Page 85 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
I told her. I told her how my dad had been an alcoholic (she’d known), and how he’d killed himself (she’d suspected), and how I’d escaped my whole life by eating like food was a drug (she’d known that, too).
But then I told her how Mikey was an alcoholic.
“Six years of sobriety?”
“Yes.”
She went silent on the phone. “That’s different than your dad, you know. You can’t just lump all addicts in the same. Everyone’s different. Maybe that one event was so earth shattering that he’s speaking the truth. He’s not ever going to drink again.”
“How will I know for sure?”
“You can never know for sure. You’d have to trust him.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“I know, babe. I know. Just take a little break and go back and talk with him. Because other than his past, is there anything about the way he is right now that isn’t working for you?”
I shook my head even though she couldn’t see. With my toe, I pushed the Oreos farther away. “No. He’s my everything. He’s comforted me and held me when I needed him. He’s made me healthy, and he’s helped me to be strong.”
“Then that’s your answer. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think you need to work it out with him. Don’t run. You always run away when you get scared. You flee. Maybe this is one time that you don’t flee.”
After talking with her, I hung up and stared at the food I’d bought. Then I gathered it all back up in the bag and took it out to the dumpster on the side of the hotel.
No.
I wasn’t doing this.
For the rest of the night, I stared at the fire sprinkler on the ceiling of the hotel, feeling awful, but also in awe that my feelings weren’t broken. My body worked just fine. Now that I wasn’t drowning my sorrows with food, I felteverything. All of the pain, all of the emotions. I wasn’t numb. I felt. And because I felt, it hurt. It fucking hurt.
And I had no one to blame but myself, since I was the one who fell in love with my roommate.
The gentle giant who changed me. He helped me to change my beliefs about my body and to feel strong, not weak.
But he was an alcoholic, and I could never, ever be with him.
My phone lit up with a text from him.
Jessica, I hope you’re okay. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Sleep well.
I didn’t text him back.
“You okay?”
The next afternoon when the office was closing, Amelia stopped by my desk. I’d been zoning out, staring out the open door for a good ten minutes, and I hadn’t done anything on the brief I had opened on my computer, partly because Mikey had texted me a picture of a cat at his work. No comments, just a beautiful Siamese.
I cocked my head and looked at her. “Not really. I broke up with Mikey yesterday.”
She came over behind my desk and reached down and gave me a hug. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Want to talk about it?”
I nodded.
“I was just leaving to go see Marie. Come along.”
We walked around the corner to the bar. Marie, now with ombré blue hair, stood up and squealed when she saw us, throwing her arms around me and Amelia at the same time. Lucy sat, stomach about to pop, and gave me a cute wave.
But this time, a tall, built cowboy with dark, curly hair and dark eyes stood behind Marie. He wore dusty boots, Wrangler jeans, and a tight, faded red T-shirt. Honestly, while I’d never seen a more handsome man than Mikey . . . or Jake . . . or Ryan . . . well, this guy gave them all a run for their money.
He must be Marie’s boyfriend.
