Addicted to You (Addicted #1)(98)
That seems right.
{25}
Lo has been sober for a full week. The first couple of days were the worst. The nurse hooked him up to an IV so the fluids could rehydrate his body. He has to be on vitamins to replace the nutrients lost by alcohol and eat a particular diet to get rid of the toxins. I’ve also hidden the coffee pot so he doesn’t get addicted to caffeine in the process. Regardless, he went through bouts of vomiting and sweated and shook and complained in angry screams until Ryke threatened to duct tape his mouth. That made him laugh.
Today, Lo asks to drive my BMW to Lucky’s for Thanksgiving. Every year, I spend the day with my parents and Lo goes to his father’s place, but beforehand, we eat a pre-turkey dinner at the small diner. It’s not as fancy, but the comfort food tastes better than the small portions and strange foams our parents’ chefs prepare.
He holds my hand in the middle console and steers the car down the busy Philly street, one palm on the wheel. His fingers tremble and he shakes them out and clenches them once before placing them back.
“Is it like riding a bike?” I ask about driving.
“Easier,” he tells me. “There’s no gear shift in your car. All I really need to know is how to flick on a blinker.” He teasingly taps the blinker and it makes a clicking noise. He takes his hand from mine and slides it on my thigh.
He’s devoted his time to me, using my addiction as an outlet I suppose to forget about his. It’s worked, for the most part, but sometimes I see the longing in his eyes, the itch to return to his usual routine since I wade in mine.
Lo parallel parks, and I feed the meter. The bell chimes as we enter Lucky’s, Lo holding the door open from behind me, his long arm extending above my head. Everything looks how I remember from last year. Orange and yellow streamers drape from the ceiling, a lazy fan whirling in the center of the small establishment. Booths with red crackling vinyl backs line the left side by the windows. Someone drew a feathered turkey with washable paint on the glass and added bright multicolored words Happy Thanksgiving for all to see. The familiar cranberry and garlic mashed potato scent permeates in the air and old couples in tables drink coffee and smile.
I stare at a pair for a long moment, their gray hair short and nearly identical. They bicker about a spill on the man’s shirt, and the woman leans over to help him wipe it up. I want that to be us. I want to grow old and yell at Lo for dribbling coffee. I want him to be my forever. For the first time, he may be on the right path towards reaching that. I can only hope I’ll join him too.
There’s one noticeable difference to our yearly tradition—they wave us over to a booth by the window.
We slide in on the right side while Connor, Rose, and Ryke fill the left. My sister looks like a million dollars in her high-waisted skirt and cream chiffon blouse, a diamond necklace shaped like a water droplet tight on her collar.
“Is that new?” I ask.
She touches the jewel, her cheeks reddening as much as mine would. I can’t help but smile.
“I bought it for her,” Connor exclaims, his arm draped on the top of the booth behind her.
I squint. “Why?”
“No reason,” Connor says. “I saw it and I thought she’d like it.”
Rose tries really hard not to smile, but she can’t quite hide it.
Lo groans. “You’re making me look bad.” His hand rises on my thigh and dips towards the inside. Lo gives me things that I like much better than diamonds or flowers.
Ryke wads his straw paper. “You’ve never given Lily a present like that?”
“No, she’d rather I give her something else than a necklace.”
“Like what, Loren?” Rose looks like she could rip out his throat.
Lo is about to take the challenge, Rose automatically hitting his annoyance button. “Like my tongue on her—”
“Oh my God!” I shriek, scooting away from Lo and into the wall of the booth. I grab a menu and shield my face from everyone.
Ryke laughs under his breath, but I think my sister is about to launch herself at all the guys and scratch them out with her nails.
Connor whispers in her ear, “He’s just picking on you.”
“She’s a sex addict,” she whispers back just as fiercely. “He shouldn’t be joking around about this.”
“I can hear you,” Lo says flatly.
I peek at Ryke since he’s the one person I haven’t confronted since my addiction has spread from Rose to Connor and from Lo to Ryke. Yes, he told Ryke. I have no idea how it came out. Maybe in his confessional about needing to get sober. Our addictions intertwined so much that it was too hard for Lo to talk about his without bringing up my dependence on sex.
Ryke doesn’t even look at me. He’s mouthing something to Lo. I read his lips. I’ll tell them.
I glance at Lo and he nods to Ryke in approval.
I frown. “Tell them what?” I ask Lo.
“Nothing,” he lies, motioning for me to return to him. I set down the menu and slide back into his arms, and the waitress comes by to break up my sister’s whisper battle with Connor.
We order the turkey dinners and waters, and I’m left to wonder what secret Lo and Ryke share about me. It could be anything. As the waitress traipses back to the kitchen, Rose turns to Ryke and fishes out a crisp white envelope. “I couldn’t find your address anywhere, so I was unable to send this to your house.” She passes him a Christmas Charity Gala invitation. “Is Ryke a nickname? It wasn’t showing up in any directory.”