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It’s times like these I remember Nate has had experience with substance abusers.
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Textbook codependent.”
“No, you’re not there yet.” He reaches for one of my hands and holds it. Just then our margaritas arrive. We place our orders. Quickly, since most of the menu is broken down into numbers. I order the number fourteen and he chooses twenty-eight. We dig in to the basket of chips again.
“If he had a job, he could find his own place,” I say as I add salt to a chip. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand him living with me. And if she stays too…”
Ugh. I can’t even think about it. Three adults, one bathroom?
Horror.
“He can work for me.” Nate munches another chip.
“You don’t know what you’re offering. Walt has no work experience. He’s barely sober. I’m not sure he’s reliable.”
Nate surprises me by laughing. “As his representative, you don’t sound very confident in him.”
“I’m looking out for you. I don’t want you to regret giving him a chance.”
“You don’t have to look out for me. First of all, I can look out for myself. Second of all, I was like Walt at one point. Unreliable, and worse, mercurial. I needed somebody to give me a chance. Hell, William gave me plenty of chances. I wasn’t gracious about it. It’s possible this is a nudge from the universe to pay back the kindness shown to me. I’m okay with that.”
How does he do that? Admit how he’s feeling so casually? I blink at him in wonderment before saying, “I might have to look into going back to therapy.”
“Stick with me, kid.” He winks. “I’ll teach you everything I know.”
After dinnerwe drive back to Grand Marin. I settle into the passenger seat, stuffed on fish tacos and way too many chips. Why can I never turn down the second basket? Out of the blue, Nate makes a suggestion I don’t see coming.
“Why don’t you go back to your apartment and pack enough clothes for the next few weeks. You can stay with me. Think of it as a trial run for Walt having his own place.”
He parks next to my car and watches me calmly. There’s no fanfare involved and he just asked me to move in with him. Sort of. Fear ripples along my spine. I’m already shaking my head, self-preservation kicking into gear.
“You can make this into as big of a deal as you want to,” he tells me. “But you sleep at my house enough to justify you packing a bag. Plus, I want you there. I like you there. It’s not permanent, but it could be. Maybe staying with me would be a good trial run for you too.”
My heart skips a literal beat and I open my mouth to suck in a breath. Definitely he sort of, kind of asked me to move in with him. Not right away, but later. My head is spinning.
“Walt needs me at home.”
“Why?”
I choke. I don’t know why. I just feel this innate need to protect him.
“Afraid Dee will rob you?”
“No.” Not really. My distrust of her is more because she’s an addict and has recently relapsed.
“Afraid she’ll lead Walt astray?”
“Yes.”
He nods. “It’s a possibility. But you can’t wrap him in bubble wrap. He’s an adult and the decisions he makes each and every day impact his sobriety in a negative way or a positive way. You have your own life to think about.”
“What about you?” I ask a tad defensively. “You have your own life to think about and here you are offering me refuge in your apartment.”
“Refuge?” He chuckles. “I like having you there. Thought you liked it there too.”
Rather than admit staying with him officially freaks me out, I hedge. “The commute to work is longer from your house.”
“That’s true.” He nods, patient now.
