Page 44 of Husband of the Year
“Wait, which one? Doesn’t he have two?”
“Liam. His younger brother. He’s in rehab.”
The line goes quiet, and my mother’s soft breathing mingles with the sounds of the waves lapping the rocks.
My senior year of high school. Her final bender. The car accident. Me sobbing at the edge of her bed, pleading for her to get help. A year later, while going through her twelve steps, she admitted to me that was what alcoholics call their bottom. In any other context, I would’ve giggled at the term, but her vulnerability and honesty forced my mischievous side to take a sabbatical.
“Oh. Well, it’s good he’s there. Olan, I mean, not his brother. I mean, it’s good he’s in rehab. If that’s what he needs. Not that…”
“I knew what you meant, Mom.”
“I didn’t realize Olan’s brother was a friend of Bill. Isn’t he married with kids?”
“That’s Gabe, his older brother. Liam is younger.”
“Well, it’s good he’s in rehab. As you know, it really can help.”
“I know.” A wild hare hops into view from the bushes. It spots me, twitches its nose, and quickly leaps away.
“It’s not the first time, though. There’s been a pattern. And Olan’s parents are overwhelmed. So, he went to help.”
“Good. They need Olan now. He understands.”
But I need him. The thought floats into my head, but my pride keeps me from saying it.
“And he’s not sure how long he’ll need to stay.”
“Of course,” she says. “Detox can take a week or longer. Then he’s going to need to attend support groups—with Liam and probably on his own. Talk to his sponsor on the phone.”
“And his parents,” I say, not sure what their role is.
“They’ll do the same. If they’re willing. Olan’s a mensch. He’ll know what to do.”
A smile creeps onto my face, hearing my mother gush over Olan. They’ve only met over video, but Sarah Block instantly fawned over him.He’s so handsome. He’s so smart. He’s such a good father.Yes, Mother, I know. Why do you think I’m so enamored with him? She always wanted me to find someone, and I don’t think she could be more pleased with the prospect of Olan Stone as her son-in-law.
And she’s right. Olan will know what to do. He always knows what to do. When my anxiety spirals and it feels like a giant boulder has tumbled onto my chest, Olan holds my hands. Tells me to breathe. Rubs my shoulders. Talks to me in his soft, low voice. And I do feel better. The anxiety doesn’t disappear, but having him near somehow lightens the load enough to know everything will be okay.
“And you’re good there by yourself??”
I bite my lower lip, unsure how to reply. “I am. Mostly. I miss him. But Illona’s here during the week and every other weekend. And Gonzo has reclaimed his spot on the pillow next to me in bed. I’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure? Is there anything I can do?”
“Thank you, but no. I just have to get through this on my own.”
“If you need me, honey, for anything, you call me. The wedding. Olan. You call me.”
“I will. I’m almost home, Mom. Gonzo’s got to be starving. I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetie.”
I pocket my phone and stand, stretching as the sun peeks out from behind a cloud. The rest of my weekend awaits me. I miss Olan so much it hurts, but I’m also looking forward to getting into bed and not leaving until Monday morning. Gonzo will appreciate that. Maybe I’ll take a bath and light a candle. He can sit on the edge of the tub and swat at the water. I take a deep inhale, smelling the ocean and nearby beach roses, and head toward home.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“There’s my handsome boy.”
Gonzo sits on the buffet near the entryway, staring at me with no expression. It’s hard to read his chubby kitty face. He’s either pleased to see me or pissed I left him alone all night. Or maybe a little of both.
