Page 70 of Holiday Romance
“Molly—”
“You don’t have to do this by yourself.” As soon as I say the words, I get a flashback to Gabriela following me around the office, begging me to talk to her. She knew something was up with me just like I know something’s up with him. And I guess now I finally understand her frustration. “You can talk to me.”
“I know I can.” His gaze gentles at the obvious hurt in my voice. “I know I’m just… This is all pretty new to me too. Besides my roommates, you’re the first person I’ve told.”
Now that shocks me. “Really? Not even your family?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. I’m still figuring out how to explain it to them without freaking them out.”
“But what about Christmas?”
He knows what I mean. No one likes the stereotype, but the culture of casual drinking is very much alive in Ireland. Even more so at this time of the year when my social media feeds fill up with breakfast mimosas and lunchtime pints with captions of’Tis the seasonandMight as well. It’s expected. Almost encouraged.And if you don’t join in, it means something is wrong.
“I’ll tell them I’m on antibiotics or something,” Andrew says. “Christian’s usually too hungover to touch anything anyway. I won’t be alone. I guess I just don’t want anyone to treat me any differently.”
“But they will,” I say. “They have to.” I take another step toward him, relieved he’s finally talking to me, furious I didn’t ask sooner. I didn’t realize how guilty I’d felt since he told me. I mean, talk about being a bad friend. So caught up in my own problems, year in and year out, that I didn’t even see it.
Andrew smiles, reading my thoughts like I spoke them out loud. “You can’t take the blame for this one, Moll. This is all on me. I got very, very good at hiding it. Even from myself.”
“When did you know?”
“That I had a problem?” He shrugs, trying to play it casual even as a stiffness creeps into his body. “There weren’t any warning signs,” he says. “At least not the ones you think you know to look out for. I didn’t wake up hungover all the time. I wasn’t angry or moody. Or at least I told myself I wasn’t. But it was becoming an everyday thing. Every meal, every event. Every time I went anywhere, anytime I did anything, it was all I could focus on. But I kept telling myself that as long as I didn’t get too drunk, it wouldn’t be an issue.” He pauses, scratching the side of his neck. It’s a nervous gesture. One that I’m not used to seeing from him. “I was in denial,” he says eventually. “And I guess I lied just now, I couldn’t hide it from everyone. It’s why Marissa and I…”
I straighten, realizing what he’s saying. “Oh my God, Andrew.”
“She asked me to stop and I didn’t. I was convinced she was blowing it out of proportion. But she could see it. Her dad had problems when she was growing up and she didn’t want that in her life.”
I have no idea what to say, so I don’t say anything, listening like I need to start doing.
“It got worse after she left,” he says after a beat. “Just to be predictable. But I realize now I couldn’t stop for her. I had to stop for me. And I did.”
“That’s good,” I say. “That’sgreat.”
He smiles at my earnestness. “I still get the odd moment,” he admits. “The guy running the program says it’s helpful to avoid places with excessive drinking, but it’s the little moments that get to me. The quiet times when you think… maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I could just have one and then I could stop. Even though I know deep down I won’t. And tonight? Spending it with you, knowing I’m seeing my family tomorrow? What better way to finish a perfect day?”
“So tell me when that happens,” I say. “Let me be there for you. Even if it’s just as a distraction.”
“A distraction, huh?” His voice goes soft as he gazes down at me. “You want to be my distraction, Moll?”
I don’t answer, feeling like I’m pinned in place as I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. His eyes drop to my throat at the movement before trailing down to the necklace he gave me. I don’t think I’m even breathing as he reaches up, tugging the chain from under my sweater so that it sits on top.
“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper as he plays with it. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
“I do.” He lets go of the pendant, but his hand stays where it is, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear in what’s fast becoming his signature move. “But just for the record,” he says. “You can’t tell me stuff.”
He smiles as he dodges my hit, taking a step back from me and putting some much-needed distance between us in the process.
“I promise to tell you when it gets too much,” he says. “And you can distract me however you want.”
I grimace, thinking he’s back to joking, but he shakes his head.
“I promise,” he repeats, and he looks so sincere that this time I believe him.
“We should get some sleep,” I say eventually, thinking about our final day of travel tomorrow. “If we wake up and the ferry is canceled, I say we buy as much food as we can carry and make smores in that giant fireplace downstairs.”
“And you say you don’t do Christmas.”
“Goodnight, Andrew.” I open the door to my room, dragging my gaze from his as I step inside.
