“Corny,” Nix said with a broad smile, then kissed me again for good measure. “Come on, let’s go.”
I couldn’t even bring myself to be embarrassed. I climbed into Nix’s truck and sank happily into the passenger seat with a sigh. “Wow. I can’t believe I’m done.” As Nix pulled out of the facility, I turned around to toss my duffel in the backseat—right on top of a huge cooler. “What’s this?”
“Thought we could go have lunch,” Nix said. “Unless you have other plans?”
I grinned and kicked my feet up on the dashboard. “Can’t say I do.”
Nix drove back toward Elkin Lake, and we spent the drive in easy, comfortable conversation, with music playing and the windows cracked to let in the cold winter air on the winding highway. We arrived at the lake a few hours later; Nix grabbed the cooler before I could even offer to help, chucking a big quilt at my head instead.
I dutifully followed him down the familiar path, to the same pretty clearing where I’d tried to meditate, and where we’d then slept together under the stars. As we spread out the blanket and pulled the food out of the cooler—nothing fancy, just sandwiches and fruit—I shook my head a little, laughing at the memory of how hard it’d been for me to try to meditate.
“What’s so funny?” Nix teased. “Not impressed with the spread I’ve prepared?”
“No, no,” I said. “That part’s amazing. This is all amazing.” We sat down on the blanket, side-by-side, gazing out over the still surface of the lake. It was a cold, gorgeous day, with still, crisp air and the sun sparkling across the dark lake water. “Remember last time we were here?”
“Remember it?” Nix asked. “It features prominently in my fantasies.”
I laughed. “Mine, too. But you remember how you tried to show me how to meditate?”
“It’s not easy when you first start—”
“I realize that now,” I said. “I was so fidgety the entire time. And couldn’t focus at all, my thoughts just went off the rails as soon as I tried to focus on my breathing.”
Nix nodded, listening carefully as he unpacked a few of the sandwiches.
“I thought it was normal, you know, the way my brain just… ricocheted around. I thought everyone experienced something like it, the intensity, and the restlessness.” I shrugged. “Turned out that’s not the case.”
“What do you mean?” Nix prompted gently, his brow furrowing curiously.
“The doctor at the facility ran a bunch of tests with me, and it turns out I have attention deficit disorder,” I said with a rueful grin. “Like a troublemaking kid in school.”
I was trying to soften the diagnosis—I felt a little ashamed of it, still. Like it made me somehow immature or foolish. Even though at the same time it brought me relief to have the diagnosis, to understand why things that were so simple for others—like holding down regular jobs, and finishing books, and spending time alone—were so impossible for me.
“Wow,” Nix said.
I braced myself, waiting for some dig, or joke, or laugh.
“Congratulations,” he said.
I started. “What?”
“Congratulations,” he said with a smile. “On getting a diagnosis. That’s huge. Isn’t knowing so much better than not knowing? Do you have strategies to cope with it?”
Relief washed over me like a cool rain. He got it. I’d hoped he would—expected he would, even—but to have him just accept that diagnosis like it was nothing was amazing. His easy acceptance always amazed me. He was so unfazed. So nonjudgmental. So steady.
“Yeah,” I said as I picked up one of the sandwiches. “She’s got me on medication for it, and it’s like night and day. It’s not so much that I feel different, but it’s like… like everything is closer to the way I feel when I’m on the jobsite. I can focus better, and I don’t get so distracted, or caught up in my own thoughts.”
“That’s amazing,” Nix said. “When I was really deep into my using, I was using to numb myself, you know. So I know how good it can be to have that crutch to lean on. To make your brain just stop.”
“Exactly,” I said. “I still get cravings—”
“So do I,” Nix said.
I blinked. “Really? Still?”
“Still,” Nix said with a shrug. “But they’re not bad, and they pass quickly. They taught you about HALT?”
“Hungry, angry, lonely, tired,” I repeated with another little grin.
“Yep,” Nix said. “That’s when they hit for me. And it’s not super often.” He shrugged. “Once an addict, always an addict.”
“Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “That used to terrify me. The thought that I’d want it forever, and just never be able to have it again. But now that I’m feeling better, it’s like… I can imagine a life without it. Even if I want it occasionally, the wanting doesn’t outweigh what I get from the sobriety.”
“Same for me,” Nix said. “I can handle a craving here or there. They’re like little annoying mosquitos I swat away when I need to, more than anything else.” He took a bite of his sandwich, then peered at me thoughtfully. “No one ever suspected this diagnosis when you were growing up?”
I shrugged, then leaned back onto my elbows on the blanket. “Well, I wasn’t really on anyone’s radar, I guess.” My gut twisted a little at talking about my childhood, but I was willing to push through the nerves. If anyone deserved to know—and would understand—it was Nix. “My dad died when I was ten, and then Mom had to start working a lot more to make ends meet. A lot more. She was already a pretty hard drinker, but losing Dad, then having to work so much, she started drinking a lot more. By the time I was thirteen, she was pouring me little bits of beer and wine to get me to shut up at night.”
“Wow,” Nix said with a little shake of his head. “Talk about normalizing.”
“I know,” I agreed. “I never even thought twice about it. It was like medicine—calmed me down and helped me sleep. And it got me out of Mom’s hair, which I think was her ultimate goal. So drinking was always my coping mechanism.”
“It makes sense,” Nix said. He set his sandwich aside, then scooted a little closer and folded his hand over mine. “I’m really proud of you. That’s a lot to figure out, especially in such a short amount of time.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, then turned my hand over beneath his so our hands were palm-to-palm, fingers intertwined. “Brennan was my major point of stability, in the past, so when he and Joker got together, I felt like... like my foundation had been rocked. Like I didn’t have anyone or anything to rely on it. And it was scary, and I didn’t know how to face it.”
“Is that what kicked up the drinking again?” Nix asked gently.
“Yeah,” I said. “I didn’t realize it, but yeah. It’s so obvious in hindsight.”
“Funny thing, isn’t it?” Nix said. “When I think back, it’s so clear that I was running from my grief, trying to numb it with pills and booze. But in the moment, I didn’t see any other options.”