The Art of Losing(57)

Mike’s eyes widened when he saw me. He started toward me, so I sighed and walked to meet him halfway. Mike reached out to hug me, but when I flinched back, he dropped his arms.

“I didn’t think you would actually come,” he said. He was smiling, but I couldn’t seem to make my mouth respond in kind.

“I’m still not sure I’m staying,” I said. “I don’t know why you want me here.”

He seemed to shrink a little, and I could almost see his confidence take a hit. My emotions warred, satisfaction battling with guilt. I wanted to hurt him, but I still hated to see him hurting.

“I know that I may never be able to fix things with us,” he said, looking down at his shoes. “But I needed you to know that I’m taking this seriously.”

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Yeah?”

He looked up at me. “Yes,” he insisted. He opened his mouth to say more, but a tall man with thick dreadlocks and a wide, bright smile clapped his hands loudly and called to everyone to take a seat.

I sat down next to Mike in a hard plastic chair, trying to keep as much distance between us as possible. Next to him, Ms. Baker smiled at me and mouthed “Thank you,” and I nodded back, but when she reached her arm around the back of Mike’s seat to squeeze my shoulder, I shifted out of her reach.

The man who’d called us to attention stood in the center of the circle of around thirty chairs. He spun slowly so that he could look each person in the eye as he introduced himself as Jordan, the director of the rehab center.

“Thank you all so much for being here today,” he said, “even those of you who didn’t have a choice.”

Everyone chuckled politely.

“It is so important for addicts to have the support of their families. But families are usually the people who addicts have hurt the most, and repairing the trust that was broken can be a long, bumpy road.”

If it can be repaired at all, I thought. I looked around the circle at the other family members to see if anyone was as reluctant to be here as I was. But everyone was looking attentive and nodding understandingly. I felt a little humbled. Maybe I could put my cynicism aside for a few minutes.

“That’s why we’re all here today,” Jordan said. “To try to make amends.”

My heart started racing as I worried I might have to talk in front of all these people about things like my feelings and how Mike betrayed me.

“We’re not here to air dirty laundry,” Jordan added and my pulse slowed slightly. “We’re here to learn how to work through problems and talk to each other.” He clapped his hands once and then rubbed them together, ready to get to work. “We’re going to break into smaller groups and do some individual work. But I want each of you to practice something we’ve been working on here. We call it active listening. Pay attention, defer judgment, and respond appropriately.”

A half a dozen people stood and I realized they were counselors as they started herding people into groups. Jordan walked toward Mike, his mom, and me, and stopped in front of us.

“You three are with me,” he said. Then he stuck out a massive hand and enveloped mine within it. He looked me in the eye when he shook my hand, smiling broadly. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Harley.”

“Thanks,” I said, drawn in by his bright smile. He shook Ms. Baker’s hand, too, and I tried not to take it personally when he smiled at her just as widely.

Jordan pointed the way to a smaller conference room with four chairs around a table. He closed the door behind us.

“Harley, Ms. Baker,” he said after we sat down, “I’m Mike’s counselor here, so we’ve been working together, talking about what makes him drink and about what happened the night of the accident.”

Ms. Baker’s face colored and she looked at Mike with a frown, her chin trembling.

“I know it’s difficult to talk about how Mike screwed up,” Jordan said. “He’s accepted that. Right, Mike?”

Mike looked up from the table and said, “Right.” He took a deep breath. “I owe you both a huge apology. I’m so sorry for everything that I’ve put you through.”

“Be more specific,” Jordan instructed, and Mike’s shoulders slumped. Ms. Baker’s hands twitched like she wanted to reach out to comfort him, but Jordan gave her a look and she pulled them into her lap.

“I lied to you both. Mom, I lied a lot about where I was and what I was doing. And Harley . . .” He scrubbed at his face with his hands. “I don’t know why I did what I did to you.”

When Jordan cleared his throat, Mike shot him an icy look. “Quit pushing me, man,” he said, but Jordan didn’t back down.

A muscle in Mike’s jaw twitched. He looked back at me. “Harley, I broke your trust more than once when I cheated on you,” he said. “And I know that being drunk isn’t a good excuse, but I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

I glanced between the two of them, confused and distraught. “What am I supposed to say?” I said. I directed it toward Mike, but then I turned back to Jordan. “I’m ‘actively listening,’ but I’m not sure how to respond. I know he’s sorry, but I’m still mad.”

Jordan nodded. “You’re allowed to be mad, and Mike has to accept that,” he said, pointing at Mike. “Because he can’t change it.”