Page 44 of Slightly Addictive

“Yep, it’s super surprising.” Gia smiled and took her regular seat in the Fellowship Hall. Playful Roxi was back, and with a hip bump, the lingering tension between them melted. Perhaps they could pick up where they left off. Before the pool party. Before the fight with Savannah. Before Gia almost broke her one-year rule.

Roxi’d dressed up that evening—a fitted black dress hit just above her knees was paired chunky black heels, and big, sparkly hoop earrings. Her long raven hair was pulled back neatly with barrettes. Just a hint of eyeshadow and mascara, and an aura of enthusiasm.

“You look incredible. Hot date later?” Why did she ask that? Gia didn’t want to know if Roxi had a date.

“I wish.” Roxi winked and put her hand on Gia’s Levi’s-clad knee. “They were filming me for the show. My ‘vignette’ they called it. I had a camera crew on the bus all day.”

“You drove the bus in that?!” Relief. No date, just Roxi being Roxi.

“¡Sí!I want to lookmuy bonitafor the camera. This could be my big break and I’m not gonna blow it.”

“That makes sense. I’m sure you’re going to do great.” Roxi’s hand was still on her knee, the heat of her fingertips radiating through the denim, and as much as Gia didn’t want her to move it, she really needed her to move it. Soon.

“Okay, everyone!” Mikael commanded the room from underneath the St. Peter stained glass. “Ready to get started?”

“Want to have coffee after?” Gia whispered.

“You’re buying.”

“My pleasure.”

“Of course it is.” Roxi winked.

“Roxi, would you like to start this week?” Mikael, with his calm nature and tree-like stature, had homed in on their side conversation with the keen hearing of an owl.

“I’d love to.” Roxi stood and curtsied. She’d been called out and owned it. “Hola.Me llamo Roxi, y soy una alcoholica.”

Gia wondered if the outfit and camera crews following her around all day had given Roxi an ego boost. Or if she was simply excited about her future and living in the moment. That was the longest sentence she’d heard her say in Spanish. She usually dropped one or two words in randomly, in context. Aprometofor effect; Asífor emphasis. But this was becoming a full-on narrative. After her name was Roxi, she was an alcoholic, she hadn’t had a drink in what Gia knew was about a year—numbers that high eluded her limited Spanglish—Roxi lost her. She didn’t flip to English. Her hands moved quickly as she told a story, which had to be about driving the kids all day with the film crew, based on the gestures. Excitement oozed from her tone—the timbre of her voice was higher than usual, and her words came at lightning speed. Or they seemed fast because Gia was trying to translate instead of inherently understanding. And God, it was sexy when Roxi spoke Spanish.

When she finished, Roxi smiled, curtsied again, and retook her seat, which creaked on cue.

“Gracias, Roxi. What a beautiful story.” Mikael understood? Did everyone else?

No time to wonder. Mikael’s eyes met Gia’s and though he didn’t ask, he didn’t have to. She needed to share—and wanted to, too.

“Hi everybody. I can’t really compete withthat, so I’m not gonna try. Y’all know I’m Gia and I’m an alcoholic. It’s been—wow. It’s been one-hundred-eighty-eight days since my last drink. This is the second-longest time I’ve been sober in my life, and it hasn’t been easy. It’s been—dark. And lonely. And sometimes hopeless. But it’s also been full of light. And new friends. And lots of hope. A real rainbow of emotions, I guess. And for the first time, I’m starting to feel like more than my baggage, you know? I’m more than my backstory, and that feels pretty damn good. I’m so grateful for everyone here. Your support means everything, and you inspire me every day to stay true to the promises I’ve made myself. I don’t have anything pressing to share this week. I just wanted to say thank you.”

It was a week before Thanksgiving—maybe that was the reason for the sudden onset of gratitude. Or maybe, it was simply the right time.

???

“So, what did you say in group?” Gia didn’t waste time once they’d settled into their booth. Victoria was tending the eat-in bar, as she did every Tuesday, and had set them up with cafés con leche with a sprinkle of pumpkin spice. The pumpkin harkened to cooler days and sweaters—not that they needed them.

“Oh, nothing.” Roxi sipped and her eyebrows rose playfully.

“Come on, Rox. I know it wasn’t nothing. You were excited. Spill it. In English.”

“¿No hablas Espanol?”

“You know I don’t!”

“I’m just giving you a hard time,chica.I felt like speaking Spanish. I do that when I’m happy. It’s most natural and reminds me of my mama, from when I was aniña. She always wanted me to speak English—to fit in with the Californians and have a better life, she said—but I didn’t learn it until I was seven or eight. When I was excited about something, I could only speak to her in Spanish. I didn’t have patience to figure out how to say what I wanted in English.”

“I thought you were being mysterious on purpose.” Gia imagined young Roxi explaining something to her mother, hands flailing, Spanish flying.

“Not really. Just being me. I told about the show and the crew, and how the kids on the bus were hamming it up for the cameras. My life is finally going where I want. And my niece keeps asking me when I’m going to get a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, which is adorable. I just wish my mama was alive to see it happen. She was my biggest fan.”

How did Gia not know Roxi’s mother wasn’t alive? “I didn’t realize your mom had passed.”

---