Beneath the Surface(64)

Though certainly the most realistic option, Kristin wasn’t quite sure moderation was the best solution in the long run, because of the bigger risk of a relapse.

Sheryl nodded earnestly. “I’ve been racking my brain trying to pinpoint when drinking became more to me than just a way to unwind, a way to bond with my friends, but I can’t for the life of me remember. I remember the time when I was always the one with half a glass of wine in front of me and barely touching it, and I remember when, after pouring myself that first glass, I was already looking forward to the second, but no stage in between.”

Kristin tried to remember as well but had to admit that she had probably been too busy at work to notice. While she knew it was foolish to blame herself, even partly, for Sheryl’s drinking, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny flicker of guilt every time they addressed the issue.

“Like most things in life, it happened gradually. Without us even noticing.” Though Kristin could still vividly remember the shocking discovery of the supermarket receipt for that ghastly bottle of red wine Sheryl had bought for herself, to drink behind Kristin’s back while she was at work. She had noticed then, but hadn’t spoken up. Because life had gotten in the way, as usual, and, back then, it was somehow easier to believe that her partner of so many years was finding some comfort in a cheap bottle of wine when Kristin’s arms weren’t available.

“I’m pretty certain the whole process isn’t reversible,” Sheryl said with a sigh. “But I can try.” She looked away for a minute, through the window. “It’s been two days now. I look forward to a drink.” As if admitting this out loud had triggered an immediate physical reaction, her leg started jittering.

Kristin had the time now, and she was the person who knew Sheryl best, but she had no idea how to deal with this. All she knew was what she wanted to avoid at all cost: Sheryl locking herself into her office with a bottle of vodka and not coming out until she was shit-faced. To have to see her like that again would break her heart all over again. There was a big difference between seeing the woman you love tipsy at a party, breaking out in serious speeches about women’s rights and the direction modern-day feminism is taking, and witnessing how all zest for life had drained from her eyes, from her entire body, and been replaced by the numbing, crushing effects of alcohol.

“Do you think that you could perhaps benefit from some outside help?” Kristin didn’t have the heart to look at Sheryl’s face after suggesting this.

“You mean AA?” Sheryl’s voice remained steady.

“Or therapy.”

“Perhaps,” Sheryl said. “Therapy, not AA.” She leaned back in the sofa. “I’m not sure I want to stop drinking entirely. I like the buzz of a couple of drinks. The way a glass of wine tastes different on a Friday night when the weekend begins. I love pouring a nice bottle for our friends when we have a dinner party.”

“I know you do.” Kristin understood the joy of all these little pleasures perfectly. “But the very nature of alcohol makes you lose control over when to stop.” They had tried Sheryl relying on subtle—or not so subtle—cues from Kristin before to curb her drinking enthusiasm. It hadn’t worked.

“So you think I should stop? Go cold turkey?”

Kristin knew she couldn’t win here, but this conversation had to continue. She had stopped it at crucial times too often before. “With professional help. Yes.”

“You think it truly is an addiction and not just a temporary reaction to things from my past?”

“It has escalated with your father showing up, but you were not exactly in control of your habit for quite a few years before.”

“And when you say habit, you mean addiction,” Sheryl said matter-of-factly.

“I don’t know, babe. That’s the point I’m trying to make. How can we, just the two of us, ever truly figure this out?”

“I know I said I would quit.” Sheryl’s voice was starting to lose its confident note. “But saying it is so much easier than actually doing it.”

“I know.” Kristin nodded thoughtfully, hoping Sheryl would soon reach the inevitable conclusion. “I will support you. I’ll get rid of all the alcohol in the house. I won’t drink a drop until you’re comfortable with me doing so, but I won’t drink in our home. We’ll do this together.”

“I don’t want you to make that kind of a sacrifice for me.” A sudden harshness in Sheryl’s tone. “I don’t need you to.”

“It’s not a sacrifice at all.” She shuffled a little closer to Sheryl. “Seeing you sober and happy and healthy will give me a million times more pleasure than a sip of the greatest wine.”