There’s a long pause, so long I almost wonder if the call dropped, but I can still hear the other voices wherever he is.
“I’m at a meeting,” he says finally, and his voice is flat now. “Listen, kiddo, I need to be honest with you. I drank last night.”
I grip my phone tighter, my whole body stiffening.
“I drank last night, and when I went to start the car this morning, well ...the Breathalyzer got me. And I realized I fucked up. I called my sponsor, and he brought me to a meeting. I’m sorry, Sidney.” His voice cracks. “I can’t pick you up today, because I need to be at a meeting.”
“Oh.” My voice is tiny, a pebble dropping into a lake.
“I know this is me letting you down for the millionth time, and I’m sorry about that. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. The reason I’m still here. I love you, kiddo, and I’m going to keep working the program, and I’m going to make it up to you.”
I feel like I can’t breathe, but I need to say it back, need to say it so I know that I did. “I love you too, Dad.”
“How about we hike again in a couple weeks? Once I’ve been back on track for a while.”
“Yeah, totally.”
“Great. Be good, kiddo.”
We say goodbye and hang up. I sit there, phone in hand. Brekky appears at my side, headbutting me, and I pet him, but I can barely feel his fur.
Dad was supposed to pick me up, he knew he was going to, and he still drank. He relapsed.
I curl up on my bed and stare at the wall, replaying the call. Brekky nestles against my back purring, the sound eventually shifting to quiet breathing as he sleeps.
You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. The reason I’m still here.
What does that mean? Did Dad think about ...I don’t even want to think the word. Thinking it feels like invoking it, like it will happen if I acknowledge that itcould.I’ve even wondered before if he might, and—no. Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
I imagine Brekky batting the thoughts away, like they’re toy mice, skittering across the floor and out of my head.
I thought the set of three worked this time, but I was worried about the wrong thing. If I’d thought of Dad relapsing, I would have checked on him earlier, and maybe if he’d heard my voice, he wouldn’t have gotten drunk.
My chest hurts, and I press my hand just below my collarbone, like I can hold myself together. I need to talk to someone. I can’t tell Mom, because if she knows Dad relapsed, she’ll probably freak out. If I tell Shar, she’ll tellMom. If I tell my friends, I’ll just be even more of a burden than I already am.
I pick my phone up, and open my thread with Forrest, and calm settles over me. Talking to him will make me feel better. It always does.
Hey,I say.
He replies within a minute.Hey yourself.
I smile weakly at the phone.How’s your Sunday?
It’s good, pretty chill. Yours?
Not great.
What’s going on?
My dad relapsed.
Oh, shit. Wow, Sidney. I’m so, so sorry.
Tears sting my eyes, sliding down my cheeks, and I hug the phone to my chest. It buzzes again, and I look at the screen.
