Page 20 of Unloved

“No.” He grabs my shoulder and holds my gaze. “I think ifIwas with someone, it might ruinmysobriety.”

I don’t wholeheartedly believe he meant it only to apply to him, but I do my best not to let it bother me. I know there are a list of dos and don’ts and things that are encouraged and things that aren’t. But for now, there’s no point preempting a problem that I’ve yet to encounter. But as I push away these thoughts, I’m met with another.

I narrow my eyes at Arlo. “You really haven’t been with anyone since becoming sober? How long’s it been now?”

Without interrupting the conversation, Arlo walks us to the gym exit and talks at the same time.

“It’s been four years,” he reveals. “Which sounds like a lot.”

I scoff as the glass doors automatically open, impressed and absolutely baffled. “Four years is an amazing feat, Arlo. I can only dream of making it to four years sober right now. But no sex? Don’t you miss it?”

I’m in awe of his self-discipline and determination. To be so single-mindedly focused on your sobriety and not allow yourself to indulge in anything is the ultimate goal. It’s admirable and another reason I am so grateful to Jenika for connecting me with Arlo.

“Hey,” he says, changing the subject. “Do you mind if we detour to the hospital before dinner?”

“The hospital?” Confused by the direction change in the conversation, I give him a quick once-over. “Are you okay? Did I miss something?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” A soft chuckle leaves his mouth as he shakes his head. “I should’ve explained that better. My foster brother had a football accident the other day and my foster siblings are all at the hospital now and asked if I could pop in.”

I learn two things in that moment.

One, that Arlo was a foster kid, with a found family and a support system.

Two, I’m so incredibly jealous.

For a moment, I tell myself not to impose. That I should just go home, make myself some dinner, and go to bed, but then I think of all the reasons that caused me to relapse and all the things I lacked and lost, and I tell myself I need to do better.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.

“If you’re sure they won’t mind,” I say with the slightest hint of excitement. “I don’t really have any other plans.”

Arlo offers me a soft smile, reading my loneliness like a book he’s read a million times before. And I let him.

“We can go in my car and I could drive you back here after dinner?” he offers.

“I actually don’t have a car,” I tell him. “I usually bus it here.”

“Perfect.” He guides us to where he’s parked his car. It’s a heap of junk, which for some reason makes me feel better that I don’t have one. “I can take you home later too.”

The ride to the hospital is filled with nonsensical conversation that flows easily between us. I choose not to ask anything probing, and Arlo keeps the conversation flowing enough to solidify that I have found a friend in him.

“So,” he starts, as we enter the hospital elevator. “Lennox, the guy who had the football accident, is deaf.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I know sign language.”

I say it so flippantly, like it’s an inconsequential tidbit of information. Like it didn’t just trigger a lifetime of memories I try so very hard not to think about.

Arlo tilts his head at me, impressed and completely oblivious to how much effort it’s taking for me to talk right now.

“He’s deaf because of the injury,” he clarifies. “But maybe, when he’s settled at home and if he wants to learn, you could teach us all a few signs?”

“That sounds great. My sister is deaf, so we grew up signing.” I steer the conversation away from myself and keep talking. “Is he coping with the news okay?”

“To be honest, I’m not really sure.” He rubs the back of his neck, self-consciously dipping his chin to his chest as the doors open. “I haven’t been here as much as I should’ve.”

I place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

He nods and leads us to what looks like an empty waiting room. I watch him pull out his phone and tap at the screen a few times.

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