Walking on Broken Glass (34 page)

I figured his five hours parlayed into my five hours. I could read, have lunch with Molly, grade papers, shop, read, hang out at CC's, read more. With the exception of paper-grading and the coffeehouse, which I generally paired anyway, most of these had involved alcohol. Sobriety was going to require rethinking all of these activities.

I knew the watch was safe in the safe (lesson on redundancy), so I didn’t mess with trying to figure out the combination. I calculated I had about four more hours before Carl would be home.

Rebecca had cautioned me about extremes, especially in early sobriety. Too much time could be just as dangerous as too little time. I needed to call Rebecca with my schedule for the day, which included the meetings I’d be attending. That was one of my post-Brookforest mandates from my new sponsor who told me, “I want to know what you’re doing and what you’re not doing. If I’m not home or I don’t answer my cell, leave a message. If not, I will haunt you.”

Five polite beeps. Coffee maker code for ready. Last week was my week of lasts at Brookforest. This would be my week of firsts. I was on my way to my first cup of coffee in my own kitchen. I found my usual coffee mug, a gift from my first Advanced Placement class. They’d pushed the envelope when they designed it, but they were so proud of themselves I had to laugh and, of course, accept. On one side, they’d written, “We survived this class,” and, fortunately, on the side facing me, “… with AP-ness.” My principal, who appreciated their cleverness, also told me he’d appreciate my not leaving it in the faculty lounge. I poured the coffee, but immediately experienced two sinking feelings. One was that I hadn’t made decaf, and the other was that the reason I needed to make decaf was sending me to the bathroom for my first morning sickness at home.

Four hours seemed like a much bigger chunk of time last week. Over an hour had passed, and all I’d accomplished was waking up, throwing up, and dressing up. I found decaf, made a fresh pot of coffee, and sat at the kitchen table to write my first “TO DO” list as a sober person.

1. Don’t drink.

2. Call Rebecca.

3. Don’t drink.

4. Call Molly.

5. Read today's meditations in
The Promise of a New Day
and
Twenty-Four Hours a Day.

6. Carl?????????

7. Make appointment with Dr. Nolan for 2nd OB visit

8. Find/buy journal for 12 Step work

9. GO TO MEETING AT SERENITY AT 6:30. (Al-Anon mtg. @ that time)

10. See #1 and #3

When Carl called to tell me he was on his way home, I’d finished #1-5. Rebecca and I had arranged the place, time, and date for our lunch. Molly said she was on her way to an appointment, but she was “grateful and ecstatic” I was home. She said she’d call back in a few days, but she knew Carl and I needed time together. I’d purposely waited on #7 because I wanted to include Carl in the appointment with Dr. Nolan or at least offer him the chance to be there.

I slipped on my canvas sneakers, cleaned the coffee pot, and brushed on enough powder and blush to not look scary white. I hadn’t eaten breakfast, so I planned to ask Carl if he wanted to go out for lunch. We’d at least be forced to act civilly toward one another in a public environment. After last night, and especially with Carl having spent the night on the sofa, I had no idea which version of Carl would soon walk through the door.

My meditation today was, “I will accept my life and the paths it is taking, and trust that God is leading me where I need to be.” When I read that I thought of Robert Frost and “The Road Not Taken” and it occurred to me that perhaps Robert struggled with his paths and decisions as well: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”

God, if my path in life is a road not frequently traveled, I’m going to need a GPS or I’ll be wandering around aimlessly.
Hmm. GPS. God Protects Stupidity. That worked for me.

Or, Leah, God Provides Salvation.

That too, God. That too.

Pappasito's. A lively Mexican restaurant. Perfect. Background music loud enough to swallow conversations. Just sitting at a table is entertainment. Waitstaff carrying trays as round as manhole covers loaded with sizzling, “careful hot plate, don’t touch” aromatic entrees. Why hasn’t cilantro made its way into candles and aerosol sprays?

“Did you know cilantro is also called Chinese parsley?” I said to the menu across the table from me.

“Yes. I remember I heard that someplace. Maybe from you the last time we were here,” it answered.

“Why do we look at the menu? We order the same thing every time. I’m not complaining. I love the shrimp fajitas. Crave them,” I said, and felt the lumpy dough of the “crave” word drop between us.

“Shrimp fajitas. Extra guac, sour cream, and tortillas,” Carl said to Andy, our waiter, a striking blonde in a surfer-dude way.

I dove in the pool of discontent headfirst. “I need to make an appointment with Dr. Nolan. She's the OB. I wanted to talk to you before I scheduled it. In case you’d want to go.”

He pushed back in the chair, the one-shoulder-dropped look that radiated aggravation. “Now, when did you make this decision? What happened to Dr. Foret?”

I explained my decision had nothing to do with not liking Dr. Foret, but everything to do with not wanting to have everything about this pregnancy remind me of Alyssa. “Dr. Nolan was recommended by someone at Brookforest. I’ve already met her, and I really like her. I think you would too.”

“It seems you’ve made a lot of important decisions without me. Is this part of how you changed? You stopped asking for my opinion?”

Serenity Prayer. Serenity Prayer.

“The doctor decision I made last week. If I’d talked to you about it, well, that would’ve been strange. Wouldn’t you have wondered why I was asking you about an OB from rehab?”

“Whatever you want. If you want me to go with you, I’ll make it happen.”

Now I was on familiar turf. Artificial turf. In his veiled way, he told me he wanted me to be vulnerable first. He wanted me to say that I wanted him there, so his presence was a gift.

Is this the path, God? I step out first?
This isn’t seeming like the less traveled road.

You forgot about the trust already?
GPS, not LPS. Got it.

“Yes, I would very much like for you to be at Dr. Nolan's with me.” There, I told him what he wanted to hear.

Andy hovered with the tray, while Carl reorganized the table to accommodate the plates. “I’ll go. Let me know the date, so I’ll put it in my ’Berry.” He nodded to Andy, and over the sizzling confusion of sliding plates onto the table, he said, “That’ll be perfect. We can both talk to her about Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.”

I mentally dumped the fajita plate in Carl's lap. I watched as Andy's eyes shifted to me and back to Carl in microseconds.

“Thanks,” I said, and I meant it for more than just the food.

The day went, as my students were apt to say, from worse to worser.

At some point during lunch, Carl remarked that I wasn’t wearing the Rolex. I told him about not being sure of the safe combination. He asked why I didn’t bother to try.

The conversation crumbled like stale cookies. I was determined to not fall apart with it. Not anymore.

“This isn’t about the watch, is it?”

He covered his plate with his napkin and pushed it to the side. “No, I guess not,” he said, and wore the weariness of his voice in his eyes.

I asked the waiter, who probably now had a clue why we hadn’t ordered wine, for a “to go” container.

“It's hard to pretend the last thirty days didn’t happen. So much changed for me. But I don’t even understand it all yet. Can you, at least now while we’re hacking through this forest, give me the benefit of the doubt? Maybe not always presume I’ve done something intentionally or have an ulterior motive?” As soon as the words coasted out of my mouth, I had one of my
epeep-a-nees
. We disliked whatever we saw in others that reminded us of what we disliked in ourselves. Carl suspected me of doing the very things he did himself. I didn’t voice this. Not yet.

On the ride home, I told Carl about Rebecca, how I met her, and what it meant for her to be my sponsor. If I shared information in pieces, eventually the whole puzzle would come together. After all, who could assemble a 500-piece puzzle all at once?

Sure, God could, but He’d already assembled the entire universe. Bang or no Bang. Somebody had to make the parts ahead of time and know exactly where they’d fit when everything settled.

I dumped one too many pieces out of the box, but I wanted Carl to understand about the 90/90, especially since I’d be leaving the house that night to attend my first post-rehab meeting.

“Making ninety consecutive meetings in ninety days is committing to sobriety and to the program. It's important. Especially now that we’re going to have a baby. Staying sober is more important than ever. The Serenity Club has Al-Anon meetings on some nights at the same time as AA meetings. We could go together.”

“Let me think about the meetings. You’re hitting me with a lot right now.”

“Well, just think about Al-Anon meetings.”

“Another nonnegotiable … this 90/90 thing?”

“Yes, but I’m already taking a sabbatical next school year. I’ll be free to attend meetings during the day. They don’t have to cut into our time.”

“Fine, fine. Whatever works.” He reminded me of movies where the sound track is off, and the actor's mouth isn’t in sync with the words.