consulted me."

  "Consulted you? It's my body."

  "Don't give me that pseudo-feminist horseshit. This wasn't some one night stand. We were together for over seven years. You owed me the courtesy—"

  "Oh, com
e on. You would have never gone for it. You were never one to make tough decisions, particular a decision as consequential as this one. I mean, we were together all that time, and you never once asked me to marry you. You never even brought it up. You were always more concerned with keeping reality at arm's length. You would've washed your hands of the whole thing, made me decide, and then blamed me anyway."

  He is stunned for a minute by what she's said about marrying her. He always thought it never came up because she had no interest in being married. But it is true that it never quite occurred to him to marry her. Maybe, she's right. Maybe, he was running away from reality, or, at least, the reality of a natural progression for a life.

  Suddenly, he feels defensive. She has a bad habit of doing that to him. "Funny how you've imagined my side of this pretend conversation we never had."

  "Sam, I know you. I know how you deal with bad stuff. You pretend it's not there."

  "But if you had talked to me, even if I had reacted the way you say I would've, at least you would know that you did the right thing by telling me."

  "I'm sorry, Sam. I really am. But do you honestly believe that we could've been parents?"

  "No. Not as we were."

  "Not as we were?"

  "Nope."

  "But I liked the way we were."

  "Yeah, it worked for awhile."

  "What do you mean?"

  "We were living like a couple of hard partying college kids for seven years, and five of those years were after graduation. No one can keep up that kind of pace."

  "But we were having fun."

  "Were we?"

  "I was. Weren't you?"

  "Honestly, I can't remember. There are years and years of haze behind me. There are only small strings of moments I remember, and they're not all good."

  "Who are you? What'd you do with my Sam?"

  "Kelly—"

  "Seriously. You're such a downer now. You used to be so full of energy, and now… Well, you're just not the same."

  "No, I'm not the same."

  "I suppose I have to accept that."

  "I suppose you do."

  After lunch, as Sam was walking back to work, he decides to call Russell. He is still angry at Kelly, but at least he feels that he finally knows the truth, and, as strange as it is, he feels somehow exonerated by the abortion. All this time he had believed that his drinking made him an accessory to the miscarriage, that he didn't do enough to be an example of sobriety for her. He had asked her to stop drinking, told her that they would stop together, that they would help keep each other away from drink. All the while, they were both sneaking around with their booze, lying to each other, sneaking around with the one thing in their relationship that they couldn't live without. It was this that made him realize that the booze would be more difficult to walk away from than her.

  "Russell, hey."

  "Hey, how'd it go?"

  "Not great."

  "What happened?"

  "Well, it started out alright, but things got tense. Still, I think we ended on a note of acceptance. There seems to be an acknowledgment that we need to move forward. I think we're slightly closer to forgiveness."

  "Closer to forgiveness?"

  "Well, she threw some new, troubling information at me that I wasn't prepared for, and I would happily tell you about it, but I'm still processing it myself."

  "And this new information, it's something that happened while you were still together."

  "Yep."

  "Something you didn't know about?"

  "Yep." Sam can feel Russell reaching for the information, but Sam has decided that he's just not prepared to talk about it, yet.

  "You're alright, though?"

  "Yeah, I'll be fine. I'm just going to go back to work, and try not to stew over it too much."

  "Well, don't stew on it