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“Where can I find superglue?”
“Oh, sorry. Yeah, that’s on aisle nine, righthand side of bottom shelf. Next to the duct tape.” Gia wondered what took someone to the market in the middle of the night to buy superglue.
“Thanks.” The woman possessing the voice was gone before Gia got a good look at her, only catching her backside as she headed toward aisle nine. Whatever the reason, she was in a hurry to get that superglue. She’d gotten used to strangers asking for things: Where was the bathroom? Did they have hummus? Which pinot noir would she recommend? The last one was the most poignant. OG would’ve said, “all of them!” New Gia simply said, “you can’t go wrong with anything from Napa.” Was that true? Hell if she knew. But it worked.
Back on the cereal aisle, she couldn’t help but think about her mother’s impending trip. She wasn’t kidding when she said she didn’t have any furniture. Her apartment sported an air mattress, a few thrift-store chairs, and an old tube TV she’d found by a dumpster, complete with a working remote. Hers wasn’t a life of luxury, but it was becoming one she felt in control of. Gianna’s visit could throw the whole thing off-kilter. That train of thought didn’t have time to leave the station before the sultry voice was back, standing with a hand on her hip and the other holding a tube of superglue.
“Hi again,” she said. This time Gia noticed she was tall, with eyes set wide and shoulder-length auburn hair, forehead smooth as a teenager’s—must’ve been Botox. She wore black leather shorts and a powder blue sleeveless silk top, an outfit probably bought a decade prior. Her pale skin meant she was visiting or lived vampire hours, just like Gia. Locals had base tans and crinkles around their eyes from squinting. This woman hadn’t been in the sun in—maybe ever.
“I wondered—could you help me with something?” The customer smiled a close-lipped grin of discomfort. Her voice was familiar, but not placeable.
“Sure,” Gia stood, dusting her thighs for effect, almost circular damp rings defining her kneecaps under fabric. “What’cha need?”
“I’m so sorry to ask. I have a date shortly, and my fingernail snapped off. I’d do it myself, but I had a stroke a while back and lost control of my left hand.”
So much information, Gia thought. And who started dates at 3 a.m.? “I can try.”
“You’re a lifesaver, thanks,” the woman smiled again, this time showing teeth whiter than her skin. Maybe shewasa vampire.
“There you go. That oughtta do it. Good luck.” Gia handed over the tiny bottle, shoved her hands in her pockets, and backed away, hopeful thatwoulddo it.
“Wait!”
“Yeah?”
“Here, for your trouble. I appreciate it. I’m Savannah, by the way.”
Savannah pushed a $20 in Gia’s direction, a generous payment for such a simple gesture. But, that $20 would put half a tank of gas in her car, so she smiled and took it. “It was nothing. Thanks.”
“It wasn’t nothing. People can be so self-absorbed these days. Always on their phones, in their apps. I appreciate that you took the time to help me. What’s your name?”
“Gia.”
“That’s pretty! Thanks, Gia. See you around.” Savannah swayed a little when she walked, her hips rising and falling to the beat of her own metronome. Her voice was so familiar. Smooth, but husky. A little gravel in the vowels, almost a smokiness. Gia had heard that voice before. The face, she didn’t recognize, with its Casper the Friendly Ghost whiteness and smoothness akin to cheap peanut butter—no wrinkles to be seen. Without the voice, Savannah was another customer who needed something. But that voice going to drive Gia mad until she figured out why she knew it.
???
It was the last meeting before her mother was due in town. The first Tuesday in August was otherwise nothing special. Another sunrise lighting up tan mountains as she left the market, its oranges and pinks reminding her of a flip of the calendar. Seventy-one days since she’d last had a drink or smoke. Eighty-four since her last hook-up. By all measures, Gia was satisfactorily sober. So why wasn’t she satisfied?
She scanned the Fellowship Hall as she always did, and for the same reason: Roxi Delgado. The week’s crew consisted of the usual: Jacques in a pair of bright golf shorts; Amy, with her nose in front of a phone; Kelvin staring at the St. Peter stained glass; a handful of regulars all doing what they did before meetings. And no Roxi.
Shifting in the plastic chair that had become her Tuesday evening home, Gia settled in to listen as Mikael opened the meeting. There was peace in Mikael’s voice. And peace in the reliability of having somewhere to be each week with people who expected her. Turned out not having friends was harder when sober, and she made a note to double down on meeting new people. Her old habit of going to the bar to hang out with strangers didn’t fly anymore.
“This week, I’d like to open. I’m Mikael, and I’m an alcoholic. It’s been less than one day since I’ve had a drink. I had a relapse. And what’s important to understand is this can happen. Backtracking doesn’t make us bad people or failures. It makes us human andforgivable. I put myself in a situation without support and let my guard down. My ex showed up to get some things he’d stored in the garage after we broke up. With his new boyfriend.” Mikael shifted his stance and leaned against the beige wall where he normally stood, clasping calm hands over his middle in a politician-esque posture, and explained what happened after the ex and his new love left. “Thanks for listening. Would anyone else like to share?”
Gia raised her hand and shifted again in the chair, its familiar creak encouraging her. “Hi, I’m Gia, and I’m an alcoholic. It’s been seventy-one days since my last drink. But I’m worried. My mother is visiting next week. I haven’t seen her in two years, and we’ve barely spoken in that time. She’s working the program; insists she’s making changes in her life. But I don’t really know if that’s true. I don’t know what to trust and what to doubt. And I’m kinda freaking out.”
Given room to explore her feelings, Gia continued. “What if I slip up?”
“What if you don’t?” Mikael asked. “What if you make a plan right now? Put someone in place to talk. Go to a meeting if you need to. Bring her with you. This might be an opportunity for you two to bond in a way you haven’t before.”
He had a point, Gia thought, and thanked him. The format of this meeting was different than those she’d attended in the past, and Mikael maintained such a present presence. He had his own battles and was still present and thoughtful in a way she could hear. What if she and her mom could connect over their soberness? What if Gianna was willing to see her daughter without the storm clouds created by Jack or Jim obscuring her view?
As she waited her turn for the snack table, the “what ifs” swirled in Gia’s mind. Fear was shifting to optimism. Worry changing to curiosity. She didn’t know her mom sober. And her mom didn’t knowhersober. Maybe itwasan opportunity.
Before she could grab her favorite donut, a golden-brown arm reached across the table and snagged it.
“Hey!” Gia blurted. “I wanted—”
