Party Girl_ A Novel - Anna David [91]
Then Diego kicks the soccer ball to Sam, and Ryan walks over to me and grabs my hand. “I’m just trying to tire these guys out so they’ll crash,” he says, and his face cracks into one of his famous, beautiful smiles. “You’re an angel for helping me out here.”
“Are you kidding? I love it,” I say, worrying that my voice sounds fake, even though, at the moment, I feel like I’m telling the truth. He falls down onto the sand, pulls a crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds from his jacket pocket, and starts searching for matches. And even though I don’t have a clue what the hell I’m supposed to be doing or saying, I smile and think, Ryan Duran called me an angel, pretending that Adam was somehow walking by and heard it.
“Red or white?” Ryan asks as he glances at the wine menu and then looks up at me. We’re in a casual Italian restaurant down the street from his loft, after having finished the beach ball games and left the kids watching The Lord of the Rings at home with a babysitter.
“Neither—I don’t drink,” I say without even pausing to feel self-conscious about it. I’m not sure if that’s because I sense that Ryan doesn’t seem judgmental or because he seems really only focused on himself and probably wouldn’t care.
“That’s cool,” he says, sliding his napkin onto his lap. “I used to be sober, you know.”
Since getting out of Pledges, I’ve run into some people who have casually explained to me that they’re not sober anymore and while none of them have had heroin needles dangling from their arms, I’ve tended to treat the whole concept of “formerly sober” somewhat skeptically. Nobody ends up here by accident, people at Pledges say, meaning, like the Hair Club for Men, if you thought you needed sobriety at one point, chances are you still do. But maybe there are exceptions, I think as I unfold my napkin and put it on my lap. You never hear about the people who leave and have perfectly wonderful lives where they’re able to drink and do drugs casually. We only learn about the ones who go out, screw it up royally, and come back after having lost everything—or, of course, the people who overdose.
“It just really didn’t work for me,” Ryan is saying. “The whole sponsor thing. Like I really need some asshole telling me what to do? You know?” He focuses his bright green eyes on me, clearly seeking validation of some kind.
“Some sponsors are assholes,” I say, feeling a bit guilty for deriding the program instead of telling him he sounds like he’s trying to justify not being sober anymore. “But some are great. Just like with anything, I guess.”
I’d hoped my statement would show how open-minded, nonjudgmental, positive, and yet realistic I was but once it’s out of my mouth, I realize it sounds pretty inane—a fact I’m even more convinced of when it becomes clear that Ryan isn’t going to say anything in response. I can hear Just like with anything, I guess echoing in my brain and I cringe.
Glancing at Ryan, I see he’s examining the menu with serious intent. I gaze at mine, too, but can’t seem to rustle up the same level of concentration. Eating when I’m around a guy who makes me nervous has always been slightly difficult, so I can only assume that getting any food down during this interaction will be out of the question. I used to think being nervous around a guy was good—it meant I really liked someone. But I’d felt the opposite hanging out with Adam that day. I’d felt, cheesy as it sounds, like I’d come home. Chicken—I’ll just have whatever the first chicken dish is, I think as I try to brainstorm possible topics to bring up with Ryan.
Now, it’s always been my firm belief that when two people are eating together, it is the equal responsibility of both parties to contribute to the conversation. Of course, it usually happens naturally—one person says something or asks a question, the other responds,