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“It’s an older crowd, Russell. No offense.”
“Are you going once a week?”
“Don’t need to. I’m steady.”
I can tell he doesn’t like this answer, but he doesn’t give me any flak.
“How about friends? Are you meeting people?”
“I went out with a friend last night.”
“Where’d you meet her?”
“He is a student at Rutgers, and he’s home for the summer.”
My sponsor narrows his eyes, concerned. “It’s a little early for dating, Quinn. You’re only eighteen months sober.”
“We’re just friends.”
“So he knows you’re sober?”
“Yes, Russell, that was our very first topic of conversation. I told him how I nearly overdosed in the back of an Uber. Then we talked about the nights I slept at the train station.”
He shrugs, like these would be perfectly sensible things to discuss. “I’ve sponsored a lot of college kids, Mallory. These campuses—the fraternities, the binge drinking—they’re breeding grounds for addicts.”
“We had a very quiet evening in a bookstore. We drank seltzer water and listened to music. Then he walked me back to the Maxwells’ house. It was nice.”
“The next time you see him, you should tell him the truth. This is part of your identity, Mallory, you need to embrace it. The longer you wait, the harder it gets.”
“Is this why you invited me here? To lecture me?”
“No, I invited you here because Caroline called me. She’s worried about you.”
I’m blindsided. “Seriously?”
“She said you started off great. She called you a dynamo, Quinn. She was really happy with your performance. But the last few days, she said she’s noticed a change. And anytime I hear those words—”
“I’m not using, Russell.”
“Good, okay, that’s good.”
“Did she say I was using?”
“She said you were acting strangely. She saw you outside at seven in the morning, digging through her trash cans. What the heck was that all about?”
I realize Caroline must have spotted me through her bedroom window. “It was nothing. I threw something away by mistake. I had to get it back. Big deal.”
“She says you’re talking about ghosts. You think maybe her son is possessed?”
“No, I never said that. She misunderstood me.”
“She says you’re getting chummy with a user who lives next door.”
“You mean Mitzi? I’ve talked to Mitzi two times. In four weeks. Does that make us BFFs?”
Russell gestures for me to keep my voice down. Even in the crowded noisy dining room, some of our neighbors are turning to stare. “I’m here to help you, okay? Is there anything you want to talk about?”
Can I really tell him? Can I really outline all my concerns about Annie Barrett? No, I cannot. Because I know all my worries sound ridiculous. And I just want my sponsor to be proud of me.
