“Yes,” she replies. “That will always be there, and I struggle with it so much. How could I want it? Alcohol ruined my little girl’s childhood and stole my husband. I shouldn’t ever want another drop. So how does it still feel like the answer?”
“Isn’t that what all recovering alcoholics face?”
“I just hate it. It makes me feel weak.”
“The fact that you’re still battling through and haven’t touched a drop in a month proves you’re anything but weak.”
She pats my hand. “Thank you. The thing that scares me the most is that I don’t know how to make it up to you.”
“There is no grand gesture that will ever do that, and there’s no way of turning back the clock. All you can do is be my mum. That’s what I want.”
“I will fight every day to be the mum you deserve.”
Although this isn’t a very merry moment, the conversation is needed.
“You’re looking really good—healthy.”
She’s gained a little weight. Her cheeks have more colour and her eyes are no longer ringed with dark circles.
“I feel so much better, both physically and mentally. There’s a long road ahead but I’m confident that I won’t relapse.”
I want to share her confidence. I have more faith than ever that she can stay sober, and that’s the best I can do right now. “Have you thought about what you’ll do when you leave rehab? You have enough money to last a while.”
“I know I’m going to study, and I’d like to get a part-time job somewhere. The less time I’m rattling around the house alone, the better.”
I know the feeling. I have taken classes in almost every musical instrument, dance, gymnastics, karate, and Spanish after hours at school. Anything to keep me out of the house and safe.
“There’s no alcohol here,” I tell her. “I won’t bring any in, ever.”
“I know. I want to remove all temptation. If I keep myself busy by building a good life, I’ll never want to turn to alcohol. My focus is you, but I have to be happy on my own, too.”
“I agree. Hey, what about accounting? You did some at college, right?”
She laughs. “That was about a hundred years ago. Although I do like numbers.”
“I think you’d be good at it.”
“Tell me about this boy,” she says, narrowing her eyes playfully.
My stomach flutters at the thought of Spencer. “He’s amazing. Gorgeous.”
“I’m going to need more than that.”
“His name is Spencer, he’s my age, and we’ve been friends since we were eleven. He makes me happy.”
“Good,” she breathes, smiling. “I can’t wait to meet him. Will you consider that in the new year? Does he know about Dad?”
“He doesn’t know anything yet, but yes, I’ll think about you two meeting.”
Spencer will leave for LA in January so I can put her off again until his next visit. I’ll have to tell her who he is eventually. I need a bit more time. Everything has been crazy busy. We have to settle into our new lives before we make more changes.
Tonight, I have my mum. Tomorrow, I’ll have Christmas with Spence.
Forty-Two
Indie
Christmas morning with Mum and the afternoon with Spencer flew by in a whirl of cheer and stretched stomachs. It was the best day ever. That sounds heartless since it’s my first Christmas without Dad, but I sat around the tree with a cup of tea, laughing and opening gifts with my mum. I got her two new outfits and she made me earrings in a class at rehab.
She was present, she was focused on me, and she even made me breakfast. We had fun.
The afternoon was perfect, kissing Spencer under the mistletoe that he had strategically placed all over the house… particularly above his bed. We ate so much food and watched movies in the evening. Then we had lazy sex in bed—seriously, neither of us could move much after that huge turkey—until the early hours.
It just happened to be some of the best sex of my life.
Now I’m in a bar with Wren and Mila. It’s a fresh new year, and it’s going to be a good one.
“I’m about to start another year of relationship uncertainty,” Mila grumbles, stirring her Woo Woo cocktail with a tiny, neon pink stick.
Wren rolls her eyes. “Things would be a whole lot more certain if you’d just admit defeat.”
“Wren!” I elbow her, and she shrugs.
“What she means to say is that you have to make a decision about Liam, once and for all, and you need to make it soon.”
She shrinks. “I do love him.”
“Of course, you do. This would be easy if you didn’t.”
No one is doubting she cares for the guy, but we all know they don’t love each other fiercely. It’s not that love that consumes you. He’s not all she thinks about. I can’t even study without thinking about Spencer. Everything comes back to him. I even burned my toast the same colour as his hair the other day.
“We just never seem to be on the same page. I mean, we have fun and all that, but there’s no planning the future. All I see when I look ahead is myself. Except, do I? Am I really me?”
I sip my drink. “What?”
“Who is Mila Thomas? Is she destined to be the girlfriend of Liam Frost?”
“Are you drunk, babe?” Wren asks.
She sighs. “Probably.”
“Mila, have an honest conversation with him,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah. I will.”
Wren cuts a look to me. Mila’s talking shit. She’s too scared to talk to Liam, and that kind of sounds familiar.
Mila glares. “I don’t like the look on your face, Wren.”
“If I was in your situation, what would you tell me?” she asks.
We all know that Mila would tell her to run.
“That’s not the point,” Mila says, straightening her back. She lifts her drink and almost drains the whole thing. “Anyway, things are good.”
I frown. “Then why, not two minutes ago, did you say you’re headed for another year of uncertainty?”
“Oh my God, Indie, can you please not
