Page 125 of Sweet Caroline
She pulls her horn-rimmed glasses off, perching them on her head. “Well, before I answer your question—before I launch into the neurochemistry of addiction—perhaps you could tell me more about what got you thinking about that.”
Ah,tell me more. She’s good. Or that’s, like, Therapy 101.
Regardless, I take the babble bait.
“I guess I’m just… worried what we had wasn’t healthy?” Fuck.Had.The past tense makes me wince. “Like, maybe I got waytoo attached. I think the fire fucked me up. Brought up some shit about losing my parents.”
Lydia nods and pulls her glasses back down to scribble some more.
“How do I know if it was healthy? How do I know if I’m ready for something like that?”
“A sober relationship, you mean?”
“Yeah. Like, AA says wait at least a year, right?”
Lydia tilts her head in thought. “I think, Miles, instead of arbitrary timelines, you’ll find out more about your readiness by examining evidence from your own life.”
I frown. “Like what?”
“How you’ve handled various stressors recently. How you’ve coped.”
“Okay…” Spiraling into depression after losing Caroline doesn’t feel like an A+ in coping, somehow.
“Why don’t we look back at some of the things you’ve shared today?” Lydia scans her notes. “You said at the fundraiser, there’d been a strong temptation to drink, made worse by Caroline’s father.”
“Right.”
She raises her head. “What did you do when that came up for you?”
I puff air between my lips, slumping back in my seat. “I left. Called my sponsor, then called a cab, then called Jude. Did an AA meeting online when I got home.”
“So you distanced yourself from the trigger and reached out to your support network.”
I take a moment to think about it. “Yeah. Guess so.”
She nods and writes a note on her paper. “And the fire?”
I drag both hands over my face, then scruff them through the back of my hair. “Uh… well, I got scared. Wanted to get Caroline the fuck out of there. Y’know, to keep her safe, I guess. So we went back to her place.”
“You said the fire brought up memories of losing your parents.”
“Yeah.” I scrub at my scruffy beard. “It was… fucking rough. I told her about how they died that night. How I blamed myself…” I flick Lydia a guilty glance, like I’m doing therapy wrong. “I know it wasn’t my fault, but I was in a shitty headspace.”
She nods. “And that night, or in the days that followed, were you tempted to drink?”
I think back, dazed by how the memories have blurred in the weeks since. “I mean, the thought must’ve crossed my mind. Like, it’s always there in the back of my head. But I was really focused on her. On being with her. I dragged her to the gym the next morning.” My lips twist as I remember how she’d bolted upright when I mentioned breakfast.
“And you’d say Caroline is someone who’s supportive of your sobriety?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Absolutely. Yes.”
“Okay. So, again, after the fire, you surrounded yourself with supportive relationships, sticking to your healthy routines and coping mechanisms. These have all been key tools for you, Miles. Exercise, especially.”
“Right.” I frown, pondering all this.
“What about the night of the election? You said you were offered a drink outright.”
“Yeah.” I shake my head at the memory.
