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She whistles, and I tense, wincing. “Sorry, that came out—”
“No, no, you’re absolutely right.”
A long, quiet moment passes, where I feel her turn toward me, but I keep my gaze trained on the picture on the fridge. It’s one of all three of us, from right before Christmas four years ago—right before I relapsed, and everything went to shit.
I’ve got my arm around a beaming Mel. We’re crouched down, huddling around baby Abby. We’re smiling at the camera, but Abby’s beaming up at us.
Rubbing a hand over my chest, I look away.
It hurts…remembering that time. Not always, but sometimes.
But then I think of Skyler…realizing that if it didn’t all go to shit—that if I didn’t ruin everything—I never would’ve met him.
And that…
That’s a hard pill to swallow.
“I love this picture,” Mel whispers from behind me, startling me. I didn’t hear her approach.
Flinching, I jerk back, ramming my hip into the counter.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I nod jerkily, and cut her a quick glance.
Her eyes skim over to the picture once more, lingering for a moment, before returning to me. Her brows furrow. “It was a happy time, Nolan. We don’t have to pretend it didn’t happen, just because bad times followed.”
Throat thick, I say, “I know. I’m working on it.”
And I am. Between my regular AA meetings once or twice a week, and my therapist that I see twice a month, I’m working on myself.
“Me too,” Mel says.
“And I…am. Seeing someone that is,” I say slowly, cautiously.
Her eyes widen, and I search them, digging for any hurt feelings, but I find none. Just happiness. And a million questions just waiting to spill out.
Tell her,a voice urges.Just get it over with. It’s not a big deal.
And it isn’t, is it?
But it could be…if she doesn’t accept it. Accept me. Acceptus.
“Nolan, what is it?” Her smile wavers, and she rears her head back, screwing an eye shut like she’s bracing herself. “It’s not Theresa, is it?” she mutters, referring to her best friend.
I make a face. “What? No.”
She breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, good. For a second there, you scared me. That would just be too weird.”
“No kidding,” I say. “I can barely tolerate an hour with that woman.”
Mel smacks my arm with a gasp, “Rude.” But she’s trying not to smile. She knows how much we’ve always clashed, and not in a good way. Mel often needs a break from her too.
Theresa’s nice and all, but she’s a little too…bubbly and optimistic sometimes.
“So if it’s not my best friend, and I don’t have a sister, who could it possibly be that put that look on your face?”
“What look?”
