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“Carrie, please, let me in,” I said, my own heart talking. “We can talk, and I’ll make the IKEA thing.”
“I can make it. I know how.”
“I know you know, but youhateto. I’ll make it for you, and we can talk.” I took another peek at the IKEA box. “It looks big, like a bureau. It’s not Hemnes, is it? Please tell me you didn’t buy another Hemnes.”
“It’s for Emily, to match mine.”
“Let me do it, please. I built the other one, and Hemnes is the Everest of IKEA. I’m gonna summit.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“Okay, enough.” Carrie opened the door and I stepped inside, breathing in the vanilla-scented candles and the fish stick smells from dinner. The family room was just as I remembered, cozy with the white Backsälen couch we bought together that day. The walls were the same rose color, still lined with three floral watercolors we framed at a do-it-yourself place.
“I remember when we framed those,” I blurted out, with a pang.
“So do I. You bled on the matte.”
“Because X-Acto knives are mean.”
“No, because you were drunk. Right?”
It caught me up short. “Yes.”
Carrie threw up her hands in frustration. “How did I miss that? How did I miss any of it? I don’t understand, really. I don’t know how I didn’t know.”
“I hid it from you.”
“But why couldn’t I tell?” Carrie pursed her lips. “Was I in that much denial?”
“No, I deceived you. I’m great at it.”
“But you seemed fine.”
“There’s such a thing as a functioning alcoholic, Carrie. It’s me. I’m an all-American high-functioner. I pre-gamed every time I saw you, I pre-gamed everyday. I was hiding in plain sight, and lying, too.” I met her eye with difficulty. “Remember when I told you I got migraines in the morning? I was hungover.”
Carrie’s frowned. “You drove us everywhere, both of us. You endangered us, every single time.”
“I know, I know.” I felt a deep pang of guilt. “I told myself I wasn’t, but I lied to myself, too. I’m sorry.”
“My God.” Carrie looked away, putting her hands on her hips. “The thing is, the reality I lived wasn’t real.”
“I understand. I’m sorry about that, I really am.”
“Enough. Build the bureau, then maybe we can talk.”
“Okay.” I sat on the floor, picked up the Hemnes booklet, and flipped through page after page of incomprehensible diagrams. “Look, only three hundred easy steps.”
“I suppose I should offer you something to drink. What would you like?”
“Diet Coke.”
“You hate Diet Coke.”
“I know, it’s penance.”
Carrie turned on her heel and went to the kitchen, and I tried to accustom myself to the fact that I was really here. I also prayed I could figure out the Hemnes directions. The last time I built one of these I was drunk, which was the only way to make sense of IKEA instructions.
