Beneath the Surface(42)

“You are not and will never become an alcoholic.” Kristin sipped from her wine, on the verge of feeling guilty for enjoying its aroma. Sheryl had a way of spoiling the pleasure she took in the very moderate amount of alcohol she consumed.

Sheryl had worked from home and Kristin hadn’t been able to figure out what to do with herself all day, aimlessly wandering through the house and tidying up every stray object she came across. She’d been without a job for a month, and it was beginning to make her restless. Kristin had never been without a job or clear purpose before.

“I think I’m well on the way.” Sheryl didn’t let up.

Kristin had a choice. She could let Sheryl go through her usual spiel and endure five more minutes of her feeling sorry for herself for being the alcoholic she wasn’t really, or do the thing she never did: call her out on it. Sheryl had spent more time outside of her home office than in, and annoyed Kristin every time she ventured into the living room, unwashed in a scraggly T-shirt she’d owned since they had met.

“I really wish you would stop saying that.” Some of the irritation she’d amassed over the course of the day had seeped into Kristin’s tone of voice.

Sheryl quirked up her eyebrows. “Someone’s a bit snippy.” With that, she tipped the glass of wine to her lips and took a large gulp.

I’m not snippy, Kristin thought, I’m aimless. She made a point of not taking it out further on Sheryl. This, however, didn’t mean they shouldn’t have the conversation they never had. “I know you have this strange notion that one day you will turn into a drunk because your father was one—”

“Is one,” Sheryl corrected.

Kristin went on, unperturbed. “I understand it makes you wary, makes you feel a little guilty even, every time you have a drink. But it doesn’t make you an alcoholic. Alcoholics are addicts and you are not an addict, babe.”

Sheryl sighed that particular sigh that usually indicated she was about done with a topic. As though what she really needed to assuage the guilt and shame that came with having a drink, was to acknowledge her fear out loud.

“I just… feel like it influences my life more than it should. And that, over the years, I’ve started to drink more and more. I used to not drink at all, then just one glass when we were out with friends, and look at me now. Drinking on the patio with you. Going to The Flying Pig in the middle of the afternoon. Opening a bottle when I’m home alone. I feel like it’s escalating and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Kristin sat up a little straighter. “If it bothers you so much, then maybe you should try stopping, or at least drinking less. You know you have my full support.”

“That’s just the thing.” Another sigh. “The thought of doing so scares the shit out of me.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s hard. Because alcohol is everywhere. Because a beer after a long day at work is about the most divine thing there is.” She shrugged. “So many reasons.”

“You didn’t drink for the longest time, remember? Why would it be so different now?”

“Because I feel like I crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed. Once I started drinking more, I realized how that very first sip, and the comfort of a near-full glass in front of me, made me feel so much more alive and at ease and full of possibility. In that respect, I do feel like I’m an addict. So much so that I’ve begun to understand my father, the man who let me down so much. I get it. And as it turns out, I’m not like you. I can’t just have two or three and stop. My ability to do so is out of the window after that first glass.”

“It didn’t used to be. You used to be so disciplined.”

Sheryl shook her head. “Back then, it had nothing to do with discipline. It was a mere matter of principle. I might have had a glass in front of me, but it was just for show, just to not feel like a pariah in this booze-crazed country where not drinking makes you look like a spoilsport or an uptight judgmental bitch. I didn’t really know how it made me feel because I didn’t give myself the opportunity. I only felt disgust for this substance that took away whatever was left of my youth after I had already lost most of it.”

Kristin didn’t know what to say to that, so she put a hand on Sheryl’s knee and squeezed. “How about this,” she said. “How about you follow my lead. If stopping altogether is too hard, why don’t you let me curb your intake? Only drink when we’re together and I’ll let you know when it’s time to stop. You can count on me for that.”