“Ask me whatever you want,” I urged. “I’m an open book.”
He paused for a moment, “Okay, where do you see yourself in ten years?”
I thought about it, mulling the question over in my mind. “Hmmm, I think I’d like to see myself opening my own counseling center. By then, Alexis will be in her twenties. She’s considering going to college to study speech therapy or something along those lines. Maybe we’ll work together someday, providing services across the board.”
“Sounds like you have it all planned out,” Chris said. I wondered if he was thinking about where he fit into my plan.
“Pipe dreams,” I sighed. “Working for a non-profit agency like the pregnancy care center, I’m sure I’ll never make enough money to start up my own business.”
“You never know. Someone once told me to never give up on my dreams.” I almost heard him wink through the phone. I knew he was talking about me.
I chuckled. “You’re right. I remember. Anyway, so what about you? Where do you see yourself in ten years?”
“Me? Well, I know this whole celebrity gig won’t last forever. Maybe I’ll open my own recording studio. Settle down. Have a family. I don’t know. This business is so here and now that it’s really hard to think about the future. Kinda scary, actually.”
Settle down? Have a family? Suddenly I wondered how I might fit into his plan and why he was so scared of it. “So, besides the future, what’s your biggest fear?” I asked, twisting a strand of hair self-consciously around my finger.
“Hmmm, snakes. I’m definitely scared of snakes.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant. I mean… what are you really afraid of?”
Chris sat quietly for a few moments. Just as I was about to tell him that he didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to, he piped up, “I’m afraid of myself.”
Himself? Why the hell would he be afraid of himself? “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m afraid of me… of screwing up… terrified of finding one glimmer of happiness in my life and doing something stupid to mess it all up, just like I’ve always done.”
“What are you talking about? Just take a look at yourself, Chris,” I told him, baffled. “Look at where you started and see how far you’ve come.”
“Yeah, I know. And I fight every day to stay here. I walk through life afraid of one wrong move that will take it all away. I just don’t want to end up… like my dad.” His voice was thick with sadness and fear.
I shook my head in protest. “But, his situation was different. Your dad did what he thought he had to do to provide for his family. He knew the consequences when he made those deals, never knowing which deal would be last… the one that would land him in prison.”
“Exactly,” Chris confessed. “I never know from day to day which mistake I’ll make to lose everything.”
“What are you talking about? You’re not a drug dealer.” Are you? I suddenly doubted everything I thought I knew about him.
“Of course not,” he said, putting my mind at ease. “I mean, I may not be doing anything illegal, but in case you haven’t noticed I’m a perpetual fuck-up. I mean, look at my history, Salem.”
“Your history doesn’t define your future, Chris.” Unless you include me. And in that case your history with me could certainly define your future. But I didn’t want to go into all that.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I’m just terrified of falling back into my old habits, my self-destructive nature… making poor choices that reap bitter consequences.”
“You won’t,” I promised.
“Yeah, but how do you know I won’t?” he asked, sounding desperate, like he didn’t trust himself.
“Because I’m right here,” I said softly, “to help you, support you, and encourage you. That is, as long as you want me here.”
“Honestly,” he whispered, “I can’t imagine it any other way.”
A few days later, Chris’s knock at my door startled me. I wasn’t expecting him so early. He had decided weeks ago that when he left Cleveland, he’d take I-77 instead of I-75 so he could swing through Charlotte on his way to Atlanta. Alexis just happened to be spending the weekend at her dad’s house, so it worked out perfectly.
I hadn’t had time to shower or apply my makeup or change clothes. I still had my hair up in the messy bun I’d slept in the night before. Half of the afternoon was spent trying to perfect homemade biscuits from scratch. He was so excited about this homemade meal that there was no way I was going to serve him biscuits I’d popped out of the can. I wiped my hands on my grandmother’s old apron, smoothed out my hair as best I could without a mirror, and headed for the door, heart racing.