The setting: an extravagant NFL banquet. They’d be seated in a glimmering ballroom, eating steak with warm rolls and those little butters shaped like seashells. Brian would be next to her, unable to keep his hands off of her, because she’d look like a knockout in her silky floor-length designer gown. A really expensive one, from one of those flamboyant French guys named Christian or Jean-Paul.
Her hair and makeup would be professionally done—no more doing it herself from a Cosmo guide—and when Brian got up onstage to accept an award, she’d dab the tears from her eyes with a linen napkin. He’d say something like, “I wouldn’t be standing here tonight if it weren’t for my beautiful wife who has been by my side through it all. Baby . . .” Even though there were a thousand other people in the room, his eyes would focus only on her. “Thank you for being you.” Everyone in the ballroom would smile at her and everything they’d gone through to get there would be worth it.
Honk! Honk!
Laura snapped out of her fantasy and realized she was sitting at a green light. “Sorry!” she yelled, as if the driver of the truck behind her could hear.
When she pulled into the Landrys’ driveway, she noticed Rob and Janet’s car wasn’t there. “Sweet,” she said to herself, imagining all the things she and Brian could do to celebrate this rare occurrence.
Laura opened the front door and yelled her husband’s name. The house was dark and silent. She walked to the back of the house and noticed the light was on in their bedroom.
“Brian?” she called out again.
A moan responded.
Panicked, she ran toward the door and found Brian lying on the floor. “What the hell? Brian! Are you okay?” She dropped her bag and kneeled down next to her husband.
Brian’s blue eyes fluttered open, looking unfocused. “I’m jus’ turd,” he slurred.
“Turd?” Laura asked, confused.
“Tie-errrred,” Brian enunciated, using all the energy he could muster up.
Laura lifted him up and propped him against the white bed frame. “What happened?”
“Jack,” he said, his lips puckering.
“Who’s Jack?” she asked, gently pushing his hair off his forehead. She glanced around, half-expecting some guy name Jack to jump out of their closet.
“En Coke.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Jack and Coke?” She felt as though she were in French class, trying to interpret what the hell was being said.
Brian nodded in an exaggerated way.
Laura looked around and realized there was an empty handle of Jack Daniel’s sitting on his desk and Coke cans scattered all over.
“Get up and get in bed,” she said, sighing. She tried to lift his body off the floor, but he weighed twice as much as she did. Brian grunted and managed to flop onto the mattress.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, heading straight to the kitchen to brew him a cup of coffee. She returned quickly and handed him the mug carefully. “How did you get this drunk?” she asked as he took a sip.
“Kenny,” he said, not looking at her.
Laura tried to force away her irritation, but it was just so typical that she’d spent her whole night working her butt off for nothing while Brian sat around drinking with useless Kenny. “So, Kenny force-fed you Jack and Coke? Way to own up to your own mistakes,” she spat. This was her room, too, that he’d trashed. She grabbed the empty handle and cans. “What were y’all doing in here anyway?”
“Jus’ chillin’,” he said, taking a sip of the coffee.
Holding three cans and a bottle, Laura started to head out the door when Brian yelled out, “Missed one!” and threw an empty aluminum can toward her. It flew just a few inches past her head and landed on the floor.
“Oh my god!” she screamed. “That could have hit me!”
He put his hand over his mouth, as if knowing just how much trouble he was about to be in. “Sorry . . .”
Laura huffed and walked out of the room into the kitchen, where she tossed the cans and bottle into the trash and stomped her foot in a rage. There’s nowhere to go! she thought to herself. All she wanted to do was slam a door, but Brian was taking up the bedroom, and going into the bathroom just wouldn’t have the same effect. She noticed the back door to the porch, stomped over, and slammed the door shut behind her. It made a satisfying echo in the house.
She sat on the glider, her anger festering inside of her. A little while later, Brian finally opened the door and joined her.
“I’m really sorry, babe,” he said, sounding a tad more sober now. She didn’t know if it was the coffee or her rage, but at least he was forming complete sentences.
Laura crossed her arms and looked off into the yard, where a rope swing dangled from a giant oak tree. When they were younger, Brian used to push Laura on the swing. It always made her feel like she could fly. But now, this whole house made her feel stifled. “I’m so pissed at you.”
“You have every right to be,” he said, lightly touching her shoulder, as if uncertain it was welcome.
She didn’t turn to acknowledge him. “You’ve got to get it together,” she said, resolutely staring into the distance.
“I will,” he said softly.
She snapped her head toward him and glared. “Now, Brian.” She was tired of all of this.
“Okay, jeez,” he said. He leaned his head against the back of the chair. Laura could tell he was having trouble keeping it up. His eyes were glassy, and he looked out of it. “I’m basically sober now.”
“Right,” she said sarcastically. Then she sighed. “You’ve got a problem, Brian. I’m worried about you.” She braced herself for him to get defensive, to say that she couldn’t understand what he was going through, to push her out like he’d been doing over the last few months.
Instead, Brian took a deep breath, and said: “I’ll quit.”
Laura’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ll quit drinkin’?”
“Yeah, why not?” Brian said. His head was still resting drunkenly against the yellow floral chair cushion, but he actually sounded like he meant it.
“Can you write that down so you’ll remember it tomorrow?” she asked.
“I’m for real,” he said. “No more, I swear. Promise.” He held out his pinky. They had been doing the pinky promises since they first started dating five years ago. Usually Laura used it in ways, like, “Promise you’ll call me every night while you’re stayin’ with your granny for Christmas?” and “Promise you’ll still love me even if I don’t make cheer captain?” This was the first time Brian initiated it, and it was the first time it involved anything serious.
She extended her right hand and grabbed his pinky with hers.
“I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to going back out on the field,” Brian said, shifting his hand to interlock their fingers. His palm was warm and strong against hers, and for the first time all night, Laura felt calm.
“I know,” she said, squeezing his hand.
“Everything that we worked for, it’s gonna happen,” he assured her. “We’re going to save enough money and I’m going to get this surgery, and all of our dreams are going to come true. I promise that, too.”