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seventy-five f

In Love

T he more we saw of each other, the less I thought about Nick’s four rehab experiences. We shared our sobriety stories; he didn’t flinch when I told him about Kenya.

We’d been dating for six months when he invited me to spend Thanksgiving with Gloria and Chad.

“I’m cooking the entire meal,” he said proudly.

“You’re cooking?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.

Nick was as much a genius in the kitchen as he was with the written word.

For the past few years, I’d spent the holidays with Warren and his family. Warren knew I’d met someone, but I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to introduce him to Nick.

“I’m disappointed, but I understand. Ya wanna spend time with yer fella.”

“I knew you’d understand.”

“When am I gonna meet yer sweetheart?”

“Soon, I promise.” With everything Warren had done for me, I owed him an introduction.

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My relationship with Nick went from casual to committed over the next few months. An occasional overnight at my apartment turned into an occasional night apart. Things were easy between us, probably because we’d been friends before we became lovers.

I reflected on the abuse I had suffered with Tom, the dysfunction with Jack, and the over-the-top insanity with Mike. Being with Nick had a calming effect on me—at least most of the time. I did my best to ignore his occasional mood swings, telling myself it was part of his sobriety struggle.

The biggest blessing was that we didn’t need drugs, alcohol, or chaos to keep us together.

Nick called one night about six months into our relationship. “I’ll be working late tonight—some big political meeting.”

He always reported on local politics and attended evening meetings. Why was this night any different?

“Can you wait up for me? We need to talk,” he said.

A wave of anxiety passed through me but quickly dissipated. “Okay. See you later, sweetie.”

“Love ya, Ava.”

He tiptoed in around one in the morning. I listened for drunken sounds, but his footsteps were solid. Nothing toppled over. Nothing broke. I felt my shoulders relax.

“Thanks for waiting up.” He sat next to me on the bed.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“I hope so.” He turned toward me with an expression I couldn’t describe, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he began. “You’re my soulmate, my lover, my best friend. I’d never have stayed sober without you. Will you marry me?”

He opened the box to reveal a small solitaire diamond ring. “I hope it fits.”

My prior life had been full of surprises. I thought I’d put the unexpected behind me.

Guess I was wrong.

I told myself if the ring fit, we were meant to be together. It did.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He held me close. “You’ve made me the happiest man on the planet.”

The more I thought about us as a married couple, the more perfect it seemed. I knew he’d been married three times, but I told myself this time would be different. He was sober, attended regular AA meetings, and had a secure job.

And I’ve had my share of failed relationships. I convinced myself we’d make it work.

Martie and the rest of the staff congratulated me at work the next day. I noticed imperceptible glances pass between them. They’d warned me about Nick’s past. Was that all that worried them, or was there more?

I told myself they didn’t know Nick like I did.

I called Warren with my news.

“Can’t wait to meet the fella,” Warren said.

“You’re gonna love him as much as I do. Nick and I want to invite you for dinner at my place. Nick’s agreed to cook for us.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

We made plans for the following week.