Diary of an Alcoholic Housewife (40 page)

“I didn’t think she was done either,” I admitted. “She was bragging about almost dying the night we took her out of that treatment home. And the night we picked her up from group therapy, she was talking about being young and able to get away with abusing her body.”

“Yeah, and I remember what your response was,” Vivian said.

I cringed. “I remember it, too,” I groaned. “I’m so sorry. I regretted saying that as soon as the words left my mouth. I may as well have told her, ‘You’ve got time. Keep getting fucked up.’ I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry, Vivian.”

“You didn’t make her go out and use again,” Vivian said. “Nancy went and did that all by herself. She wanted to.”

“Yeah, but what I said didn’t help. If someone had said that to me when I was seventeen, I’d have perceived it as a green light.”

“If someone wants to stay sober, you can’t say anything wrong, and if someone doesn’t want to stay sober, you can’t say anything right,” Vivian said.

I nodded but didn’t believe her. I fucked up big time.

[Monday, February 2]

I called Henry to find out how the catering plans were going as well as how he was feeling. The day we’d had lunch, Henry told me he was going to have X-rays to find out why he was having back and neck pain.

“My doctor detected a mass on my spine near my neck and he’s pretty sure it’s cancer,” Henry said haltingly. “They think I have cancer in my stomach and liver, too.” Henry choked and stopped speaking for a moment. “I’m on interferon and insulin for my diabetes, and it’s too difficult to give myself shots. My father’s been giving them to me and his hands shake and it’s painful.” Henry began weeping.

“God, Henry, is there anything I can do?” I asked. “I give Max and myself allergy shots. I can give you injections. I don’t know. I’m so sorry.”

“I want to go bowling,” Henry said in a teary voice. “My family doesn’t think I’m up to it and they won’t take me.”

“How about Wednesday?” I said. “I’ll come over, give you your shots, take you bowling?”

“Okay,” he said weakly.

“I’m looking forward to pinching your ass when I give you that shot,” I joked.

Henry giggled. “Don’t say anything about how ill I am at the Friday night meeting,” he said. “I haven’t let Derek know how sick I am. I haven’t let my family know either.”

“You should tell your family,” I said. “At least tell one of your brothers. You’ve got six siblings. There’s gotta be one you can tell. Don’t carry this alone. Wouldn’t you be upset if someone in your family kept information like this from you? I’ll get the food for my party catered from Sunset. It’ll be easy. So don’t worry about that.”

“No,” Henry said firmly. “I don’t want to hear that. Catering your party is the one thing I’m enjoying. It’s a good diversion. I’m doing it.”

I was hoping Henry would pass on my party. I’m worried he’s going to mess it up. Henry is a drama queen who would be telling everyone about his cancer if he had it. Shit. Every way I look at this I’m worried.

[Tuesday, February 3]

Today is Charlie’s birthday. He’s forty-one. I gave him a kiss and wished him a happy birthday before rolling out of bed.

“Could you let Ernie out about one o’clock this afternoon?” Charlie shouted up the stairs as he was eating breakfast. “Judy and Dennis have to go to a funeral and won’t be around to let the dog in the yard.”

“Yeah, okay,” I shouted down.

As I poured myself a bowl of cereal, Charlie told me they would leave the back door open so I could let their dog out. He kissed me good-bye and left. I whisked the kids off to school and began writing a story for
The Daily Herald
about a hockey school that teaches lessons on plastic ice. I banged away at the story until three o’clock. I picked up Max from school, picked up Van from preschool, took Max to his eye doctor appointment, drove home, and sang “Happy Birthday” to Charlie. We gave Charlie his presents, a new ski jacket and sweater, and piled into the car to take Charlie to one of his favorite steak houses for dinner. The car was facing our next-door neighbor’s house.

“Oh shit!” I said. “I was supposed to let Ernie out, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “I told you this morning.”

“Shit,” I said again.

It didn’t look like Judy and Dennis were home yet, so I got out of the car and tried to open the side gate to their backyard. Deep snow covered the sidewalk and I couldn’t open the gate.

I got back into the car and drove down the alley. I got out of the car and as I was about to open their back gate, their kitchen light flipped on and I could see Dennis. “Shit,” I muttered and got back into the car.

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it now,” Charlie said. “Let’s just go to dinner.”

I drove to the steak house. “Of all the people to forget to do a favor for,” I moaned. “They cleaned up our yard when we were out of town during that microburst. They water our plants and take in our mail when we’re out of town. I’m such a schmuck!”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, nodding his head and snickering.

“I wonder if I should say something or pretend I let him out?” I said. “What if I pretend I let him out but Ernie peed all over his cage? What if he was so happy when they came home that he peed a river?”

“Are you going to dwell on this all night or are we going to enjoy our dinner?” Charlie asked.

We ordered drinks and appetizers and I continued to stew. Charlie looked at me and shook his head. “Come on,” he said. “Can we enjoy ourselves?”

“I’ve got to call them,” I said.

I called and Dennis answered. I began apologizing profusely.

“Well, he’s okay,” Dennis said testily. “But that’s really hard on the kidneys.”

I got off the phone and felt better having confessed. But I was still bummed.

“If you don’t put a smile on your face, I’m going to paint one on,” Charlie said. I put on my happy face and hoped it was convincing. Now I’d made Ernie cross his legs all day and ruined most of Charlie’s birthday dinner.

[Wednesday, February 4]

I bought a bucket of dog toys for Ernie and set them on Dennis and Judy’s front porch. I called Judy at work and apologized some more.

“Oh, Ernie was fine,” she laughed. “The only reason we asked you to let him out was because of the snow, we didn’t know how long it would take us to get home. When we let him out, he didn’t even go that much.”

So Dennis had put the screws to me. I couldn’t blame him. He’d done all that chain sawing and clearing of my yard after the microburst and I didn’t let his dog out.

Martina called. “I don’t think I’m an alcoholic,” she said. “I don’t think about booze or drugs and I don’t want them. My sister’s husband called and said, ‘I bet you miss drinking. Here, I’ll chug a beer for you.’ I could hear him chugging it but it didn’t make me want it. It’s just that when I get together with my friends, it’s what we do. I drink until I black out. I know that’s a bad sign, but I’m not an alcoholic.”

Minutes after I got off the phone with Martina, Kelly called.

“Ryan has a soccer game the night of your party,” she said. “So I don’t think I’ll be able to make it. I was thinking maybe I could take you out to lunch instead.”

“Okay,” I said, irritated.

“Are you angry?” Kelly asked, sounding kittenish.

“No,” I said, lying.

“Well, his soccer game is from five thirty to six thirty. Maybe I could come by after.”

“If you want. Everyone’s showing up at six, but the yoga probably won’t start until six fifteen, six thirty. You could hop in late or show up for food.”

“I’d like to make the class if I can,” Kelly said.

“I’ll put a mat by the door for you. If you can make it, make it. If not, have some dinner and cake.”

Kelly is doing a little tit-for-tat thing. Last April, when Kelly was turning thirty-nine, her friend Candy threw a wine-tasting party for her and I was just three months sober. I blew off her party to work at a homeless shelter and took her out to lunch instead.

[Friday, February 6]

Karen’s father died. I picked up Nosey Rosy and Fay and we drove to the wake.

“I asked Kelly if she wanted to come, too,” Nosey Rosy said. “But she said, ‘No, wakes aren’t my thing.’”

“Oh, they’re totally my thing,” I said sarcastically. “I’m sure everyone loved going to Kelly’s mother’s funeral.”

After spending a little more than an hour at the funeral home thinking about how my dad was going to die next, I drove Rosy home and on the way to Fay’s, Fay said, “I can’t believe Kelly didn’t come to this. You show up for your friends. ‘I’m not into it,’ or whatever it is she said, my God.”

Fay got out of the car and I drove to the Friday night meeting. Derek pulled me aside afterward and told me he was concerned about Henry.

“He’s drinking and not going to meetings, and he’s losing his eyesight,” Derek said, shaking his head. “All this other medical stuff he says is going on, I suspect he’s lying, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. Lila (another regular at the Friday night meeting) thinks so, too. It just doesn’t add up. He’s very evasive about what’s actually wrong with him. One minute he’s crying, and the next he’s giggling. He’s sketchy about what the doctors say and what they’re doing. I know he really likes you and looks up to you, so maybe you could convince him to get to some meetings.”

“At the risk of sounding selfish,” I said, “Henry is catering my fortieth birthday party tomorrow night and if he fucks it up, I’m going to kill him.”

“Things could go bad,” Derek said.

[Saturday, February 7]

I woke up feeling giddy and nervous about my party. I sent up a prayer, turned my party over to God, and felt okay.

A couple of hours before my party, I put a case of wine and two mega packs of bottled water in coolers and threw them in the back of my Jeep. I went to Caribou Coffee and picked up an urn of coffee and the fixings. Carly and Joyce, my two yoga instructors, and Carly’s husband helped me carry the stuff upstairs into the studio.

My sister was the first to arrive, followed by a steady stream of twenty-five friends, a quarter of them recovering addicts. I’d gone back and forth over whether or not to invite Jill, a nonrecovering alcoholic who has a knack for offending people, but ultimately invited her. Jill walked in. I don’t know what she was on, probably a combo of weed, speed, and alcohol, but she was jittery, loopy, and loud. Bonnie, my straight-laced sister-in-law, arrived seconds behind her.

“We know each other from high school,” Jill squealed. “Remember me? Remember me from high school?”

“Yes,” Bonnie said, looking like she’d just sipped sour milk.

I walked away to greet more friends and Jill trailed after me. “I think we used to be good friends,” Jill said, referring to Bonnie.

“Really?” I replied.

At six thirty, everyone but Kelly had arrived and we began practicing yoga. Carly began moving us through a sequence of poses, and about thirty minutes into it, Kelly showed up. I gave Kelly my mat and unrolled another for myself and took a spot up front next to Carly. The session ended with everyone relaxing on their backs in Savasana. I got up and snuck out to help Henry bring in the food.

Jill, who apparently bailed on the yoga early, walked over to me and asked, “Is your caterer blind? Who’s the guy out there with the cane? Whoever he is, he smells like a brewery.”

“Shit,” I said, walking briskly to the reception area. Henry was standing in a corner, weaving in place. His eyes were half-mast. I walked over and hugged him. He reeked of vodka. “Where is everything?” I asked.

Henry’s mouth began moving but nothing came out. Finally, he said, “Everything is downstairs in the van. You wouldn’t believe the day I had.”

I glanced around and saw Vivian and Emily chatting near the reception desk. “Will you guys help me?” I asked, trying to conceal my panic. “My caterer is fucked up.”

“Yeah, we can see that,” Emily said. “Tell us what to do.”

Vivian, Emily, and a few more of my friends went downstairs and began bringing up food and tables. More of my friends began helping arrange the tables and spread linens. I was acutely aware that Henry had disappeared. I walked out of the studio and into the reception area and began dragging the coolers in. I opened the lids.

“Is that wine?” Lea, one of my recovery friends asked in a wavering voice. Her eyes were glued to a cooler full of chardonnay bottles.

“Yeah,” I said and winked. “But it’s not for you or me.” I put my arm around her and we laughed.

My friends and I began unwrapping the platters of food.

The food looked fabulous. Marinated asparagus spears wrapped in prosciutto, sugar snap peas and water chestnuts wrapped in marinated beef, baked brie topped with dried apricots and slivered almonds, fruit and cheese kabobs radiating out of a huge pineapple, jumbo shrimp, marinated vegetables, finger sandwiches of herbed cheese on pumpernickel. Leslie, the woman who lived with Henry and drove him to meetings, was rearranging generous slabs of chocolate bark that had gone askew on the enormous chocolate-mousse-and-fresh-raspberry birthday cake Henry had made for me.

“Henry’s messed up,” I whispered to Leslie under my breath.

“It’s not what you think,” she said. “He worked his butt off. He’s not well. And this was more work than he remembered. Everything that could go wrong today did, and he’s in a lot of pain. I told him, ‘Whatever you do, don’t take a pain pill. Promise me you won’t.’ But he did. We got here early, but he passed out and I couldn’t wake him.”

“I’m so sorry, Leslie,” I said. “This day was hell for you, wasn’t it?”

Leslie nodded and looked like she was about to cry.

“Well, it’s over now and the food is incredible,” I said and smiled. “Everyone is raving about it. And that cake, oh my God, I’ve never seen a cake look that delicious.” Leslie smiled. “Go get yourself some food and relax.”

The party was a hit. As I visited with my friends, I saw Henry standing by one of the food tables taking compliments. He had a big smile on his face and was talking animatedly. He looked sober as a judge. I don’t know how he pulled it off, and I didn’t care. I was relieved. Emily walked over and began raving about Henry and his food. Then Kelly cut in.