A very different vibe than when they’d attended Trevor’s funeral the week before, where all of ten people had showed up. The mood, as they stood around his grave, had been one of doom and gloom because of the wasted opportunity the funeral of a man who had drunk himself to death represented. If Sheryl were to guess, she figured that she’d finalized her decision, truly vowed and swore on the ghost of her mother, to stop drinking altogether right there and then. It was the only way. And yes, it would be hard, and temptation would always be lurking around the corner, but if the options were dying alone the way Trevor had, a broken and disappointed man, or living a long and healthy life alongside Kristin, then it was an easy choice. Theoretically, at least.
That day, she was sixteen days sober, and she already felt like a different person. Not only because starting the day without a hangover made all the difference, but because of her ability to make the decision. It was clear cut. It was definite. And perhaps Sheryl had her father to thank for it. Perhaps, in his final days on this earth, he had, in some way, managed to come through for her. Though it was too late for him to take any comfort in the fact.
The AA group usually formed a circle, but today they all sat auditorium style because it was an open meeting at which participants had been encouraged to bring their loved ones. Sheryl had brought her true family, which consisted of Kristin first and foremost, but also Caitlin, whom she’d known much better twenty years ago, but that didn’t matter—some friends are for life. And Micky and Robin, who had only recently come into her life but had become Pink Bean family, and for whom she felt, at times, an almost motherly affection. And finally Martha, who had bravely come out a few years ago, at the age of fifty-two.
Sheryl didn’t know yet if she would speak today. It was one thing to open up to a bunch of strangers who shared her addiction, but another entirely to do so in front of their family and, most importantly, her own. Especially without the loosening effects of alcohol. Because that was, of course, the crux of it all: a life without booze. Without the warm glow of comfort sliding down her throat when she drank vodka. Without the knowledge that after a few glasses of wine on a Friday, everything would be all right. Without the carefree way in which she used to clink her glass against her friends’, look them in the eye, and feel so emboldened by the most intoxicating combination of all: friendship and alcohol.
In the end, it didn’t matter if she said anything or nothing. It mattered that she was here. And that Kristin and their friends were. And that every morning, when she woke up with a clear head, she could add another day to her tally. The Alcoholics Anonymous age-old adage of “One day at a time,” which she had often mocked while tipsy, was the only way forward. Most importantly, though, Sheryl knew that she stood a much better chance than Trevor, because unlike him, she hadn’t lost it all. She had Kristin by her side.
When the moderator opened the meeting and asked if anyone wanted to start, Sheryl ignored the usual awkwardness of the moment, and this time made brave by a much more powerful source of intoxication than alcohol—friendship and love—she raised her hand, walked to the front of the room, faced the stare of a dozen people she didn’t know, and quite a few she knew all too well, and said, “Hi, I’m Sheryl and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Coffee on the house,” Kristin said as they all walked into The Pink Bean. It was near closing time and the place was empty, save for Josephine who was manning the counter.
“How generous of you, boss,” Micky said. “To not make your best employee pay.” She winked at Kristin.
“I’ll have to dock your wages if you keep talking back to management.” Kristin headed behind the counter.
Micky’s transformation was the first one she’d witnessed, right from the viewpoint she had now. The Pink Bean was where it had all begun. Only a few short months after Micky had first met Robin, Sheryl’s father had walked in. A moment Kristin was sorry she had missed. Perhaps she could have gauged, from the look on Sheryl’s face as Trevor made his way to her, what sheer devastation it would cause her, and she would have been more ready for the nightmare it had thrown them into. She wouldn’t have let it come this far, but then again, where they were now, headed home after an AA meeting, was probably the only possible outcome for them.
“Caitlin, what can I get you?” Kristin asked.
“I’ll have a flat white, please,” Caitlin replied.
“The usual for the rest of you, I assume?”
Kristin went about preparing their drinks. A double espresso for Sheryl. A latte—though she would call it a wet cappuccino, for sure—for Robin. Cappuccino for Micky, and a flat white for Martha.