“Well, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” I replied honestly.
He promptly waltzed over to my wine fridge, grabbed a bottle of white, and poured a glass for me. Then, he popped the cork back into the bottle with a huff. “I’m not fragile, Vi. I’m not going to crumble.”
Well okay then.
I didn’t realise I’d been behaving differently around him until he said that and then I felt like a prat. Hayden shouldn’t have to remind me he’s okay. Just looking at him, I know he is. However, I think he is definitely in the small percentage of recovering addicts who don’t fear relapsing every day.
He tried to explain to me that his alcoholism was a bit different than most as it didn’t take shape until Marisa died. “I struggled with survivor’s guilt after Marisa’s death. That was the start of my problems. It wasn’t a brain chemistry issue or heredity inheritance of depression. It was an environmental event that affected me deeply. As a result, I turned to drinking and other dangerous behaviours. But alcohol is a depressant. It stoked my guilt and caused me to drown in my own self-pity. Continuing to drink could essentially lead me back to that dark place in my mind. That means avoidance of all alcohol is paramount if I don’t want to slide down that slope again.”
The more I learned about Hayden, the more I wanted him. Every day he surprised me with all he was willing to share with me. Even the light-hearted family stories were such a great glimpse into his life.
One day we took Bruce for a walk, and he told me this hilarious story about his mum catching Theo and Leslie butt-naked in the hallway of their family home last year. I laughed so hard I couldn’t help but continue pegging him with tons of questions about his mum. She sounded delightful in every silly story. Then I told him about how when I was growing up, I always paid close attention to other people’s mums. My friends at school would invite me over, and instead of going up to their rooms to talk about boys, I would ask if I could help their mum make tea. It’s probably a large reason why I didn’t have many friends. I admitted that even to this day, I watch mothers at supermarkets and fantasise about what they’re preparing their family for supper. I dream about what it would have been like growing up with someone like that. I was so envious that I turned into that weirdo who stalks middle-aged women in the grocery store.
But after a fortnight of lying low and just slowly getting to know each other, the real world came barging in. Hayden and I made plans to take things to the next level. No countdown. No suicide talk. No painful past crap. Just a date. A single, solitary, painfully normal, and somewhat boring date.
Dinner and a film.
I’m positively buzzing with anticipation. I’ve got my main mutt, Bruce, standing guard at my door, watching me with sad puppy-dog eyes.
I’m dressed in a simple black and white striped, short sleeve, cotton dress. It’s rather modest, aside from the shorter length, but I paired it with my favourite white Converse to give it a more casual appearance. Keeping to the theme, I left my blonde hair loose down my back, adding just a bit of soft curls to the ends, and my makeup is light and elegant.
I turn to Bruce. “How do I look?” I ask, tossing my hands out to show off my outfit. He huffs and drops his head back down on his pillow. I took him on a good long walk after work today, so he’s properly knackered now. “Much help you are,” I grumble.
Just as I finish tying my laces, my buzzer goes off. I jog over and breathe, “Hiya,” into the monitor like a smiling loon.
“Oi Vi, let us up…We gotta talk to ya.”
I frown. “Camden?”
“‘Course it’s fuckin’ Camden…and Tanner. Who else would it be?”
My heart drops. Hayden should be here soon, and the last thing I need is for him to get a glimpse of the Harris brothers. He’s so not ready for that. Panicking that Hayden could be walking up at any moment, I buzz them up.
Shit, shit, shit! How am I going to get rid of them? What the hell do they need? As the lift doors open, my two owly brothers are standing face to face, arguing as usual. They are kind of a hilarious sight. One is a clean-cut, playboy-looking type. The other is a scruffier slacker-boy. But their faces are similar, so it’s quite comical.
“That is your perception of how the night went. You are off your bloody rocker, bro,” Tanner challenges.
“I’m about to fucking pummel you in the face if you don’t watch your tone.” A vein in Camden’s neck bulges angrily.
“Oi, oi, oi! What’s the problem here?” I stand with my hands on my hips, greeting them in the foyer. I don’t want them coming in and making themselves comfortable. This is a quick fix and then I’m sending them on their way.
Tanner looks to me and flicks his head back to get his blond hair out of his eyes. “Here’s what happened, Vi. We were at a club last night, right? And all these little slappers were flocking on us like flies on shit.”