“I just . . . they’re not good after what happened to Diane,” I shared.
“I didn’t think they’d show throwing glitter and singing ‘Jeremiah was a bullfrog,’” he returned.
That was kind of funny.
He still sounded like he was getting pretty pissed.
Shit.
I had to come out with it.
“Well, it’s more about the fact that Paul is having a slight problem with his alcohol intake,” I admitted.
Rush was silent.
“And I might have promised Amy I’d talk to him about it.”
“Might have?”
“In the sense I promised Amy I’d talk to him about it.”
I waited for Rush to get ticked I’d gone all Superwoman again. Even if this particular bit was grandfathered into the whole thing about me taking care of everyone’s business before my meltdown, after which I learned my lesson to stop trying to take care of everyone’s business (maybe).
But he just sighed before he asked, “How slight is this problem with his alcohol intake?”
“He’s pretty much always wasted, not going to work. I had lunch with them this week, showed at noon, he was home and he was shitfaced.”
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” I agreed and looked forward.
“What are you gonna say?” he asked.
“I have no idea.”
“How about, ‘You getting slaughtered isn’t helping you or anybody, especially your wife. Sober up. Get to an AA meeting. Get your ass to work. And look after your woman.’”
I again turned to him. “As succinct and to the point as that is, honey, I’m not sure that’s the way to go.”
“Babe, this is what you got, so prepare for it because it’s all you got. Two things could happen with this, only two. One, no matter what you say or how you say it, he’ll listen, get his head out of his ass, straighten up his act and find a path to carrying on with his life even though he’s got a wound that will never heal. Or two, he’s gonna get pissed as shit, take that out on you, or his wife, cut you out, and maybe do that to his wife since it won’t be hard for him to figure out she put you up to this, even if he’s trashed, and you’re gonna lose him or them.”
Fear gripped my heart.
I actually felt it gripping my heart.
“Rush,” I whispered.
His hold on me tightened. “It’s gonna be either of those, sweetheart, and what you got to take from that is they’re his choice. You did what you did out of love and concern, and if he doesn’t get that, it’s on him. Not you. If he doesn’t get it’s hard for you to watch what he’s doing to himself and even harder for you to confront him about it, fuck him. I get the need to numb the pain with booze. But if he hasn’t realized by now it’s not gonna work, and you try to point that out and he throws it in your face, that’s him. All him. Not you.”
“I’m worried, Rush.”
Another hand squeeze. “I know you are, baby.”
“They say addiction is hereditary and we both know what became of Diane.”
“I’m no doctor but I see why that would tweak you even more than you’re already tweaked, but that also has dick to do with you. You gotta let others take responsibility for their actions and decisions or you’ll get buried under them and they’re not even yours.”
“You’re right,” I muttered.
“I know.” He did not mutter.
“And that sucks,” I said.
“I bet.” That, he muttered.
I examined his profile. “Are you pissed I took this on?”
“Rebel, I get pissed you do this shit, I might as well get pissed your eyes are blue.”
I stared at his profile.
“It’s you. I could try to change it, but I don’t know why I would. I would not be lookin’ forward to fucking you senseless after we get home from the store if this wasn’t a part of you.”
I continued to stare at his profile (but I did it squirming a little).
“Strike that, I probably would. You got a great ass, great legs, great hair, a beautiful mouth and you’re a great lay. But I heard what you were up to, baby. I read in the file why,” he said quietly. “And I was way interested before you got in my face about how I hijacked you and definitely way before I got your nails curled into my ass.”
Wow.
“Do not take that as encouragement to keep jacking your shit up in everyone else’s,” he finished on an order.