"You want me to bring it out?" Walker asks.
"Thanks, baby." His mom smiles.
Walker shoots me a hopeful look as he pushes himself out of his chair. He moves into the kitchen.
His parents' attention turns to me.
His mom takes a long sip from her water glass. She looks at it wistfully, like she wishes it was wine. "How did you two meet?"
Uh… I can't exactly say I brought him back to my place to nail him. "A friend's party."
"I'm always telling my younger coworkers that socializing is the best way to meet someone. I know all the kids are on Tinder and OkCupid these days, but it's not the same as an actual conversation." She takes another sip.
"It's not. I, uh…" Thought he was hot and likely good in bed. "Your son is incredibly charming."
"He takes after his mother." His father nods.
She beams.
It must be true. His dad seems more behind the scenes. His mom is quiet, but there's something magnetic about her eyes. The same eyes as Walker. And as his sister.
"What do you do, sweetheart?" she asks.
"I'm a PhD candidate." I fold my hands in my lap. "In psychology."
"Oh." She turns to the door, right as Walker enters with a set of plates. "You didn't tell me you were dating a smart woman."
"You didn't ask. You only asked if she was pretty." He sets plates in front of each of us, moves back into the kitchen, returns with silverware.
"She is." She looks to me. "He gushed about how gorgeous you are."
My cheeks flush. "Thank you."
Walker's eyes meet his mother's. "Bree isn't here?"
"She's at a meeting." There's a tone to her voice. An I don't want to hear your opinion about that. She turns to me. "I hate to talk shop at dinner, but, sweetheart, what are your thoughts about the twelve-step program?"
She's asking because of the PhD thing.
Not because she knows I've been through rehab. Because I go to meetings. Because I have a tenuous relationship with said meetings.
She has no idea I'm on shaky ground.
That I've ever been on shaky ground.
I muster all the confidence I have. I need to do this for him. I need to help him convince his parents. "It's hard to find accurate statistics, but most suggest that rehab in combination with a twelve-step program works best. Addiction is always difficult. Most people try to quit a few times before it sticks. But having a support network helps."
Walker moves into the room with two trays of food. One of chicken curry. One of rice.
His mom smiles. "Walker mentioned you love Indian food. We're excited to have him over. And to meet you. Walker has never introduced us to anyone. We thought, maybe…"
"Jen." His dad rubs her hand. "Go easy on the poor girl. Were you thinking about marriage in grad school?"
She nods true.
Walker sets the trays down, returns to the kitchen for more.
I try to pick up where I left off. "It's important having people who support you. Friends. Family. And other people who understand what you're going through."
His parents nod along, hanging on every word.
"Will she be back tonight?" I ask.
His mom stares at her glass. "She goes out for coffee after meetings sometimes. She knows to text when she's finished at eight."
They seem like they keep her on a short leash.
So how did she end up at Walker's place high last night?
"Does Sabrina work? That can help, having purpose, feeling like you're part of the world." It's what made the difference for me.
Her mom nods. "Yes, she works at a boutique at the Grove. She loves it there."
She must get into trouble after work. Or before. Or when she says she's working but really goes out with old friends.
It's easy to give into temptation.
It's possible last night really was one little slip. It's possible she is doing well.
"You should ask her manager for her schedule." Walker places a glass of water in front of me then takes his seat. He motions to the food let's eat.
"We're trying to treat her like an adult," his mom says.
He fights a frown. "You got my message?"
"Of course. But…" His mom picks up the serving spoon and scoops basmati rice onto her plate. "We're not throwing Bree back in rehab because of one slip."
He presses his lips together.
"I understand you don't approve of the way we handle things, but we're trying to give Bree her space. She has to come to this conclusion on her own." She sets the spoon back then scoops chicken tikka masala onto her plate.
"That is true." I take the serving spoon, focus on filling my plate.
Walker leans back in his chair. Presses his palms into his thighs. He waits until I'm done serving myself then grabs the spoon, fills his plate.
He stabs a piece of chicken with his fork. "You're right." He makes eye contact with his mom. "We need to treat Bree like an adult. She says this is one slip up, fine. But if she does it again, you need to give her an ultimatum—she gets clean or she's out of the house."
"Sweetie, we have done that." His mother cuts a tiny piece of chicken, brings it to her mouth, chews, swallows.
"No, you've threatened. But you always bail her out. You need to stop. To pull away her safety net." His voice wavers for a second then it's back to confident. "It sucks. I get that. I don't want Bree to die either. But you're not helping her like this. That money is just going to more needles in her arm. She needs to know you mean it, that she can't live here in exchange for a rehab stint a year."
"Walker, sweetie. You don't understand how hard it is for her. She's trying. She goes to meetings every week, sometimes twice a week. She goes to therapy. She wants to get better." His mom takes another tiny bite.
I mix my chicken with rice, scoop a bite. It's amazing, rich, tender, fresh. The tomato sauce is creamy and tangy in equal measures. But it still doesn't taste good.
I can feel every bit of Walker's hurt. His frustration. Like it's mine.
Is this how relationships are supposed to go?
It was never like this with Ross. Not even close.
Walker's voice is low. Hurt. "I know she's trying."
"You do?" I sound more surprised than I mean to.
"Yeah." He runs his hand through his hair. "Part of her wants to get better. But that's not enough. It's not working. I need you guys on my side. I'll be the bad cop. But I still need you to back me up."
His mom turns to his dad. They share a knowing look.
She turns back to him. "And what if she says no and she leaves? Where are we then?"
"Where are we now?" he asks.
"She's with us. She's safe," his mom says.
"Not from herself." His hand curls into a fist.
I reach for him. Place my palm on his wrist.
His fist unfurls. He looks to me like I'm his lifeline, the only person who understands him.
"She checked out of rehab early. How long do you really think it will be until she's using everyday again?" he asks.