Authors: Misty Provencher
I think of how I was here last year by myself, shopping for something incredible that I hoped would blow Des's mind. I wanted to impress him, enchant him, I wanted him to leave Claudia and come back to me. I came home with leather lingerie and a fifth of Jack Daniels. Des didn't call. And didn't call. Finally, on Christmas Day, I watched
It's a Wonderful Life
and drank until I passed out. Des called the next morning, but I was too hung over to answer. He was furious.
That alone should make booze undesirable, but here I am looking in the windows of the restaurants we pass by, wishing I was any one of the people inside, lifting a wine glass to my lips without worry. Sipping that warm, liquid heaven without wondering how much more I could hold before I threw up, or ran out of money.
Aidan adjusts his hold on my hand and I catch him following my gaze. I shoot him an embarrassed grin from behind my sober masquerade mask. I wish there was some kind of plastic surgery that could make my happiness real, make this mask permanent.
"It's gets easier," Aidan says, lifting my knuckles to kiss them softly.
"You keep saying that."
"It's the truth. Just hang in there."
"I am," I say, but it feels a little shaky and my own lack of confidence sends quivers of anxiety arrowing through me.
"You're doing great," Aidan says and with his second kiss on my knuckles, watching the smooth line of his jaw dip over my skin and the silk of his hair as it falls forward, I almost believe him. He's pumping my life full of a whole new addiction.
We walk through stores, buying Mrs. Lowt a coffee mug with the torso of a ripped guy on it. It looks a lot like Aidan. We also get her a Hot, Nude Jocks calendar with bonus months that will take her into the middle of next year. Aidan gets himself a pair of gloves and some techie thing for his computer; I get a day planner.
"Interesting," Aidan says when he peeks in my bag. There's no polite way to ask me what I'd need a planner for when I don't work and don't go anywhere, but I don't offer my reason for the purchase either. He drops it. Maybe he thinks it's for him.
We sample colognes at a perfume counter. I spray them all over Aidan and the sales girl blushes when I take too long smelling his neck, but it's the one he buys. I catch sight of the lingerie store, but as I head toward it, Aidan pulls me off the path, toward a jewelry store window instead.
"These," he says, pointing to a pair of crescent moon earrings. Glittery stones are embedded from one tip to the other and are so sparkly that they leave white specs in my vision when I look away.
"No, this," I say, moving his finger over the glass case until it rests on a black dragon ear wrap. He shakes his head, pulling his finger away.
"Too dark," he says. He studies the rows of earrings, looks at me, and then points to another pair. "Those."
I follow his fingertip to a pair of salt water pearls, misshapen and gorgeous and suspended like baby-pink pears on a silver scrolling vine. They are nothing I would have picked for myself, but maybe that's why I like them.
He reaches for the door of the shop, but I stop him.
"What?" Aidan asks. "You don't like them?"
Any other man, any other time, and I would've let buy me the earrings and probably mentioned that a matching necklace would be lovely. But this is Aidan and I am a brand new, soon-to-be divorced woman. I look down at my ring finger and frown. Des's last name, in its bold black print, glares up at me. A part of me is always going to belong to Des. He's branded me, so I can't escape him. The joy goes out of the moment.
"I have something else I want instead," I say.
"Yeah? What is it?"
"It's at the tattoo shop, at the very end. The mall's dirty little secret."
"You want another tattoo?"
I lift my ring finger so it separates our gaze. "I want to modify this one. It doesn't apply anymore."
"What do you want to do to it?"
"I'm going to change it to something accurate," I say.
"Okay then, let's go," he says.
We move down the sidewalk and I feel like I'm dragging my feet until Aidan opens the door of the shop. A tiny, metal bell rings over my head.
"An angel just got her wings! That you, Lydia?" a man hoots from the back. He steps out from the office, located behind the register and separated from the lobby by a wall with a two-way mirror in it. Of course, I know him. He's done all my tattoos, save the coloring of my lotus flower and the Des's surname on my ring finger.
I shouldn't be surprised that Angus is still here or that the guy remembers me. Des always bought the guy a few bottles of Jack to enjoy, and Angus never failed to enjoy it, even while he was tattooing. It's proof that Holy intervention exists, that Angus's work is as good as it is, even when his brains are pickled.
Angus opens his arms and I accept the hug. Considering he did my whole arm sleeve for me, it's reasonable to say that the aging tattoo artist has spent more time with me than my own father.
"Desmond, you sure have changed," Angus says, looking Aidan over. "You got a lot more muscle on you these days."
"This is Aidan," I say. "He's a friend of mine."
"Oh, I thought something was different about him," Angus says, but I notice how he glances again at the bags in Aidan's hands, searching for the usual gift of a few bottles. With the right sized bottle of Jack, Aidan could be a barking monkey and I'm sure Angus would approve. However, the old man's gaze comes up empty, so he slaps his hands together, rubbing them as if maybe something more than air will end up in them before the night is through.
"So what brings you in tonight?" he asks. I hold up my ring finger.
"I want to mod this," I say. Angus squints, takes my hand.
"I don't remember this one...that's not my work, is it?" he asks.
"No."
"Good, because it's damn awful."
"I agree. Do you think you can cover it up somehow?"
"What are you looking for? Butterflies or daisies or some shit like that?" He turns my hand over, inspecting the print. He winces with a small hiss. "That's some bold black lettering and there's no room to do much with it. It would be a bitch to cover it and it'd be a bigger bitch to try and remove it, considering where it is."
Aidan adds, "But you can cover it?"
Angus winces again, before shaking his head. "I don't think so. Best I can do is make the whole thing black--one solid ring."
I groan. Angus rubs his neck with his free hand, still hanging onto my tattooed hand in the other.
"You could always cover it up with a real ring," he suggests. I could kill Des for doing this to me. I need more than a cover up. I've filed to leave Des's name behind at the court and I'm not leaving this tattoo shop until I've gotten Des's name off of my skin.
"What about adding onto it?" I ask.
"Adding what?"
"An
er,
" I say, "Can you make it say Strong
er
?"
"Nice," Aidan says with a nod. Angus flips my hand over again, licking his lips at the challenge.
"Here's what we could do," he says. "It goes in almost a full circle, but there's a little opening here, see it? You're lucky whoever did this was kind of a hack. I can give the whole thing the illusion of curling up and we can continue the word up your finger."
"That might look out of place, two letters climbing up your finger by themselves," Aidan says. I nod, looking back to Angus.
"Can we add a couple words?"
"Maybe," Angus shrugs. "You only got so much room though, even if we go all the way up the finger. What are you thinking?"
"
Stronger Than That
."
"Than what?" Angus asks with an amused puff.
"Stronger than whatever
that
will ever be," I say.
<<<<>>>>
"I think we got it," Angus final says, rolling away from me on his castered stool. My finger stings like it's soaking in a battery acid, but Angus has done an incredible job.
Stronger Than That
flows up my finger with the addition of some girly swirls and curls that change Des's name into a fresh, new talisman.
Inspecting it, I get the first real crashing wave of reality.
Des and I are over. I've broken ties in every way that I know how, even though Des doesn't know yet. When the papers are delivered, the storm will begin. Claudia's lawyers will pig pile in order to sort out this new snarl. Claudia will probably divorce him, we might both go to jail.
As I consider it, the depth of the horrible possibilities occur to me and I sway as I slip on my coat.
"You okay?" Aidan asks, a hand at my back. He opens the door leading out of the tattoo shop as Angus shouts a goodbye. "Don't get woozy on me, now."
I step outside, the winter chill hitting me in the forehead with a splash of ice cold clarity. What if Des manages to blame all of this on me somehow? I accepted every penny he gave me and he's always told me he wouldn't go down alone. I've kept my mouth shut because I was still stupid-in-love, but what if he actually makes good on his threat? What if Claudia is so crazy about him that she would be happy with sticking it to me as the scapegoat?
Oh my God. I'm going to jail.
"You okay?" Aidan asks. I turn back to him on autopilot. My body kicks in, takes over. I wrap my arm around his, scooting close, squeezing his bicep.
"I'm actually getting a little tired," I lie. What I want to do is ditch him, pick up a little something and head home. I want to curl up with a bottle, get numb and forget. "Maybe we should call it a night."
He squints a look at me, suspicious.
"The night hasn't even started yet and you're going to miss out on the hot chocolate."
"Next time," I say. A serpent smile slithers across my cheeks. As if I could feel any guiltier.
"Alright," he says, but his voice is weary. We trudge back to the bus stop, barely speaking. A whole choir of carolers standing on the street corner, ten feet away. Their beautiful rendition of
I Heard The Bells on Christmas Day
drifts over us, but Aidan doesn't ask them to sing anything else.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The sidewalk is slick in places with invisible patches of ice that make us both slide and flail, but I am determined to honey-badger my way home. The few bags we accumulated rustle in Aidan's hands as he follows behind me. When he suddenly snags the elbow of my coat between his fingers, it gives me a sharp shot of annoyance instead of excitement. I don't want to slow down, much less stop. I want to get back to my apartment, tell him whatever lie I need to so he'll go back to his place, and then all I have to do is sneak down to the store.
The liquor store sign is just ahead, the
fluorescent glow like a Christmas star among the sedate drift of the falling snowflakes. It's enchanting. The numb is hailing me with its slimy fingers and the liquor store is pinging me like a homing devise. I'm ready and willing to give up this whole ridiculous quest for sobriety in order to get some relief. I understand the grab alcohol has on me, but the fear of what Claudia might do when she gets the divorce papers suddenly has a much tighter grip. I need to escape and anything standing in the way of that it is going to be taken out at the knees. Even Aidan.
"I just want to get home. I'm freezing," I snap. He doesn't let go of my sleeve.
"It's hitting you pretty hard," he says. "I was wondering when that was going to happen."
I yank loose from him, but what he said irritates me enough to spin on him. A good battle might use up some of the fear-induced adrenaline racing through me.
"What are you talking about?"
"It just hit you that you're getting divorced, didn't it?" His voice is so damn inviting and warm on this cold street. "Do you actually love that guy?"
I snort. "Not anymore."
"Then you're afraid of him."
His statement hits me like an iron mallet, right on the head. I get that Aidan doesn't mean it as an attack, but to be so dead-on accurate, it feels like he's calling for war and it brings me out swinging.
"Sometimes you just think you know everything, Aidan, but you don't. And you don't know a damn thing about this."
"Oh my gosh--that is it, isn't it? You're afraid of him."
"I'm not afraid of anything." I turn away and resume a slippery clip toward home.
"Considering the circumstances, I think a little fear would be a justifiable response. Healthy, even."
"Well, thanks for your completely unqualified, armchair analysis."
"Lydia," he says as he reaches for my hand, but I pull away and keep walking. "I'm just saying...
damn it
, would you wait a second?"
"I'm done talking."
"You're terrified," he shouts down the sidewalk, but in a few steps, he catches up and tugs me to a halt, nearly dropping the bags in the snow at our feet. "He
abuses
you, Lydia. It's okay to be terrified. It's okay to be mad as hell. He's been playing with your life, without any regard for..."
"Let go of me!" I shout in his face as I tear my arm loose.
"What's bothering you..."
"
You.
You're what's bothering me!"
"Are you sure about that?" His calm only infuriates me more. The bags crinkle in the frigid breeze of a passing car.
"Fuck off."
Aidan puts up both hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm the good guy here."
"Really?" I shoot back. "It didn't sound like that to me."
"You're going to go drink, aren't you," he says. "That's what this is really about. You're terrified and you don't know what to do with that, so you want to drink it away. You want to get rid of me so you can go do it."
The apartment house in view, I step up my pace even more. I don't reply, because there is no defense against the truth and I'm humiliated that I'm so transparent. Aidan just trails me, in through the lobby, up the elevator, down to my door.
"I'm not inviting you in." I feel the heat of his body at my back as I twist the key in the knob.
"I know," he says flatly. "Take your bags."
I turn back and grab the bag out of his hands, avoiding his eyes. It's like killing kittens and I can't take anymore guilt than I already have. I shut the door on him.
<<<<>>>>
Then I listen, an ear pressed to our adjoining walls. I listen for Aidan's feet next door, but I don't hear a thing. I want to be sure he doesn't open the door as I'm sneaking away. It would be humiliating to have to look him in the face and lie about where I was going. Especially if he wants to come with me. It would be a whole lot easier for him to spot my back from his apartment window, as I make my getaway down the sidewalk.
I'm antsy, but I wait, listening. Still nothing. He could be laying on his couch, trying to figure out why he ever moved in next door to a head case like me. Or he could be lying in his bed, jacking off. I instantly imagine his long legs, sprawled out and so powerful that my thirst is momentarily distracted by the ache between my legs. But then it returns--the quest for booze even more powerful than the thought of Aidan's body. If I could exchange this craving, I would. It's just too big.
I slide on my coat and inch my feet into my shoes like a thief. I check myself in my mirror and creep back to the door, grimacing at the sound of my door latch as I ease it open. I'm startled by the man on the floor outside.
"What are you doing?" I shriek. Aidan looks up from his spot in my doorway, wedged in sideways with his back on one side of the door jamb and his foot touching the other.
"I was waiting for you to come talk to me," he says, running his gaze over my outdoor attire. "It looks like we're going back out for that hot chocolate after all?"
"
I'm
going out," I say, but I don't try stepping over him. The look of determination on his face makes me think he'd grab my heel and yank me down on the floor beside him without a second thought.
"Where are you going?"
I should've had a lie ready and waiting, and the oversight costs me. The only thing flashing in my head is the liquor store sign, wine labels and shot glasses. I open and close my mouth like a guppy in his palm.
"I...well, I was...the store. I'm going to the store."
"I needed to go to the store," he says, hopping to his feet. "I'll come with you."
"No, I...I was..." It's pointless. I'm trapped and I'm so frustrated I want to sink down someplace and bawl. Instead, I take a step back and slam the door as hard as I can in Aidan's face.
<<<<>>>>
Edith Maklvoy-Jars. Across from her name is listed an address, phone number, cell number, email. The background is a surprise--a yin and yang symbol with licks of fire around the edge. I wouldn't have thought she was that type.
What the hell am I going to do? I've got hell roaring inside me and a watchdog at my door.
I pull my phone from my pocket and click the numbers on the card, one click at a grueling time. I chew my upper lip as the line rings. Edith picks up.
"Hello. This is Lydia," I say. There's a pause on the other end. "From the meetings."
"I know who you are. Aidan's Lydia, right? That Lydia?"
"Ye..yes," I stammer, "but it's just Lydia."
"Ok, fine, just Lydia. How's it going?"
Now it's my turn to pause. I chew my lip, everything inside me welling up--Des, the divorce, Claudia, Aidan. Suddenly, I can't speak. Only a sniffle comes out.
"Sounds like it's not going too good," Edith says. "Where are you at, Lydia? I'll come to you."
"No, that's--"
"Are you home?" There is very little choice in her tone. My impulse is to hang up on her, but I fight it, because I need her help. I manage to choke out an answer instead.
"Yes."
"I know the place. What's your apartment number?"
"2B."
"Okay. I'm on my way." Edith clicks off before I can argue with her. Not that I would.
<<<<>>>>
"What are you?" I hear Edith's voice say in the hallway. "The cell guard?"
I can't believe Aidan's still out there. The door clunks; he must be using it steady himself as he gets off the floor. Then, Mrs. Lowt's voice joins in.
"What's going on out here, Aidan? Who's this?"
"Who're you?" Edith asks.
"This is my hallway," Mrs. Lowt retorts. "Who are you?"
"
Your
hallway?" Edith asks.
"Who is this person, Aidan? Why is she here? Is Lydia alright?"
I open the door before the trio in the hall either goes to blows or starts blasting my business up and down the corridor. The other neighbors don't seem to want to know me, and I'd prefer to keep it that way.
Everyone turns to look at me once I swing the door open.
"Hi," Edith says. She walks past Aidan and straight into my apartment, completely ignoring Mrs. Lowt's questioning.
"What's all this, Lydia?" Mrs. Lowt asks.
"Just a friend that's visiting," I say. It's like I'm back in high school, having to explain to my mother why I had a boy in my room. I turn and shut the door, leaving Aidan to take care of our neighbor.
"Sorry about that," I say to Edith.
"Nothing to be sorry for. I'm not here for them, I'm here for you." She drops her purse on my couch and turns back to me. "So what's going on?"
<<<<>>>>
Edith sits on my couch, her finger resting over her mouth and her brow bent in deep concentration. When I'm done confessing, she gives it a minute to sink in before she sighs.
"You've got a small warehouse full of things you need to take care of," she says. "But it looks like the biggest box in your way, is your ex. Now, I've got a lawyer friend I can talk to. Let me ask him about this business with the double marriage. You might be in some trouble for taking the money, but I don't know. It's a lot more complex than just that."
With my legs drawn up to my chest on the other end of the couch, I just nod against my knees.
"Well, there's no sense in being worried about it until you have an answer," Edith says.
I nod again.
"So let's talk about Aidan."
"What about him?" I say.
"What's the deal with you two? Have you been together a while?"
"Sort of."
"I don't really care either way," Edith sniffs. "It's none of my business and frankly, I don't care if you two are going with the program or bucking it. What I do care about is that if I sponsor you, you are doing everything you can to get sober."
"And that means staying away from Aidan?"
Edith shakes her head. "I just said, I don't care about that."
"Then what do you want me to do?"
"Everything I tell you. If you want what I've got, which is a successful, clean and sober life, with solid and real relationships in it, then you'll do what I say. I know how to get you there, but you've got to commit to doing as I tell you."
"What's that mean? That I'm your personal assistant or something?"
"I'm doing something for you here, you're not doing it for me." She puffs like I'm an idiot. "It means that you don't drink. You come to meetings. You call me every single day and check in with me on how you're doing."
The last two sound easy at least, but what choice do I have?
"I want to drink," I whisper. "Bad."
"All you gotta do," she says, leaning toward me like she's about to impart a secret, "is stay away from the first one."
She stands up and goes to my dismal stick of a Christmas tree. She slides a soft hand beneath one of the ornaments. "You make these?"
"Yes. When I stopped drinking, Aidan had me do them."
"Ahhh, to keep your mind off things. Smart man," she says.