It was the one thing I could be without replacement or fail. It didn’t matter what I decided to do. I was always going to be her son.
And I miss hearing her say that.
I never thought I would be a son again. Ever. The son got buried the day Mom died. But now, he expects me to unbury him. This grief is different from what I’ve been working through, and suddenly, I’m mad all over again.
I worked so hard not to be angry anymore, but it's maddening.
“Where should I start?” he asks.
“Where should you start? Where should you start?” I get up, letting out an exasperated breath and sitting back down. “How about the day you decided we were not enough and a drink would make it all better?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Enlighten me then.”
He shakes his head, letting out a breath, and says, “I remember the exact morning I understood drinking was no longer a harmless habit. I woke up with my mouth dry and my hands shaking a little. I was so disoriented and tired, so tired.”
I eye him suspiciously but let him continue.
“You were five or six. Couldn’t be older than that. That’s the thing about being drunk for half your child’s life.” He lets out another breath. “All his life,” he corrects. “I looked in the mirror that morning and felt disgusted. I couldn’t deal with myself anymore, so I had another drink before work. I should’ve known that day, but I didn’t, not until years later, and I was faced with the question,when did I realize I had a problem?”
“Who asked you that question?” There’s no way he started pondering all of that without prompting. There’s no way he’s sober without help. And there’s no way he would be getting this treatment if he wasn’t. Right?
For a moment, I think he’s going to lie to me. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“I went to rehab, where I did a lot of soul searching.”
I huff and cross my hands behind my head, sinking into the chair. “Carry on. I’ll save my questions for when you’re done.”
He chuckles. “Sorry to break it to you, but we’re going to need more than one session if you want me to tell you everything.”
“Do you want to tell me everything? Do you want to be honest for once?”
“You know what, Holden? Yes, I want to be honest. I told you five years ago I wanted to. I told you every year since, and I’m telling you now. I’m trying to make amends here. Meet me halfway.”
“No.” I sit up, my elbows resting on my thighs. “I’m not meeting you halfway any more than sitting here and listening to you talk. This is all I’ve got in me. Take it or leave it.”
He’s infuriating. I don’t even know if I can keep coming to these. Would he? “How do I even know you’ll come to sessions?”
“I’m willing if you are.”
I don’t reply, and he takes it as an answer. He continues talking as if the middle of the conversation didn’t happen. “I don’t remember when it started. When I started drinking more booze than water. I always had a beer or two after work. A beer or two working.”
“While you were repairing people’s homes?” Unbelievable.
“Always did. It was never an issue, but I don’t remember when I stopped counting the beers and started giving myself reasons why drinking every day was okay.”
He blinks fast, drying his eyes before they can let out tears.
“Just one to take the edge off,” he whispers. “I’d tell myself I deserve it. I work hard. I provide. I am proud of that.” He scoffs and shakes his head. “A drink became two, then three, before I even questioned it. It felt like nothing at first, like a small treat.”
“Everyone drinks, right? That’s what you’d tell Mom.”
He narrows his brown eyes and cocks his head to the side. “You remember that?”
“You used to say that every night for years. Of course, I remember.”
He swallows hard. “I kept going because it became part of the rhythm of my days. I poured a drink when I was happy, and I poured a drink when I was tired, and I poured a drink when I didn’t want to think about anything at all. I told myself I was in control.I can stop if I want to.I repeated that lie until I started to believe it. And I did.”
