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“Come on in.” Gabby led me into their living room, decorated with art and statuary from all over the world. Red-and-black kilim rugs ingeometric patterns hung on the wall, and large wooden masks stood in the corner with pottery painted orange, yellow, and green. A sectional couch was heaped with Ecuadorian blankets under walls lined with photos from their trips. Travel guides and trip scrapbooks stuffed their bookshelves.
“TJ!” Martin came from the kitchen, throwing open his arms. His eyes were a warm brown, as dark as his skin, and he was in his beloved Spurs sweatshirt with jeans. “Bring it in, mate.”
“Hey, bro.” I hugged him back, touched.
“You know there’s no shame in relapse, don’t you? It’s very common.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t know how much more of this I could take.
“Alcoholism is a disease like any other. You’ll get back on track with the program. I saw an article published by researchers at Stanford, attesting to AA’s efficacy. I’ll email it to you.”
“Thanks.” I turned to Gabby. “So Dad told you?”
“Yes.” Her face fell. “I ran into him around noon and I could tell something was bugging him. He told me John smelled beer on your breath and you left his birthday dinner so Mom wouldn’t find out.”
“She doesn’t know, does she?”
“No, and I don’t think Dad will tell her.”
“I hope not,” I said, cringing. The person I hurt most with my drinking was my mother, which killed me.
Martin rested a hand on my shoulder. “I have many friends who could help you, addiction specialists and the like. Therapists, too. I’d be happy to call any of them.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Don’t be too proud, man.”
“I’m not.”
“Family therapy can be helpful, too.”
“Right.” Gabby rubbed my back. “I would go with you if you wanted, TJ. I remember our family meeting in rehab. Do you?”
“Yes, of course.” I flashed on our session, which had been painful. My family had driven up to Evergreen Recovery in the Poconos, which had more rehabs than trees. They’d dressed like they were going to Mass and we sat in a circle with a counselor. My family was supposed to say how my alcoholism affected them, a belated intervention that opened my eyes. Gabby cried even more than my mother, sharing memories I didn’t remember.
I guess when we were younger, like in high school, that’s when I started to worry about him.Gabby’s voice was choked with emotion.We learned about alcoholism in Health, but I thought you had to be a grown-up to be alcoholic. I just thought TJ partied, like all the boys I knew on the baseball team.
Gabby shook her head.Anyway, I never asked him, but he would say, just tell Mom I’ve been with you, or tell Dad I’m at practice, and I realized we had to hide his drinking from my parents. He never asked me to, so don’tblame him, I don’t blame him.Gabby looked at me, wiping her eyes with a balled-up Kleenex.I don’t blame you, TJ. I blame me.
Gabby, please,I blurted out, though I wasn’t supposed to interrupt. I’m to blame for what I did, not you.
The facilitator interjected,Gabby, go ahead.
I just wanted to help him. When I opened the recycling, there were so many cans, just so many cans. Taking out the recycling was my chore, and the cans took up too much space and so I would take them out at night and crush them. Then I got the idea to put them in the neighbor’s recycling, in case my parents looked in.
Sweet Jesus.I’d had no idea.
I think that was the hardest thing for me.Gabby wiped her eyes again.He was keeping a secret and I wanted to help him. I used to worry at nightthat somebody would look in the recycling and find out. And I didn’t know what to do.Gabby turned to the facilitator.Does that mean I was an enabler?
No, it means you were too young to deal with this situation and you love your brother.
Gabby sniffled, with finality. Just so I didn’t make it worse. I never want to make it worse. I only wanted to help. I love my brother.
I tried to shake the memory as Gabby led me into a foodie’s kitchen, filled with delicious aromas. Copper pans hung over a brown-flecked granite island, where she and Martin were always making a dish I’d never heard of. “What’s for dinner?”
“Goat.”
“What?”I asked, aghast.
