and gets so shitfaced she can’t even walk properly?”
Aidan lets out a bark of laughter. “At least you know she’s related to you!” he says. “No question about that.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh come on, Ellie. Get that poker out of your arse. The number of times I’ve been here and seen your father drunk as a skunk. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I might add. It’s a family trait, and one I heartily approve of, by the way, my family being much the same way.”
“How dare you tell me to get the poker out of my arse? And how dare you talk about being drunk as if it’s something normal, something fun? I grew up with it, with a father who’s always drinking, and I know just how damaging it is for everyone around them.” She turns to Julia. “I get it, Julia. I get why all of your boyfriends are alcoholics or drug addicts. I get this is all to do with our father, but keep it out of the house, for God’s sake. I have young children here. Keep it out of the goddamned house!” Her voice isn’t loud, but as cold as ice as Julia disentangles herself from Aidan.
“Don’t you dare say a word about my father. I’m lucky to have him. Jesus, you’re lucky to have him, especially given the mess your mother made of your life. You’re always so damned judgmental, Ellie. Everything in your life is always so perfect; you look down your nose at everything and everyone around you. Including your own family. It makes me sick. So what if Aidan’s drinking? Or Cat? Or me, for that matter? We’re young. We’re supposed to. Just because you’re on your high horse and living the life of a fifty-year-old Park Avenue matron doesn’t mean the rest of us have to. Get over it.”
I want to applaud, and then, with slight dismay, I realize that everyone is looking at me in horror. Oh shit. That thought somehow moved into my hands and I realize I actually did applaud. I stop. Quickly. And Ellie lets out an anguished groan and runs upstairs.
“Let’s get Cat to bed,” Julia says, and as I refuse all help, weaving my way out of the room, one sober and sobering thought makes its way into my head: Nothing is as perfect as it seems.
Fourteen
I wake up with the familiar pounding head and no idea where I am or what time it is. I am completely disoriented, it is dark, and it takes a few seconds for the full mortification of what I have done to set in.
I cannot believe I got drunk today. I cannot believe I showed myself up like that with my family, gave them such a terrible impression of me so soon after arriving here. I can’t believe I drank that much, after these past few weeks, after determining never to do that again.
What is the matter with me? Why didn’t I stop after two beers? Or even three? What the hell is wrong with me that I am so easily influenced I dived into that bottle of vodka with barely a second thought?
I lie in bed, disgusted, utterly disgusted with myself, awash with shame. How do I ever face Jason again? How am I supposed to tell him what happened? I can’t. I couldn’t. The look on his face would be unimaginable. After all the effort he’s put into me, taking me to meetings, finding me a sponsor, what kind of a terrible person must I be that this is how I repay him?
I should find a meeting. Right now. That’s what I should do. I should get myself off to a meeting, confess my sin to a roomful of strangers, and go every day while I’m here so I can get off the plane back in London and feel something other than this horrific mortification.
There is a knock on the door. Julia. With a glass of water and three pills.
“I hoped you were awake. How are you feeling? I brought you some Advil.”
“Advil?” My voice is croaky as I try to sit up.
“Painkillers.”
I manage to sit up, overcome with a sudden bout of dizziness and a wave of first hot, then cold. I leap out of bed and make it to the bathroom just in time, practically falling on top of the loo as I throw up, my stomach heaving until there’s nothing left to come up. I lay