We move slowly, and I lower myself carefully onto the edge of the bed while Ivan rummages through the mini fridge. He finds a bottle of water and a package of stale crackers and brings them over.
"Small sips," he says, handing me the water. "And a couple of tiny bites. Don't rush it. Your stomach needs time to adjust."
I take a sip of water and immediately want to gag. But I force myself to swallow because Ivan is watching me with those worried eyes. He sits down beside me on the bed.
"We need to talk about what happens next," he says quietly. "About where we go from here. I know that's the last thing you want to be doing right now, but we're running out of time. We need to talk."
"I know." He's right. I can barely hold my head up because I'm hungover, but the least he deserves is me making an effort to talk.
"I'm not saying this to make you feel worse than you already do. I'm saying it because I love you and I can't just watch you destroy yourself piece by piece." He turns to face me fully, his eyes searching mine. "Youneed help, Jay. Real help. Professional help. More than I can give you, no matter how much I want to fix this. I can't love-bomb this away."
"You're right." My hands are shaking, so I set the water bottle down. "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep white-knuckling it and hoping I'll be strong enough next time. Because I won't be. Last night proved that I'll never be strong enough on my own."
"What do we do? How do we fix this?"
He's still saying 'we', which means he hasn't given up on me yet. I don't know why.
I think about Mick's card, still tucked in my wallet after all these weeks. The AA meeting at the community center on Fifth Street. Every night at seven o'clock, he'd said. Every single night. A lifeline I've been ignoring and convincing myself I didn't need.
"There's a meeting," I say slowly, the words coming with difficulty. "AA. At the community center on Fifth Street. The one Mick told me about weeks ago. I still have the card he gave me."
"Do you know when they meet? What the schedule is?"
"Every night at seven. But I don't know if that includes Sundays. I don't know if they meet every single day." I reach for my jeans, which are crumpled on the floor where I left them, and dig out my wallet with trembling fingers. The card is worn and creased, soft from being carried, but the number is still legible. "I can call and find out. I can ask."
"Do it now," Ivan says firmly. "While you're thinking about it. Before you have a chance to talk yourself out of it or convince yourself you don't need it."
My hands are shaking badly as I dial the number, and it takes me two tries to get it right. It rings three times before someone picks up.
"This is Denise."
"Hi, I'm... I'm calling about the AA meetings. I was wondering if there's one today. If you meet on Sundays."
"We have an open meeting every Sunday at two o'clock in the afternoon," Denise says, like she's had this exact conversation a thousand times and will have it a thousand more. "Are you looking to attend? Is this your first time?"
"Yes ma'am. I think I need to. I think I really need to."
"That's a very brave first step, honey. The bravest one you'll ever take. The meeting is in the community room on the second floor. Just come in through the main entrance and follow the signs. Find a seat anywhere you like. You don't have to say anything if you're not ready. You don't have to introduce yourself. Just being there is enough."
"Thank you." I hesitate, another question forming. "Can I bring someone? For support? Or is it just for people who are, you know, trying to get sober?"
"It's an open meeting, so yes, you can absolutely bring a friend or family member. They're welcome to sit with you, listen, be there for support. That's what open meetings are for."
"Okay. Thank you. I'll be there."
"We'll be glad to see you, honey."
I hang up and look at Ivan, my heart pounding. "Two o'clock. It's an open meeting, so you can come if you want. If you think you can handle it."
"Do you want me to come?" he asks. "Or would you rather go alone?"
"I'm terrified to go alone," I confess. "But I'm also terrified to have you see me like that. Sitting in a circle with other drunks, admitting I'm an alcoholic. Admitting I can't control this."
"You don't have to decide right now. Take your time. I'm willing to go or not."
"I need you there." The words come out before I can second-guess them, before I can convince myself I should be stronger. "I need you to see it. I need you to know what I'm committing to, what this is going to look like. And I need to know you're not going to run when you see how broken I really am. When you see the full extent of it."
"I'm not going to run," Ivan assures me. "I already saw you at your worst last night. I found you passed out on a bathroom floor covered in pills. I thought you were dead and I was so terrified. I held you while you vomited. After all that, an AA meeting sure as hell isn't going to scare me off."
