“Why? Lots of siblings?”
“He’s an only child, but his dad’s a big shot lawyer in Chicago who worked long hours. His mom had a prescription drug problem, still does, so his nanny did most of the heavy lifting.”
I look up at the ceiling. An almost imperceptible crack runs along one side. My dad broke his back working long hours too, but it was out of necessity. He was away a lot, doing overtime at the factory where he worked. He was the opposite of a deadbeat dad—so much so that I rarely saw him. So, I was the man of the house. That’s what my parents told me, at least. I didn’t take that responsibility lightly, but no matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t man enough. I couldn’t keep my mom from spiraling downward, even though I rarely left her side. “Maybe Rich and I aren’t so different,” I say.
“You feel different.” She curls back into me. Her lashes brush my chest when she looks up. “You never talk about your parents. All I know is you’re an only child.”
“My pops passed a few years ago. My mom has . . .” Halston shifts against me, and I wrap my arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. “She’s got something like Alzheimer’s. Brain damage from drinking so much. She stopped drinking when my dad died, but it was too late. She’s in a home now.”
“I’m sorry.” Halston’s gray eyes get cloudy, but not the way they were when we met. I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss it, accepting her sympathy. “Was she an alcoholic when you were younger?” she asks.
“Yeah. I didn’t understand that back then, and we didn’t call it that. But she was. She functioned all right. She’d get up, send me off to school with lunch, promise me it would be a good day, and sometimes it was.”
“And the bad days?” Halston asks.
“At school, I’d think of things we could do when I got home, like garden or sit at the dog park or rent a movie. On grocery days, I made up games to get all the items on the list.”
She grins. “Sounds like fun.”
“I guess I thought if I kept her busy enough, if I gave her a reason to be happy, she wouldn’t drink. I didn’t understand alcohol, but I knew when she went to this specific cupboard in the house, she’d turn into a different person. Once, we were in the middle of planting flowers in the front yard, and I was telling her about my day, and she just got up in the middle of it to pour herself a drink. You don’t forget that feeling.” My throat thickens. Am I blind to trust Halston to stick around when others haven’t? “Every day I tried to get her to choose me over that cupboard, but she chose the alcohol more often than not.”
My watch on the nightstand ticks, the only noise for a while.
“It wasn’t you,” Halston says gently. “She had an addiction.”
“I know.”
“I choose you every day.”
I look down at her. “What do you mean?”
“I’m like her,” she says. “I get like that, where I need something or I don’t feel right.”
“You’re not like her,” I say. “Are you talking about the coffee?”
She frowns. “You knew?”
“Knew what?”
“I tried stopping antidepressants about a year and half ago. I was doing well with Rich, and it’d been eight years since my mom’s death, so I wanted to see how it’d go. Doctor Lumby lowered my dosage, and I was fine for a few days, but then I started to get antsy.”
“Did Rich know?”
“I sat down with him and my dad and told them my decision. They weren’t thrilled, but they said they’d help.” She rolls onto her back, away from me. “Anyway, one night I was on my own and had a big meeting the next day, one of the most important of my career. I was anxious, so I had a glass of wine. Then another. I felt calmer and I pulled off the presentation so I celebrated.”
“With wine?” I guess.
She nods. “Nobody noticed how much I was drinking until I made a scene at a client dinner and got us kicked out of the restaurant. Of course, my dad and Rich were horrified and made me go back to my psychiatrist to tell him I needed the meds. And truthfully, I agreed. I’d never acted like that. Except once, when my recklessness—” She squints at the ceiling. “I would’ve started treatment again whether the three of them had made me or not.”
My heart begins to race. Coffee, I can handle. Antidepressants too. But alcohol? I don’t know. I’ve been down that path once and have no interest in ever returning. When Halston showed up drunk at my place that night, I figured it was a one-time thing. “Do you still drink?”
“Occasionally, but not like that. We upped my dosage, but for whatever reason, mypatterns, as Rich calls them, stuck.”
“Patterns?”
“I weaned myself off wine with cigarettes, which is when I lost weight. But I hated the stink of smoke, so I started running and when I got bored with that, I went shopping. A lot. I had this incredible new body to show off, after all. My dad put an end to that when he saw my credit card bills, so I moved on to coffee.”
“That explains why the first few times I saw you, you were never without your cup.”
