Aura-Blue grabs me and hugs me one more time before she says, ‘You’re still coming out with us after to get ice cream? Right?’
‘Of course,’ I squeak, and I go back to my station.
I see my hands shaking and rub perspiration off my upper lip. I think I’m having a panic attack. I breathe in and out and start arranging my vegetables. Carrots, celery, kale, the dreaded onions, and potatoes should keep me occupied and calm.
Nothing to freak out about. I’m just going to chop.
The beam of light on me gets brighter and hotter. I tear up the kale. Sweat beads between my breasts. I peel the potatoes and then cut them into neat little cubes. My teeth grind. Time for the goggles and the onions. My leg bounces uncontrollably under the table, and my head pounds. I remember what they said in the circle about taking it one day at a time, but right now I’m only taking it one vegetable at a time.
I’m not going to think. I’m not going to remember. I’m not going to take myself apart sin by sin or give in to the whispers in my head. I’m just going to chop these onions, and then I’m going to do the carrots. That’s all I have to do right now. Right now is all I can handle.
I go to the pots without being told. I get there before there are any pots for me to scrub, and so I start scrubbing the sink. I feel a hand on my shoulder and startle.
‘This too shall pass,’ Maria whispers in my ears. I meet her eyes. She gives me a nod and walks away.
I repeat that phrase in my head over and over. And it helps. I manage to keep it together until I think of Rachel and the bat mitzvah I couldn’t be bothered to go to and barf all over the pots I’m scrubbing. The first thing I think is, There goes another half-hour of drugs. I don’t know if I’m happy or sad about that.
I feel warm, rough hands and solid arms guiding me to sit on an overturned crate.
‘Cold turkey?’ one of the cooks asks me. I don’t know her name, but I should. One of her painted-on eyebrows is raised in an even higher arch.
I nod. Her face softens with . . . no, not pity – with, ‘Been there, done that, and it sucks.’
‘What’s your name?’ I ask.
‘Gina,’ she answers. ‘Drink a lot of water. It’ll give you something to throw up.’
She hands me a glass of water and leaves me to get back to her station. No one here is going to hold my hair and stay with me while pressing a cool washcloth to my fevered brow while I puke. But no one will think less of me for puking, either. I down the water and stand up. Back to work.
I clean up my barf and then start in on the huge pile of pots I’ve allowed to accumulate. I’m in the weeds, and I have to hack my way out of them alone. Good. This is why I like this place. This is why I’m here. Honest, straightforward, backbreaking work. Work that serves someone other than me.
I’m not done when Mila comes into the kitchen with a hand on her hip and a surprised look on her face.
‘Do you want us to wait for you?’ she asks, and not in a snide way. I get the feeling if I told her to wait, she would.
‘You guys are still here?’ I say, like I have any frigging clue what time it is. ‘I’m so sorry. I got behind today. But you go on ahead.’
‘You sure?’ she asks. ‘Do you want me to help?’
She actually walks all the way into the back and looks around for a rubber apron, but there isn’t another. ‘Go,’ I say. ‘I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.’
‘OK,’ she says, genuinely disappointed. ‘But then we hang out for sure.’ She points at me with raised eyebrows until I smile and promise.
‘For sure,’ I say, giving her a one-armed hug so I don’t get her smeared with greasy water from my apron. As she leaves I wonder why she likes me so much. After she’s fully gone, I hear Gina speak close to my ear.
‘Don’t do it,’ she warns. ‘That one just looking to party. She’ll drag you in again cos she need pretty friends to take to the parties and get that shit for free. You feel me?’
I don’t know Gina, but I know that AA has strict rules about never drinking again if you get sober. My problem was never partying. I never got into illegal drugs or got drunk that much, not even when the bartenders and the DJs were throwing all kinds of substances at the Five of us just to get us to stay and keep their club hot. I’m sweating out an addiction that was forced on me. But I can’t say that to Gina or anyone else here.
‘Getting sober’ won’t fix what’s wrong with me, and if even the most on-point Manhattan nightclubs couldn’t lure me into a world of alcohol and drug abuse, I doubt going to a keg party with Mila, where the strongest things offered are Jello shots, is going to make me a fiend for meds I never wanted to take in the first place.
I nod and pretend I’m taking Gina’s advice to heart, because at least she cares enough to say something. That’s more than most. More than my parents. They haven’t even called me since we made the arrangements for me to come here and live with Grandma and Grandpa.
I go back to my grandparents’ house just as the sun is going down. I’m riding west, so a big fat sun, sinking into orange gorgeousness somewhere behind the exhaling trees, is my compass. And that will have to be enough. A little bit of beauty to kick my ass across the finish line of today. It’s more than I deserve.
My cheeks are wet with tears, and I ride faster and faster to dry them, or to outrun them. I was waiting to feel something, anything, and here it is. I asked for this, so no complaining.