Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [60]
“How do you not want to dive into a pool in this heat?” Molly hooked a finger into the neck of her silk shell, stretched it out, and fluttered it against her body. “I’m sweating in places I didn’t know people could sweat.”
“Wow. Our friendship is crossing new boundaries.” I grinned and clasped my hands over my heart. But I wondered if she understood the gratitude that washed over the walls she dared our friendship to climb. She refused to let me hide, she refused to let me disappear, and she refused to let me die inside myself. Molly heard a cry within me that I had made myself deaf to, and she didn’t wait for a script to follow. She gave me the courage to take the next step. To go where I knew I needed to be.
“I’ll see if there's any iced tea inside,” I said.
“No, I’ll go. It’ll give me a chance at a shot of cold air,” said Molly, and she walked off in the direction of the cafeteria.
Minutes later, she carried two tall glasses to the table. “Mango iced tea. And don’t think you’re going to get this service when you’re out of here,” she said, and smiled as she wrapped a napkin around a glass and handed it to me.
“Let's see.” I held my hands palms up and moved them as if balancing a scale. “Rehab and being waited on,” I said, pushing my left hand down, “or,” pulling my right hand up, “sober and waiting on myself. No contest. In fact, I’ll be happy to wait on you.”
“Back to last night.” Molly pushed her damp bangs off her forehead, sipped her tea, and waited.
I emptied a package of Sweet ’N Low into my tea and stirred with my straw. One month ago who would’ve figured my new drink of choice would be iced tea? Steamy days like this used to be beer days. I’d open the refrigerator, grab a can, and pop it open before the refrigerator door would swing closed. If only that first long sip had been enough.
“You look upset. You don’t have to talk about last night if you’re not ready.”
“No, that's not it. I was just thinking about … ” I pushed the straw aside and gulped tea; the end of the sentence tumbled down my throat with it. Maybe it was too soon to share this boundary. Romanticizing about drinking was something I needed to stop. AAers cautioned against it as a stumbling block on the way to sobriety. I wasn’t sure Molly would understand I didn’t dwell on these unexpected flashbacks. “I was thinking who else but you would enjoy the latest installment of the antics of the poster family of dysfunctionality?”
“Speaking of that, how's your dad?”
Molly and I knew the unabridged question was, “How's your dad coping since your mom died?” I shared his stages of grief with Molly. They ranged from isolating himself at home for days on end to leaving in the car and being gone for days on end.
“He actually seemed more like himself. You know, the heartwarming and totally humiliating-his-children self. Peter mentioned a few weeks ago that Dad said he's dating. We’re not exactly sure what that means. We’re not even sure we want to know what it means. But we didn’t have time last night for any of those issues.”
“Knowing your dad, I can’t imagine how he managed to stay quiet.”
“Exactly. He didn’t. In fact, at one point, Trey had to remind him the session was only ninety minutes, and it was important for everyone to have a chance to participate. Then, when Trey asked him why he was there, he started rubbing my back and said, ‘I just want my baby to be happy. If this is what she thinks she needs, I want her to do it.’”
Molly groaned, one of those sympathetic, you-poor-dear, I’m-so-glad-it's-you-and-not-me groans.
“Wait. There's more. He looked at Carl when he was finished and said, ‘Right, Carl? Whatever Leah needs, don’t we want her to have it?’ There I am, sitting between the two of them. Trey was probably all over that seating arrangement with his therapist brain.”
“You have to warn me about the funny parts before I start drinking and end up snorting iced tea out my nose,” Molly said. “What did Carl say?”
“Not much. He couldn’t disagree with Dad