"We need to make a plan," I say, breaking the silence. "A real plan. Not just 'try harder' or 'be stronger' or 'hope for the best.' An actual plan with concrete steps I can work on."
"I agree completely," Ivan says, leaning forward. "Let's figure it out. What does this look like?"
I take a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. "Step one: I keep going to meetings. Every day if I can, at least for the first few weeks while I'm getting my footing. I get a sponsor like they suggested. I work the program, whatever that means. I commit to this fully."
"That's good. What else?"
"Step two: I have to stay here. In Macon, I mean. At least for now." I see the disappointment flash in his eyes, and I hold up my hand quickly. "I know you want me to come to Atlanta. I know that's what we talked about. I want that too. But if I can't make it three weeks without you here in a city I know, how am I supposed to make it in a completely newplace? I have to prove to myself that I can do this first. That I can stay sober on my own, in my own environment."
Ivan is quiet, and I can see him wrestling with it. Finally, he nods slowly. "You're right. I don't like it. I hate the idea of you being here alone, but you're right. You need to build a foundation first."
"But that doesn't mean we don't work toward it," I continue quickly, needing him to understand this isn't rejection. "Step three: at some point you get your own apartment. Close to Rosalyn and the kids. You start building the life we're going to have together. We start making it real."
"That was already the plan," Ivan says.
"Now there's a concrete timeline. It's not just your apartment for someday. It's our apartment for when I'm better. When I've done the work I need to do."
Ivan's eyes brighten slightly at that, hope creeping in. "I like the sound of that."
"Step four," I say, and this is the part I've been thinking about since the meeting, since listening to people talk about making amends. "I start pulling my weight in this relationship. I need to man the fuck up. I've been letting you do all the work. You drive hours to see me without complaint. You paid fifteen hundred dollars for my lawyer. You show up every single time I fall apart. And what do I do in return? I wash dishes at Betty's and feel sorry for myself when I'm alone."
"Jay, that's not fair to yourself—"
"Let me finish. Please." I lean forward, needing him to hear this. "From now on, I'll come to you too. You told me you love me and I need to earn that love. When the weather's good, when it's safe, I can make that drive on my motorcycle. We take turns. We meet in the middle sometimes for a picnic or lunch. Whatever it takes to make this feel equal."
"I'd like that," Ivan says softly, his eyes bright with emotion. "I'd really like you to come to me sometimes. To see where I live, meet the kids, be part of my life there."
"And there's something else." I reach out and take his hands, holding them between mine. "Your truck. It's got what, one hundred and fifty thousand miles on it? Maybe more?"
"Something like that. I've lost track honestly."
"I can take good care of it for you. Oil changes, tune-ups, brake jobs, transmission work—whatever it needs. I'm good at that stuff. It's something I can give you that doesn't cost money I don't have." I squeeze his hands. "I need to feel useful, Ivan. I need to feel like I'm contributing something real to this relationship. Like I'm not just a burden you're carrying out of guilt or obligation."
"You've never been a burden."
"I know you don't see it that way. But I need to feel it differently. I need to know I'm bringing something to this relationship besides my problems and my damage."
Ivan is quiet, looking at our joined hands for a long moment. When he looks up, his eyes are wet with unshed tears.
"You know what you bring to this relationship?" he says. "You bring you. The person who makes me feel like I'm home no matter where we are in the world." He lifts our joined hands and kisses my knuckles tenderly. "But if taking care of my truck makes you feel better, if it helps you feel equal in this—then yes. I would absolutely love that."
"Yeah?" Hope flickers in my chest.
"Sure. That truck is a complete piece of crap and I have absolutely no idea how to fix it. You'd be doing me a massive favor."
I laugh, and it surprises me that I can still laugh after last night. "It's a deal, then."
"What about step five?" Ivan asks. "What comes after all that? What's the end goal?"
"Step five is the long game." I take a breath, trying to steady myself. "I stay sober one day at a time. I work my program consistently. I save money from both jobs. I prove to myself and to you and to Rosalyn that I can be trusted with my own life. And when I'm ready—really ready, not just running away from my problems—I move to Atlanta. I get a real job at a motorcycle shop. And we start our life together."
"How long do you think that will take?"
"I have no fucking idea. Six months? A year? Longer? I guess however long it takes for me to know I can stand on my own two feet without falling over." I meet his eyes directly. "Can you wait that long? Can you handle a year of this long-distance thing?"
"I would wait forever for you," he says. "But I don't think it's going to take forever. I think you're stronger than you know. I think you're going to surprise yourself with how capable you are."
"I hope you're right."
