"Exactly." He squeezes my hand again, then goes back to his phone. "The meeting is at eight. I'll probably be home around nine-thirty, maybe ten."
That night, he goes to his first local AA meeting here while I stay home. The apartment feels too quiet without him. I keep finding myself pausing, listening for the sound of his motorcycle, checking my phone for the time.
When he comes home, his eyes are bright and he's carrying a piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it in messy handwriting.
"How was it?" I ask immediately, setting down the stack of plates I've been trying to find a home for in the limited cabinet space.
"Good. Really good, actually." He drops onto the floor beside me—we still don't have a couch, won't for another week—and leans his head against my shoulder. "Different from the meetings in Macon, but good different. Bigger group, maybe twenty people. More variety."
"And?" I prompt when he doesn't continue.
"I met someone. He's been sober for eleven years," Jay continues. "Can you imagine? He came up to me after the meeting, introduced himself, asked if I was new to the area. I told him I just moved from Macon, and he asked if I had a sponsor yet. Just straight up asked."
"What did you say?"
"I said no, and he said he'd be happy to work with me if I wanted. No pressure, just putting it out there. Told me to think about it." Jay looks down at the paper in his hand. "But I didn't need to think about it. Something about him just felt right. Solid, you know? So, I said yes right there."
"That's amazing, Jay. I'm so glad. What's he like?"
"Older, maybe fifty? Hard to tell exactly. Works as a carpenter, builds custom furniture. He's got this calm energy about him, like nothing could shake him. You know how some people just feel solid? Steady? Like a tree with deep roots?"
"I like him already."
"Me too. I really do." Jay turns his head and kisses my shoulder. "After the meeting, we talked for almost an hour. Just the two of us, sitting in his truck in the parking lot. He asked me about my story. And I told him everything, Ivan. The foster homes, Henderson and what he did to us, the drinking, the pills, the night you found me on the bathroom floor. All of it. Every terrible detail."
"How did he react?"
"He didn't flinch. Not once. He just nodded and listened. And when I was done, when I'd spilled my guts completely, he looked at me and said, 'Sounds like you've been through hell, son. Let's make sure you don't go back there.'"
I wrap my arm around him and pull him closer, pressing my lips to the top of his head. "I'm really glad you found him."
"He gave me his number and told me to call him tomorrow. Said we'll set up a time to meet for coffee. He said the first step is admitting you're powerless over alcohol, which I already know in my head. But he said there's a difference between knowing it up here—" Jay taps his temple "—and knowing it here." He presses his hand over his heart. "He said that's what the steps are for. Getting the knowledge out of your head and into your bones."
"That makes a lot of sense."
"Yeah. It does." Jay exhales slowly, heavily. "It feels different here. Good different. Like maybe I can actually do this. Like maybe I can actually stay sober for real this time, not just white-knuckling it."
"You can. I know you can."
"I'm starting to believe it. Not all the time, but sometimes. That's more than I had before."
We stay on the floor for a while longer, talking about the meeting, about his plans for the week. Eventually we get up and finish unpacking a few more boxes before heading to bed, both of us tired but content.
Monday morning comes early. Jay is up before me again, and I wake to the sound of him getting ready.
"Where are you going?" I mumble into the pillow, squinting at him in the early morning light.
"Iron Horse Vintage," he says, pulling on his boots. "That shop I told you about, the one that specializes in old bikes. I'm going to walk in and ask if they're still hiring. Face to face."
"You're just going to show up? No appointment, no phone call first?"
"Mick always said the best mechanics don't wait for opportunities to come to them. They create opportunities. They show up." He grabs his leather jacket and leans down to kiss me. "Wish me luck."
"You don't need luck. You're the most talented mechanic I've ever met."
"You're biased because you sleep with me."
"Doesn't make it less true. You're incredible at what you do."
