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Walker sets the trays down, returns to the kitchen for more.
I try to pick up where I left off. "It's important having people who support you. Friends. Family. And other people who understand what you're going through."
His parents nod along, hanging on every word.
"Will she be back tonight?" I ask.
His mom stares at her glass. "She goes out for coffee after meetings sometimes. She knows to text when she's finished at eight."
They seem like they keep her on a short leash.
So how did she end up at Walker's place high last night?
"Does Sabrina work? That can help, having purpose, feeling like you're part of the world." It's what made the difference for me.
Her mom nods. "Yes, she works at a boutique at the Grove. She loves it there."
She must get into trouble after work. Or before. Or when she says she's working but really goes out with old friends.
It's easy to give into temptation.
It's possible last night really was one little slip. It's possible she is doing well.
"You should ask her manager for her schedule." Walker places a glass of water in front of me then takes his seat. He motions to the food let's eat.
"We're trying to treat her like an adult," his mom says.
He fights a frown. "You got my message?"
"Of course. But…" His mom picks up the serving spoon and scoops basmati rice onto her plate. "We're not throwing Bree back in rehab because of one slip."
He presses his lips together.
"I understand you don't approve of the way we handle things, but we're trying to give Bree her space. She has to come to this conclusion on her own." She sets the spoon back then scoops chicken tikka masala onto her plate.
"That is true." I take the serving spoon, focus on filling my plate.
Walker leans back in his chair. Presses his palms into his thighs. He waits until I'm done serving myself then grabs the spoon, fills his plate.
He stabs a piece of chicken with his fork. "You're right." He makes eye contact with his mom. "We need to treat Bree like an adult. She says this is one slip up, fine. But if she does it again, you need to give her an ultimatum—she gets clean or she's out of the house."
"Sweetie, we have done that." His mother cuts a tiny piece of chicken, brings it to her mouth, chews, swallows.
"No, you've threatened. But you always bail her out. You need to stop. To pull away her safety net." His voice wavers for a second then it's back to confident. "It sucks. I get that. I don't want Bree to die either. But you're not helping her like this. That money is just going to more needles in her arm. She needs to know you mean it, that she can't live here in exchange for a rehab stint a year."
"Walker, sweetie. You don't understand how hard it is for her. She's trying. She goes to meetings every week, sometimes twice a week. She goes to therapy. She wants to get better." His mom takes another tiny bite.
I mix my chicken with rice, scoop a bite. It's amazing, rich, tender, fresh. The tomato sauce is creamy and tangy in equal measures. But it still doesn't taste good.
I can feel every bit of Walker's hurt. His frustration. Like it's mine.
Is this how relationships are supposed to go?
It was never like this with Ross. Not even close.
Walker's voice is low. Hurt. "I know she's trying."
"You do?" I sound more surprised than I mean to.
