be a buzzkill, so I needed to get out of there.
I said my good-byes, and then figured I would find the water guy to say good-bye and catch him up on the fact that I found water immediately.
“I’m leaving!” I said to him, one arm reached out for an awkward side hug.
His smile dropped. “Oh, why are you leaving?”
“Because I’m the only sober person here!” I didn’t mean to sound so annoyed. I looked at him apologetically. But he just looked excited—exuberant, in fact.
“I’m sober.”
I was stunned. “Sober sober?” Because there’s “I’m driving tonight” sober and there’s also “if I have one drink I’ll lose control and die” sober.
He smiled wide and nodded. “Sober sober.”
“Stop it.” I hadn’t told him anything about myself, but suddenly we exchanged a look and it was like we knew more about each other than . . . anyone else. We had both been through the same war.
It was too long of a look. He cleared his throat. “Do you know of any good AA meetings around here? I just moved here and I don’t know a lot of people or where to . . . stay focused.”
“There’s one at The Log Cabin. It’s where I got sober. You should meet me there.”
“Yeah. I will.”
Damn. How awesome! Although that conversation would have been a lot weirder had I gone to the party ass-out. As I drove home, I quietly thanked myself for not choosing that particular night to dress like an idiot.
The next day, Stephen met me outside The Log Cabin for the 11:30 a.m. meeting. We sat together inside, and afterward he asked me to lunch. At this time, I had been vegan for about year. But I always hated telling people this fact when I first met them. Because, you know, people hate vegans.
I was always pretty into vegetables and clean eating though, even during my addiction. At one point during my addiction I thought the more kale I consumed, the less cocaine I would crave. I realized that didn’t work when I literally called my dealer from Veggie Grill.
But back to Stephen, what if he wanted to get barbecue or something? As we walked to a restaurant of his choice, I slid my veganism into the conversation.
“I don’t really eat meat,” I said.
“Oh, me neither,” he replied.
Okay, maybe he didn’t understand how serious I was about this. “I’ve been vegan for one year.”
“I’ve been vegan for two years,” he replied. Are you kidding me?
There were so many moments like this as we sat down and ate together. So many similarities between us. With Stephen I laughed more than I had in a long time. Suddenly three hours had passed. Oh shit, we were talking for three hours? I found out that he was a film composer, I heard about the town he was from, and I learned that his mom was a waitress and his dad worked in a furniture store.
That night, I called Colleen. “You’ll never guess who I had lunch with today!”
“Who?”
“Stephen Hilton.”
“Um. You can’t date him.”
I wasn’t even thinking about dating him. It wasn’t a date. I was just excited to have made a new friend. I mean, I really wasn’t looking for a relationship. I was enjoying dating and being single. I was enjoying seeing (and canceling on) Ben. Hanging with Stephen was just . . . really, really fun lunches. As friends.
“It wasn’t a date.” I paused. “But also . . . why can’t I date him?”
“He’s married, Laura.”
“Um . . . What?”
Now, I stand by the fact that I wasn’t trying to date him. But . . . how had we talked for three hours with no mention of his wife? That was weird, right?
A week passed, and then Stephen asked if I wanted to go to the meeting together again. I said yes, but was still feeling weird about what my sister had told me. I sat weirdly far away from him during the meeting, and then he asked me to lunch again. I decided to give him a chance to tell me about his wife. I planned to really subtly slide it into conversation.
“So, have you ever been married?” I blurted out.
Stephen laughed. “Who told you that?”
“Colleen.”
“I’m going through a divorce right now.” He explained the whole situation to me. He married a woman in his early twenties and they had been separated for three years now. She lived across the world, back in London. He was completely honest. Come on, Colleen! You got