“If he was using me to escape, then no. I mean, if he just wanted to go out to eat or something, that’s one thing. We went on outings when he was at Hope House.”
“Dates?”
“No. Group things, like movies in the park.”
“I don’t see anything inappropriate. What are you really asking?”
“You know, I really liked Tug when he was a kid, right? I found his company pleasant and enjoyed tutoring him. He’s different now but still quirky and fun to be around when he’s not trying to play me.”
“And?”
“Well, okay. I like him. I enjoy his company now that he’s sober. He’s funny, and sweet, and smart. I wish I didn’t find him so attractive—”
“Oh, there it is.” She said it like gotcha, and I’ll admit I was a little stung. “You have feelings for him.”
“I have ‘feelings’ for a lot of people, including you, cuz. Settle down.”
A pause. “Defensive much?”
“Maybe?”
“You idiot.” Her light laughter was an audible Band-Aid. “Fess up for God’s sake. It’s not like I didn’t know you’ve had feelings for Tug all along. That’s why I asked if you’d go to nar-anon meetings.”
“Right. And I went, so now I know about the shit piles, but it’s still hard to see when I’m about to step in one.”
“You’re not stepping in anything if you’ve let go so he can find his own way.”
“What else could I do? He asked me to walk away.”
“Sounds like you both have your heads on straight.”
“Even so, I miss him. I keep thinking about him. I want him to be okay.”
“We all do,” said Echo. “And you know what? I believe he’s going to be one of the success stories.”
“Don’t you have to believe that?”
“Yeah, but Tug’s got something inside him trying to claw its way out. You don’t always see that. From talking to him, he knows he’s not where he wants to be, and he’s desperate for change. He’s working for it.”
“I see that.”
“It will take time before he can contemplate having a relationship.”
“And honestly? I never wanted to have a relationship with an addict.” I can’t believe I said the words out loud even though they’d been true all along. “I want a partner I can trust.”
Silence stretched between us for several seconds. “Tug will always be an addict.”
“I know,” I admitted. “I don’t know what it would take for me to trust my heart with him.”
“It bears repeating. Tug will always be an addict. And right now, he’s not ready for any kind of relationship.”
“’Nuff said, Echo. I don’t want to hurt Tug. That’s the last thing I’d do. And I don’t want to feel this… this inconvenient longing for someone I won’t allow myself to have either.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I know it’s hard.” I wished I could have one of her special hugs right then. “Try to enjoy your vacation. Be present, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
She huffed a laugh. “I didn’t exactly solve your problem.”
“No, but it was nice to be able to talk about it.”
“Find a meeting if you need one.”
“I will.”
“Your happiness doesn’t depend on anyone else.”
“You’re right. I’m in an awesome coastal resort town. I need to go find something to do.”
“Good for you! Check back in often. Have fun.”
Later that night, I decided to try a bar with live music on the embarcadero. It seemed to be bulging at the seams with sweaty people inside and outside its doors—always a good sign that the music was good.
The bar’s too obvious theme was mermaids. It had all the nautical trappings arrayed on the walls—nets, dried crustaceans, commercial fishing tools, and in pride of place, the wooden figurehead of a lusty, busty mermaid with a secret smile.
Normally, I don’t go to places that are too busy or too loud, but in the spirit of escape, I squeezed up to the bar and ordered a beer. The band on the neon-lit stage played an indie pop cover song from about twenty years ago. On the dance floor, mostly hetero couples in their thirties got their groove on.
When a stool opened near the end of the bar, I took it. When you’re traveling alone you have two choices: sit hunched over your beer like a troll or turn to watch the other patrons and make pleasant eye contact with strangers.
To take myself out of my headspace, I chose to do the latter. I watched the band and the dancers for a long while before anything happened.
Going out always led to a quandary. Making decent eye contact with women seemed like entering a contract I didn’t plan to fulfill, but eye fucking men in a strange bar out of town felt awkward too. Either could lead to disaster—embarrassment or a trip to the ER. I’d never been good at this kind of thing. Put me in my environment, give me the stacks and a patron who needed to find a book, and I could talk to anyone. Charm anyone.
“God, this is a crush,” said a woman’s voice from my left. I turned to look and discovered she was talking to me. “I wouldn’t be here, but my friend’s in the band.”
“They’re good.” I nodded.
“For an indie revival cover band.” She curled her lip playfully. “You have to ask yourself, do we need an indie revival?”
“Asked and answered,” I responded.
“What are you drinking? Let me buy you one.”
“Er. I—”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re married, gay, engaged, in the middle of a divorce, here on a mission to infiltrate the commercial fishing industry for PETA. I don’t really give a shit. I’m sick of sitting with the band’s fangirls or drunken sad dancing alone.”
“All right. It’s”—I turned the bottle so she could see the label—“Pliny the Elder double hopped IPA.”
“Of course it is.” She shook her head. “God, I hate beer geeks. Okay. Minute.”
She held up a finger for the bartender and ordered me a second beer. She got her own drink, something clear with a lime.
“G&T for me. Always. Bring your bitter witch’s brew and join us. We’ve got a table.”
She pointed out a corner table where four girls were chair dancing to the music. Five chairs. I opened my mouth to say I didn’t want to intrude, but she got there ahead of me.
“Don’t worry,” she eyed the crowded bar. “I’ll go crack heads and get another chair.”
“That’s not—”
“Oh, it’s gonna be fun. Don’t worry.”
My new friend had long pale hair braided back off a plain, if pleasing, face. She carried a few extra pounds for her frame but knew how to dress herself well. She wore well-loved blue cowboy boots, a flippy little black skirt, and a white peasant blouse with embroidery around the collar. The effect was bohemian and girlish, although I put her age at about thirty.
Her friends were an odd mixture of business casual and I’m-with-the-band—low slung jeans, camisoles, and wild hair for days.