Page 70 of The New Year's Party
Ah. Finally, one person at this party who sees my point of view!
“Yes,” I say with a long sigh. “It’s not me that’s ruining anyone’s life. They’ve all done it very well on their own. Like—you have no idea. I’ve known these people for years. It’s been like watching a train wreck in slow motion.”
Allie laughs. “I kind of gathered that.” She looks at me closely. “Do you want to sit down or something? You look really pale.”
I laugh weakly. “I am feeling a little lightheaded. It’s not exactly fun to be accused of horrible things that I didn’t even do.”
“You might be having a sugar low.” She points. “Jell-O shots. They’re loaded with sugar.”
She has a point. I pick up the first one and squeeze it into my mouth, then plop onto the couch. I’m too tired to care how gross the couch is. The shot goes down easy and sweet.
“Phelps seemed so nice when I met him a couple weeks ago,” says Allie. She perches on the arm of the couch farthest from me. She sounds chagrined. “I guess you can’t always tell a book by its cover.”
The sugar does feel good as it hits my system. I grab another, squeeze it loose from the paper cup, and down it goes. If everyone was as thoughtful as Allie, the world would be a better place.
“You don’t know these people like I do,” I say, setting down the crumpled paper cup. I wipe a trace of stickiness off my lips with the back of my hand. “These are really good, by the way.”
“Thanks,” she says.
“I just have a different view of friendship. Like... have you heard the Proverb about iron sharpening iron? That’s what I believe in. People challenging each other to be better. It can be a painful process, but...” I shake my head. “These people are total enablers. Like leeches. They just suck the resources from each other.” I mime a grabby motion with my hand. “They’re takers. You know?”
“I’ve known a few takers in my life,” says Allie ruefully.
“And then they get together every year to celebrate, as if any of their horrible life choices were something to celebrate! It’s all just so...”
“Ironic,” supplies Allie.
“Yes! Ironic.”
“Here.” Allie hands me a third shot.
“Like, whatever you think about pro-life, pro-choice, you don’t abort a baby without telling the father! Right? And I think we canallagree, you don’t cheat on your spouse! But they’re not even ashamed. And Doug, sure, he’s the one with the drug problem, but comeon, Hellie, you’ve been enabling him foryears! Trust me, I had an alcoholic father, and I had to face the reality that, even though my mom is super strong and stuff, she enabled him to keep doing what he did, she kept making the money he used to feed his habit, so that responsibility is on her too. You know?”
Suddenly I’m feeling teary. It’s thinking of little Jenn, not understanding why Daddy got so mad sometimes. Why her allowance disappeared from her piggy bank over and over. Why Daddy couldn’t come with us to Christmas at Grandma’s. Iimagine Mom thought she was protecting me by not spelling outyour dad is an alcoholic who regularly steals our money. Instead, by the time I was old enough to put two and two together, it felt like betrayal. I was so stupid. The last to know.
Dang it. Now a tear is rolling down my cheek.
“Will loves these people more than he loves me.” I sniffle. “He’s giveneverythingto them. All I asked for—all I wanted—”
“It’s okay,” murmurs Allie.
“All I wanted was a real man, someone strong, to—to step up and protect me—to serve our family instead of being a burden on it. And instead, I repeated all my mother’s mistakes. I feel likesuchan idiot. You know?”
“Will is an alcoholic too?” Allie says gently.
“No! I mean, he’s addicted to thesepeople. They use him, they take advantage of his kindness, of his money—ourmoney—but he won’t see it, he keeps coming back, and then somehow it’s my fault?”
It is just like substance abuse. Something that corrupts you, but you keep coming back to. And Will, just like an alcoholic in full addiction mode, denies it.
It’s not a problem! It’s called loyalty, Jenn. It’s called love.
Will’s voice somehow blends with my dad’s voice, when I was sixteen and finally got up the courage to ask him,Daddy, are you an alcoholic?He denied and denied.It’s not a drinkingproblem,I just like the taste of whiskey...
I wanted to scream in my dad’s face,Wake up! You have a problem! And your problem is hurting me!
Instead, I swallowed all those words. But I did make a promise to future Jenn that I would never be anyone’s enabler. Never let anyone get away with what my dad had gotten away with.
“That sounds really hard for you,” says Allie.
