Jessica Sankiewicz - If Only We

Setting down my bag and sitting down across from her, I realize how lucky I am to have her in my life. There was so much wasted time before, and now I have these moments to experience. The simple pleasures. I smile at her, saying, “You’re the bestest friend in the whole wide world, you know that?”

“Yes, I do.” She picks up one of the medium pinks, then hands over the clear to me. “Now, bestest friend in the whole wide world, it’s time to paint some nails.”

Our marathon of movies consists of childhood classics: My Girl, Now and Then, and, yes, The Lion King. During “Can You Feel the Love Tonight?” she suddenly begins to belt out the lyrics in a high-pitched voice and we both end up on the floor rolling around in laughter.

It takes my mind off yesterday, but only momentarily. What I said to John plays like a bad song over and over again.

Unfortunately, my mind cannot be stopped like a song can.

As I walk down the road to go home in the afternoon, I start to wish I had driven, with the heaviness of my bag weighing me down. I try to convince myself that walking was a good idea but I can’t find a solid argument for it. The sound of a car slowing down next to me catches my attention. I don’t think much of it, imagining it might be someone wanting to ask for directions. When I look, I am met with a surprise.

It’s Chevy.

“Hey,” he says. “Need a lift?”

I tap a finger to my mouth and say, “Sure, why not?”

He stops and opens the door across the console for me. “Let me get that,” he says, taking my bag from me and putting it in the backseat. After I buckle up, he starts to drive again.

“So what are you doing out driving today?”

“I was on my way over to your house.”

“You were?”

He nods. “I have something to tell you.”

“You do?”

He chuckles. “Are you going to question everything I say?”

“I don’t know, am I?” I say with a grin.

“Apparently.” He pulls into my driveway and puts the car into park. He clears his throat and turns to me. “My dad is getting help.”

My jaw drops and I stare at him in disbelief. That was the last thing I was expecting to hear him say. “He is? Wait, how…when…what happened?”

“He came home late Friday night. We thought he had gone out to drink again. Turns out, he got in touch with an old acquaintance of his who went to Alcoholics Anonymous. This guy convinced him to come along to the meeting with him that night. So he did. He has been sober since Friday night. And he wants to stay sober.” Chevy’s eyes begin to water.

It takes a lot of willpower to keep from bursting into tears myself. I can’t believe it. I take his hand in mine and squeeze it. “Oh Chevy, this is wonderful news. Just wonderful.” More wonderful than he can even imagine.

“I know. I still can’t believe it.”

“What changed his mind?”

He shakes his head. “He didn’t say.”

Part of me wonders if he didn’t want to admit he got a verbal lashing from an eighteen-year-old girl. If John won’t tell Chevy, I am going to respect those wishes. I turn to the house, and then back to him. “Want to come in? I can get you something to drink.”

He reaches back for my bag. “Actually, I am kind of thirsty.”

We walk into the house and I take my bag from Chevy and place it on the stairs. My mom walks down the hallway. “Did you have fun, sweetie?” She sees Chevy next to me. “Oh, hi,” she says, half surprised.

“You remember Chevy, right, Mom?” I ask.

“Of course, you’re Noreen’s son.”

“I am,” he says.

“Chevy was driving by when I was walking home and offered me a lift,” I explain.

She warmly smiles at him. “Well, that was very nice of you to do that.”

Chevy smiles. “My pleasure.”

My mom stares at me with raised eyebrows, hoping for an explanation. I don’t have boys over at the house, unless it is along with other friends. I only dated a couple of boys briefly in my freshman and sophomore years, and dating consisted of hand-holding, note passing, eating lunch together, and sneaking a few kisses. My mom knew about these boys but she never formally met them. I have a feeling she can sense something. Better change the subject before it's brought up.

“So, I was just going to get him something to drink before he leaves,” I say as I tug at his arm, leading him to the kitchen and away from my mom. I manage to stifle a laugh as I pour him a glass of water. I can feel her eyes through the walls. I lean back against the counter and ask, “What’s next for your dad then?”

“We’re working on getting all the alcohol out of the house for starters. He'll be going to the meetings every week and will get a sponsor. Other than that, we’ll just have to make sure he is staying on track. He wants us to keep him in line anyway.”

“You think you and your mom can handle it?”

He shrugs. “I hope so. Seymour's going to stay here for the rest of the summer before going back to college.”

“Oh, he is?”

He nods. “He was able to get the time off from his summer job for it.”

“That’s good then. Your father has a lot of support.”

“Yeah, he does,” he says, looking me in the eye.

I blink a couple times but shrug it off. “What are you doing for the rest of the day?”

“Go back home, help Mom and Seymour out with the things we need to do.” He looks at the clock on the wall. “I should probably go back soon.”

“Let me walk you out.” I take the glass from him and place it in the sink. As we walk through the living room, my mom is nowhere in sight. I wonder where she snuck off to since she isn’t nearby to eavesdrop. When we get to his car, I say, “Thanks for letting me know. And if there’s anything I can do—”

“Adrienne,” he says, cutting me off, “you have already done so much.”

“Not really.”

He gives me a look. “You’re the one who convinced me we needed to talk to him. When you’re in the middle of it all, sometimes you lose sight of what you need to do. I’m grateful I had a friend on the outside that could help us get to this place.” He taps on top of his car with his knuckle. “I think at this point, I still owe you.”

“I doubt that, but we can argue about this another time.”

“Deal.” He reaches out and pulls me in for a hug. “Thank you, again.”

He is holding me so tight and close, that I can hardly find the words to say. I barely utter, “You’re welcome,” before letting him go.

Upon reentering the house, I find my mom sitting on the living-room couch going through some papers. Drat. I completely forgot about the look she gave me. She looks up and says, “You never told me if you had fun.”

“Of course. We watched movies and did our nails like we used to. It was nice.”

“I’m glad you had a good time.” She goes back to the papers. I stand in place for a couple seconds then decide to grab my bag and go upstairs to my room. Just as I'm about to reach the stairs, she stops me with, “Is there something going on between you and Chevy?”

I slowly turn around. She is looking me right in the eye, as if she could probe me for information that way. “No, we’re just friends.”

She nods, and then looks back down at her papers. “I was just wondering because it seemed like something. Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me.”

They aren’t, I think. “I’ve just been helping him with a family thing.” I waver a second on whether to say anything but decide to just tell her the truth. “Chevy asked me for some advice last week. His dad is…well, he’s an alcoholic. I suggested they hold an intervention, and they did, and his dad just decided to get some help. That’s why he came over. He wanted to tell me the good news.”

My mom looks back up at me with wide eyes. “Oh sweetie. I had no idea his family was dealing with that.”

“I didn’t either until he told me.” I bite my lip. “I don’t think too many people know about it though,” I add.

She half smiles. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” She sets her stuff down and comes over to give me a hug. “I’m glad to see Chevy has a good friend like you to help him through this. Alcoholism can tear families apart. I’ve seen it happen to a few people over the years and it’s not pretty.” She pulls away. “Anyway, it's great he’s willing to do something. That’s the hardest part.”

Yeah. It is.

At the end of the week, I have reached a breaking point in monotony.

Monday, Faith asks if I want to come with her and Lyndsay to the nursing home to hand deliver the pillows I made. “Karen is excited to see them, and to meet you.”

I internally cringe at the idea of setting foot in there again. I don’t want to sound like a baby. It almost seems childish, to be afraid of going into a nursing home because the smell makes me nauseated, but it is the truth. I can’t deny that it terrifies me. I take in a deep breath to regain my composure. “Could you give them to her for me? I can probably meet her another time. I just…I don’t know if I can go.”

Faith understands. “Of course.”

She comes home that day with a check from Karen. “She absolutely loves them. She sent this with me, along with her thanks.”

I knew it was coming. I knew how much I was getting. Yet, it still did not feel real until I saw it with my own eyes.

My first sale.

It's exciting to reach that goal, even though it's still just the beginning. I know what I want to do next. I found a pattern for making cute purses. Back when I first saw it, I couldn’t do it because I didn’t have enough cash from my chores to buy the supplies to get started. The fabric from the box in the attic can only go so far, especially with some of the colors being slightly too bizarre in pattern. Although, it may not be a bad idea to incorporate vintage-like items into the mix.

I manage to sneak in a trip to the store for my supplies on Tuesday, and get straight to work on the project Wednesday. Once I build up a decent amount of finished products, I can start putting forth the effort into sharing them with stores. There's an antique and craft commission place a couple towns over I can start with. I have only been inside there a couple times but I know if I bring some of these things in, they're bound to give me a small section to display and sell my items.

Chevy sends a couple messages to let me know how things are going. They took away all the alcohol that was in the liquor cabinet and kitchen. John seems to be handling it okay, although it has been rough these few days not drinking. Apparently, he has been a bit more irritable than usual, but that is to be expected when you take a vice away. They can’t be with John at all times, but he doesn’t seem to be falling off the wagon when they see him.

It fills me with hope. It also fills me with anxiety, knowing we haven’t gotten to the moment of truth yet. It's easy to stay away from alcohol for a few days or even a week. From what I've read, the real test of willpower is when you go beyond that. Until he does, I won’t be able to rest easy.

Thank goodness for all of the distractions I have. Kaitlin and I keep plugging away on finishing The O.C. by the end of summer. She and I have been getting along great, although I still feel those moments where we are still worlds apart. I’m not sure what she is holding back, what is going on in that head of hers. Her horseback riding lessons haven’t stopped yet. She still loves it. If only I could figure out what keeps her at a distance.

* * *

Later that evening it hits me: I am halfway through the summer. I should be feeling good at this point. I have made it through half of this rerun. For some reason, I am feeling uneasy and I can’t figure out why. Am I not succeeding in what I set about to do? Some things are heading in the right direction but most of them are undetermined. Am I doing what I need to do? Am I missing something? Am I forgetting something? I close my eyes for a minute to think things over. Nothing new comes to mind, and everything that has already been done appears to be the best I can do. I still feel like something more is needed.

It is times like these when I wish I had someone to talk to.

I need to get my mind off this, stop dwelling on these details. Lyndsay is out to dinner with Ben for their nine-month anniversary. One thing you never do is encroach on a couple’s anniversary date, not that I would want to, no matter how much I want to get out of the house.