Page 11 of Stalkers Anonymous

The question catches me off guard. I’d expected some version of small talk before diving into the actual reason for our meeting.

“It’s going fine,” I say after a moment, studying the laminated menu without really reading it. “Just taking it day by day.”

Tyler makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “Sure it is. That’s why you walked in here looking like you were entering hostile territory.”

I glance up, visibly annoyed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You cased the entire restaurant in about three seconds. Checked all the exits. Assessed every person in here. Chose the seat that gives you the best view of the door.” He shrugs. “Standard stuff. I did the same thing when I got here.”

I set the menu down, suddenly less interested in maintaining the facade of normalcy. “Is this how all our ‘check-ins’ are going to go? You pointing out my behaviors and berating me like I’m a child?”

“Nope.” Tyler leans back, seemingly unaffected by my irritation. “Just establishing a baseline. We can’t talk about recovery if we can’t acknowledge the behaviors we’re recovering from.”

Doris returns with my coffee, momentarily pausing our conversation. I order the first thing I see on the menu—a club sandwich—more to get rid of her quickly than out of any real hunger. Tyler asks for his Denver omelet, earning a warm smile from Doris that suggests he really is a regular here.

Once she’s gone, Tyler pulls a small notebook from his pocket and slides it across the table. The cover is plain black with nothing remarkable about it.

“What’s this?” I ask, eyeing but not touching it.

“Your first recovery journal. Tracey suggested I keep one at the beginning.” He taps the cover. “Tracking triggers, thoughts, urges. Journaling helped me, and I think it’ll help you.”

I make no move to take the book. “I’m not much of a diary guy.”

“Neither was I.” He pushes it closer to me. “But this is private. No one reads it, not even Tracey. It’s just for you, to see patterns you might not notice otherwise.”

I leave the notebook where it sits. “How long have you been going to these meetings?”

“Seven months. My partners at the brewery kind of forced me into it, like you. But now I go voluntarily.”

“Why?” The question comes out before I can stop it, genuine curiosity overriding my defenses.

Tyler takes a long sip of his coffee, mulling over the question. “Because it works. And I don’t want to be the guy who’s known for stalking the customers. Also, because I like who I am when I’m not obsessing over someone else’s life.”

His honesty is disarming. I expected platitudes about recovery and healing, not a straightforward acknowledgment of what the group is really about.

Stalking. Tracey can argue semantics all she wants, but if it walks like a stalker and talks like a stalker…

“What did you do?” I ask, realizing I know everyone’s general offense but not the specifics. “With the…customer?”

“Adjusted my brewing schedule to match when she came in. Started making special batches based on offhand comments she’d made about flavors she liked.” His expression is rueful. “Convinced myself I was just being an attentive business owner trying to keep a valued customer happy.”

The story sounds eerily familiar—the justifications, the blurred boundaries.

“What happened?” I ask, suddenly needing to know more.

“She noticed. Filed a complaint with the Better Business Bureau. My business partner confronted me about it.” Tyler shrugs. “Could have been worse. Could have been a restraining order or charges. Instead, I got an ultimatum to attend group therapy or lose my stake in the brewery.”

Doris arrives with our food. The club sandwich is enormous, with layers of turkey, bacon, lettuce, and tomato between slices of toasted bread. Tyler’s omelet is a golden half-moon, stuffed with peppers, onions, and ham, accompanied by hash browns that gleam with a perfect, buttery crisp.

“Anything else I can get you boys?” Doris asks.

“We’re good for now, thanks,” Tyler replies with an easy smile.

As she walks away, I pick up one half of my sandwich, more to keep my hands busy than anything else. “So how does this work? The buddy system.”

“It’s pretty simple. We check in regularly. Daily at first, then maybe less often as you get more comfortable with the process. We talk about triggers, moments when you felt the urge to monitor or gather information. We help each other recognize when we’re rationalizing behavior that crosses the line.”

“And if I don’t want to share those things with a complete stranger?” The question comes out sharper than I intended.