I laughed because I thought she was joking. It turns out she was totally serious. I don’t know if I like her in spite of the weird or because of it. I just know she’s going to be one of my favorite people ever.
Unfortunately, Minerva doesn’t have any job openings at her place, and my other choices are limited because I don’t want a job anywhere they serve alcohol. She’s going to help me look, starting with some pie place that might need dishwashers. I’ll take anything—minimum wage, or odd jobs, or gig work because I have no work history whatsoever.
It’s my first night here.
I’m trying not to get emotional about it.
Dinner was tasty, and we had a little meeting afterward where everyone introduced themselves and we talked. They’re into twelve step here big time, but I knew that going in.
When I talked to Echo the first time, I thought twelve step was a bunch of mumbo jumbo, but now it makes more sense. I thought I had to believe in the Christian God my biodad believes in, but I learned I could picture my own higher power. That made it easier. Sometimes I picture Luke’s mom—someone patient and kind, someone who doesn’t hold every single mistake against you.
Mrs. Greaves doesn’t know everything about me, but I believe if I sat her down and shared my entire past—even the gross things—she’d only be sad and hope for the best in the future.
I know she’d be kind because Luke is kind. It’s obvious he got that from his parents. They welcomed me into their shop and into their lives when I needed them, and they’ve never let me down once.
Don’t know why I ever walked away.
A thousand thoughts are swirling in my head. Some are exciting. Some are terrifying. I’m having a hell of a lot of trouble sleeping, despite taking the trazodone and two melatonin that usually help me drop off eventually.
It’s this emotional discomfort—anxiety, fear of the future, regret for the past, longing for Luke—that I used to escape through drugs. One kiss of the needle and I’d fall into a blank, black void.
I’m going to be up all night and then I’ll have to go to breakfast and wash dishes and hit the pavement as if nothing’s wrong. I have no other choice.
Sobriety sucks, but I won’t go back. Putting off my problems got me here. I’m trying something new because I want to go somewhere different.
Grr. I talk like a fucking poster these days, and I hate it.
I want Luke. I want to hear his voice. See his smile. I want this to be that wretched awful motel where he held my hand and covered me with thick blankets, and I knew he’d be there when I woke up.
I want Luke.
I want Luke.
I want Luke…
Tug
Leaving Tug at his new place wasn’t the most delightful thing I’ve ever done. On a scale of one to ten, ten being the best, driving away from the sober house was about a negative eleven.
Still, I’m not one to waste a day off. Five days in a row sounded like absolute heaven.
Except the first thing I did when I got to the Inn at Morro Bay was sleep. Oh, I know I was supposed to be enjoying my vacation, so I left the windows open so I could hear the waves and lay down “just for a few minutes.”
The next thing I knew it was time for dinner.
I’m no stranger to traveling alone. I Yelp’d a few restaurants with good recommendations and picked one with local seafood specialties. The view from a table by the wide glass windows was awesome, and I got there just as the sun was about to set. I ordered a pan-seared scallop appetizer and blackened fish tacos along with a glass of white wine, which turned into two, then three as dinner wore on. While I ate, I got the whole nature is beautiful show—shifting colors, fast moving clouds. It was brilliant.
After an absolutely perfect meal, the freshest fish, and the nicest, flirtiest waiter later, and all that wine, I reached peak relaxation.
My only problem was that with every sip, with every bite, with each new dish and interaction, I could only imagine how much more fun it would have been with Tug there to share it. I knew exactly how much Tug would enjoy the food. The view. The simple berry bowl with cream I had for dessert.
I found myself picturing his profile backlit by the blazing orange sun as it finally fell beyond the violet horizon. I wished I’d taken pictures because things seemed diminished these days if I couldn’t share them with Tug.
I messaged Echo as I left the restaurant for a walk along the wharves because I wasn’t sure how to feel about… well… my feelings.
Me: You around?
Echo: I can be. What’s up?
Me: Need to pick your brain about something.
Echo: I’ll call you in five.
Me: Thanks.
I found a bench where I could sit and listen to music on my phone and wait. The air blew inland, carrying the aromas of fish, smoke, seaweed, and iron. The area behind me sparkled with cheerful restaurants, festively decorated with string lights and rows of hanging Edison bulbs. In front, fishing boats bobbed in the docks. There were festive knots of people on the boardwalk—vacationers and families and people with pets.
My phone rang, and I answered, grateful to hear Echo’s voice.
“Hey, what’s up?” she asked.
“I’m in Morro Bay for a few days.”
“By yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“Sounds nice. Are you having a good time?”
“I am actually. I just had a great meal. It’s very festive here.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s the last holiday weekend before school starts for a lot of people. And?”
“And…” I sighed. Confession was good for the soul, right? “And I can’t stop thinking about Tug.”
“Hm.” Her hm sounded ominous. “What about him?”
“I dropped him off at a sober living house just up the coast. That’s why I took vacation days. I figured if I was coming down here, I’d tack some time onto Labor Day and enjoy myself for a change.”
“And?” I could picture her eyebrows going up. “There’s something you aren’t telling me.”
“And… I miss him. He wanted to start over independently so I dropped him off, and now I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“Okay.” Her voice had gone a little cool. “What does that look like? Are you worried about him?”
“I guess, yeah. Of course, but that’s not really—” I glanced at the sky. Few stars pierced the drifting cloud cover and ambient lighting, but it was a lovely night. “I keep thinking about him. That he’d have enjoyed my appetizer or what he’d say about the view. I could picture what he’d look like when dessert came.”
“Aw, honey.” She sighed.
“I think I probably care more than I should, huh? I thought I had all these boundaries in place, but—”
“You don’t plan to see him against his wishes, do you?”
I gasped. “No. Of course not.”
“And if he called you and told you he wants you to come get him? That he doesn’t like it there, and he’d rather be with you?”
“That… would be a hard choice for me.” Goddamn Echo, for getting to the heart of things. “I’m such a sad bastard.”
“Would it be good for either of you? Being his escape like that?”