I pulled out a hand and helped her stand. She tried to tug her hand away, but I didn’t want to let her go. Not now, not when I’d finally found my soulmate after all these years. I was normally a very practical man. I’d never been married, never believed in love at first sight or soulmates, and I’d always assumed I’d be a lifelong bachelor. But all that had changed the moment our eyes had met through my car windshield.
Erika tugged her hand again and I reluctantly released her.
“Look Reed, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, despite your strong desire to injure me, and I won’t deny that I find you incredibly attractive, but I’m not looking for a vacation fling. I’m here for my daughter, and I’m not going to do anything to make her uncomfortable or take my attention away from her. My relationship with her is too important.”
I knew there was more to this story, but I was smart enough not to press my luck.
“I understand. For the record, I’m not looking for a fling either. I want it all. But I’ll give you some time to get used to the idea.”
I walked back through the door and rapped it with my knuckles. “Be sure to bolt the door. I’ll see you tomorrow Erika.”
Erika
Reed walked away andI went through the motions of getting ready for bed, my mind racing. That kiss. My God, I’d never felt anything like it. I’d been in love a couple of times, but it had never felt like this before. I’d just met the man. He was my future son-in-law’s uncle, and he’d knocked me over twice now, so I should stay far away from him. Yet I felt this strange kind of pull towards him that I couldn’t explain.
And what did he mean by ‘I want it all’?
You’re here for April,I reminded myself.Nothing else matters.
I’d been in recovery for five years before I reached out to my daughter and ex-husband to make amends. I wanted to have my five year pin before I told them I was sober. I wanted them to be able to trust that I had changed when I asked to be let back into their lives.
After my divorce I’d completely abandoned my daughter, refusing to show up for even one of our scheduled visitations. Angry about the divorce and in denial about my addiction, I’d bounced around from place to place, job to job, eventually winding up homeless and unemployed. I traded anything I could for oxycodone and alcohol, stealing when I had to.
By some miracle I’d avoided getting hooked on the stronger drugs that were so common on the streets. I’d been hanging out at a drop-in center that offered free lunch to the homeless when I met a woman named Tina. She said she was a peer mentor, someone who’d been an addict like me but had gotten clean. She said she could help me.
“I’m not an addict,” I’d protested.
Tina hadn’t argued. She’d just patted my arm. “I’m here when you’re ready.”
A few months later, I was ready. The night before I’d been jumped while sleeping in the park. I’d gotten away, but not before getting beat up pretty badly. It had been the wake-up call I needed. I didn’t want to die on the streets, too high to realize what was going on.
I went to see Tina at the drop-in center the very next morning, and by the next day I was enrolled in a treatment program. I found out later that Tina had pulled strings to get me into a program so quickly, and to get me on Medicaid to pay for it.
After six months in treatment, I’d gone to a sort of halfway house for people in recovery. I’d stayed there for a year, getting a job at a local restaurant, and studying to become a peer mentor like Tina. I started working at the same drop-in center where I’d made the decision to get clean and studied for my CADC – the certified alcohol and drug counselor certification.
After doing my required training hours, I’d moved onto a counseling role at a local drug treatment program. I loved my job, and I loved giving back to people who had the same struggles as me. I thanked God every day that Tina had cared enough to help me.
I’d worked hard to make a good life for myself. I had a small but nice apartment, a job I loved, hobbies that I enjoyed, and a small circle of good friends. But I’d missed having family.
When I made contact with Jack and April, I’d expected them to be skeptical. I’d hurt them both, and I’d been a shitty mother to April, too focused on getting high to take care of her properly. I’d reached out to Jack first, meeting him for coffee one afternoon. He’d been nicer than I deserved after all I’d put him through, thrilled to hear that I’d maintained sobriety for so long. He’d promised to share my number with April and let her know I wanted to talk to her.
When April called me the very next day, I’d burst into grateful tears.
Slowly we’d rebuilt our relationship. I’d proudly showed her my five-year sobriety pin and CADC certification and acknowledged the harm that I’d caused her. She’d been tentative at first, and rightly so, but we soon bonded over a shared love of running and horror movies. We’d made an effort to talk a couple of times a month, and periodically get together for dinner, a movie, or a run in Central Park. When things got serious with Jonathon, she’d even brought him to meet me one night over dinner.