Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I ignored the “ma’am” part and went on my way.
The guest house was a two-story building that matched the big house, set off from the main drive by a winding lane lit with Dark Sky compliant post lights made to look like gas street lamps. A little copse of trees provided a bit of privacy, which was good, because having lived in the woods for most of her life, Mom barely ever remembered to close her curtains or blinds. There was a two-car garage and a small swimming pool out back. It was a bigger, better place than Mom could have dreamed of living in back home, and that made her uneasy enough that she had to point it out every time the subject came up.
She answered the door in the silk robe with hand-painted cherry blossoms I’d gotten her for her birthday.
“You look fancy,” I said, faking a bright smile. Then, I immediately broke down sobbing.
Mom brought me inside and sat me down at the wrap-around counter in the kitchen. She poured a healthy amount of grocery store white Zin into a jumbo wineglass and slid it across the granite. “Tell me what’s up.”
That was the worst part. I couldn’t really tell her what was going on, because it was private. I was trapped in Neil’s hell with him, and I couldn’t even ask for help. So, I told her what I could.
“Neil is an alcoholic. Like, not a functioning one.” I took a gulp of wine, so I didn’t have to look at my mom’s face. I set my glass down. She hadn’t flown into a rage yet, so I continued, “He has been for a really long time. So, I guess maybe he was functioning? He was hiding it from me.”
Mom’s brow crinkled. “Did you know about this before you got married?”
“I did. I knew about it back in January, actually. After his mom died. In London, he took some pills and some drugs, and he drank… I thought he was going to die. He quit shortly after his birthday. As far as I know, he’s only drank once since. But it’s hard, Mom. It’s so hard.”
I could break down now, under this pretext. Everyone knew it was difficult to be someone’s supportive partner when they were going through treatment for an addiction. Maybe it was selfish of me, but in that moment, I was grateful for Neil’s alcoholism. It gave me sufficient cover to cry and get all of my frustration over the total unfairness of his situation out without having to spill about the book.
“Of course it’s hard, honey.” Mom nodded and reached across the counter to squeeze my wrist. “You’re twenty-six, and you’ve taken on an entirely different life. Before you met Neil—” She made a face as she corrected herself. “Before you met him again, you were a totally broke, fully career-minded girl. You didn’t have to worry about living anyone else’s life. You just focused on your own.”
“I’m not living Neil’s life,” I protested cautiously. I didn’t want her to think I was rejecting her advice or comfort, after I’d come here seeking exactly that. “I’m living my life, with him.”
“That’s not how marriage works, Sophie.” Mom held up her hands in gentle, preemptive defense. “I know I’ve never had a serious relationship. At least, not serious enough to move in. But I do know some things. And I know that when two people get married, stuff doesn’t stay separate. Bad stuff, good stuff, it all gets mixed in together. When I say you’re living Neil’s life, he’s living yours, too. I’m not saying you’ve given up who you are to be the little wife. You’re trying to take care of him.”
I stared miserably into my glass. “He’s so sad, Mom. And I don’t know how to help him.”
“There’s a difference between helping him and trying to take something away from him. You can’t recover for him. He has to do that on his own.”
“Oh my god.” I shook my head and laughed despite the awful emotional turmoil that was snotting up my face. I got up and ripped a paper towel off the roll to wipe my nose. “You’re my mom. You’re not supposed to say smart things.”
Mom’s expression changed. The corners of her mouth fell, and her eyebrows met in a sad frown. “I read something online that I wanted to talk to you about.”
I leaned with my back against the refrigerator for support. With all the press nonsense Stephen’s book had been generating, it had really only been a matter of time.
“You know what I’m going to say,” Mom said, our eye contact never flinching.
“It was about Stephen.” I went back to the stool at the counter.
“Is this someone you know?” she asked, and I could tell that she was trying very hard not to appear judgmental of Neil.