Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I blinked at her. “What do you mean?”
Valerie took the now room-temperature tea towel and refreshed it under the faucet as she spoke over the sound of the water. “Neil has always had a bit of a problem. He wouldn’t have told you, because he doesn’t admit it. Not to Rudy, not to me, and he’s hidden it from Emma. But I don’t think he believes he has a problem.”
“I wish…” I almost started blubbering again. “Valerie, did you not tell me about this because…”
She paled, and shocked hurt lined her face. “No. I never told you because I didn’t know it was happening again. Even if I had, it wouldn’t have been my place to interfere.”
“So, this whole time…” I almost choked. “This whole time, I’ve been living with some version of Neil that’s, what? Just the result of some low-level recurring addiction?”
“Neil is a low-level recurring addiction,” Valerie said, her mouth pulled down in a frown. “I could slap him for this.”
I had to admit, that took me by surprise. I would have thought Valerie would be happy that Neil and I were having problems. “Why are you helping me?”
“I’m not a monster, Sophie. You’re in pain. What was I to do, say ‘ta!’ and leave?” She turned and faced the cupboards. “Where will I find a glass in here?”
I pointed down the row of glass-fronted cabinets. Valerie got a tall cut-crystal tumbler and took a bottled water from the fridge. She poured it for me and slid it across the island, continuing, “You haven’t been living with some alternate version of Neil. He wasn’t drinking during his chemotherapy, was he?”
I shook my head and sipped my water.
“I don’t think he’s going to sober up and fall out of love with you. Honestly, I don’t know if he can sober up, but I know he can’t fall out of love with you. Still, this was extremely unfair. I know Rose has just died, and I know you wouldn’t look askance at him having a drink or two to blur the edges, but pharmaceutical interaction isn’t a proper response to grief.”
My chest hurt as words I didn’t want to say poured out. “I’m so stupid. I should have known. I’m supposed to know everything about him… I thought I did.”
“This isn’t your fault, Sophie. Neil is very good at making people see what he wants them to see.” A wistful note in her tone made me wonder if she was referring to their long-ago relationship. “But you’re also very good at calling him out for his bullshit.”
“I’m not sure I can do that. Not right now.” Not when his mother had just died. It seemed too cruel at a time like this.
“Not right now,” Valerie agreed. “When you return to New York, perhaps? Though I do think you have a right to object to this particular incident as soon as he’s coherent enough to listen.”
“Yeah. I’ll… Maybe I’ll call our therapist.” And shit. Now, she knew about that.
Thankfully, she was still in Kind Valerie mode. She nodded and assured me, “This will all come out all right, Sophie. You’re a smart girl, and you love each other. The two of you will work it out.”
Why did that actually make me feel better?
“I’m going to go,” she continued. “I don’t want to be here when Emma wakes up. She’ll realize something is amiss.”
Though my legs were still shaking, I walked Valerie to the door. “Thank you,” I said, quiet so that my voice wouldn’t travel up the echo-prone center stairwell. “For everything, Valerie.”
She nodded, her gaze drifting to the staircase. “Thank you, for protecting Emma from this.” She paused, and her next words were pained; they came at a great cost, I knew. With her hand on the door, she said, “And for taking care of him.”
She left, and I stood staring at the door for a long moment. Once again, the woman had left me speechless.
* * * *
Dr. Hearn’s prescription of coffee and constant wake-up pokes was exactly what Neil needed, though he refused to recognize it.
“I don’t know what all the fuss was about,” he told me, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sat swaying on the edge of the bed, and though his speech was still a bit slurred, he was mostly with it. “I wouldn’t do anything irresponsible, I just wanted—”
“Don’t you ever do this to me again.” I went from tired and defeated to furious and trembling in three-point-five. Which, I assumed, was fast. It had to do with cars, and I’d heard Neil use the phrase before. Which just went to show how pissed off I was. I couldn’t even think of my own idioms.
Neil squinted at me in annoyance. He was annoyed? He hadn’t just had the “by the way, your fiancé is an addict” conversation with one of my exes.