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“Penelope,” Pam said toward the end of the meeting, “you haven’t shared yet.”
She'd spent the night dreading those exact words, knowing that Pam had a knack for zeroing in on her when she was least interested in pouring her heart out.
It had been almost two weeks since Penelope watched Schneider get his 24 hour chip. And since she had skipped last week’s meeting in favor of sticking close to Schneider while he dried out, part of her had worried about returning to group.
She trusted them; she knew she could tell them anything--and opening up to them helped, so much. But that didn’t make it easy.
In the aftermath of Schneider’s relapse, with fear and anger still coiled in her stomach and lingering there, Penelope really wished that something could be easy.
She didn’t know where to start.
They were all watching her patiently, though, with that knowing affection that made her grateful she had found them, so she was honest.
“I don’t know where to start.”
Penelope linked her fingers together in her lap and squeezed. “Some of you know what happened; I texted Jill and Ramona when I couldn’t come last week.”
Her friends nodded, and Ramona reached out to pat her knee from two seats over. The others offered her encouraging smiles and waited.
“I guess I should start with Victor. He took the kids to dinner, the same night you all took me for drinks.”
“We met Nicole!” Ramona told them proudly, before catching Penelope’s expression. “Sorry, go on.”
“Yeah. While all that was going down, the kids were at dinner with their dad...and my mom, and Schneider. And when Victor brought Alex and Elena home, he told me--”
Penelope remembered what Victor had actually told her, I don’t want Schneider around the kids anymore, and felt her knuckles go white where she was clenching her hands into fists.
She took a deep breath and relaxed them. “He told me that Schneider was drinking again.”
“That must have been hard to hear.”
“Pfft! You think, Pam?” Penelope rolled her eyes. It was a relief to have a place where she didn’t have to pull her punches. She had been holding a lot back since that night, busy keeping everyone together.
“What did you say?” Jill asked.
“Oh, I told him he was crazy. Schneider’s always been sober,” she tried to explain. “He was sober for years before I moved back home. The idea of him slipping, it was impossible. I couldn’t even imagine it.”
“Until you had to.”
“Yeah.” She flattened her hands in her lap, smoothing her palms along her knees. “Yeah, until my mom found the open bottle in his apartment. He stood there and lied to me, and it was just like fighting with Victor again. It took me back to that place, where I was begging him to get better and trying to make him do the right thing, the smart thing.”
“But this wasn’t Victor,” Pam pointed out.
“He said that too. Before we found the bottle. And yeah, Schneider was right, he isn’t Victor. He went to a meeting, and kept going. He’s sober again. He’s trying.”
There were nods all around her, approving ones. Most of the women in group hadn’t met Schneider--but they’d heard about him enough, from both Penelope and Jill, to have opinions. Plus, they all knew how important he was to her.
“Anyway, it’s been rough. I’ve been focused on getting him through the detox, being with him at some of the meetings, checking in with my kids more because I know this probably reminds them of their dad. I haven’t really taken any time to breathe yet, let alone process.”
“But it hurts,” Penelope added, softer. “Not being able to trust him. Having to worry, and to try and hold him up, when for all these years...”
“He’s been holding you up,” Beth said.
She nodded. “Yeah. He’s really good at that. He’s never needed me like this before. And I’m glad I can be there, I’m glad he’s letting me--Victor never did. But it’s hard. I miss the way things were before; I miss who he was, before. The time we spend together now feels so...I don’t know, fragile? Like I have to watch what I say.”
“You can’t control whether or not he relapses, Penelope.”
“I know. I know that.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she pulled hard on the thought she’d spent days trying not to acknowledge, untangling it from the rest of her feelings so she could share it with these women she trusted.
“We had a fight. Weeks ago. Do you guys remember, when he was going to kick us out of the building?”
“Right, the condo drama.” Ramona nodded. “Dude was like a pod person.”
“Yeah. That all passed, we got over it. It was fine. It even kind of felt...better. Like we both said things we should have said a long time ago. But then he started drinking. And he says it started back then, when his dad was here. I can’t help wondering, what if it was me? What if our fight was part of that--him slipping?”
“I know it’s on him. His sobriety, his life. But what if I was the reason? I told him he wasn’t part of our family. I said so many hurtful things. I threw him out. I couldn’t even look at him. And he drank. More than eight years, he was sober, and then he drank.”
“Even if it was because of your fight--and I’m not saying it was--it wouldn’t be your fault,” Jill told her. “He’s the one who drank. Is he sober now because of you?”
“No. He’s sober because he wants to be.”
“That’s the same reason he wasn’t sober. He drank because he wanted to. He stopped being sober because he didn’t want to try anymore.”
“I know that, in here.” Penelope tapped her temple. “But in here?” With a hand over her heart, she confessed, “I feel guilty. All those weeks, and I didn’t see it. When I went off my medication, he could tell right away that I wasn’t myself. And then he was falling apart, and I wasn’t there.”
“It hurts,” Cynthia agreed. “You’ve gone to meetings with him, but have you thought about going by yourself? To Al-Anon, I mean?”
“You mean, the one for people who love alcoholics?” She shook her head. “You know what I mean. Those groups are for like, partners, parents.”
“They’re for anybody affected by alcoholism. It helped me a lot when my ex was in recovery. They know all about the kind of guilt you’re going through. As much as you want to be able to control it, Penelope, you don’t get a say in whether Schneider stays sober.”
“Yeah, I don’t like that.” She shook her head. “He’s too important. To all of us. We need him to be okay.”
“And hopefully he will be. But that’s not on you. You’re doing everything you can.”
“Honestly, it sounds like you’re doing more than most people would,” Pam pointed out. “You’re not just supporting him in his daily life, you’re showing up for him at meetings, at his home...”
Penelope hadn’t specifically said that--Pam was good--but of course she was at his place more now, even after the shakes and the nausea moved on. She needed to be able to check in, and it was too soon for a texted answer to be reassuring.
“Part of his recovery involves you stepping back and letting Schneider take full full ownership of his future. Trust is hard, it will take time. But trusting him to make the right choices is the only way you can truly be what Schneider needs.”
“I know.” She sighed. “But it’s scary!”
‘That’s why you have us,” Ramona told her. “You leave all your fears here, and they won’t be as big and scary when you go home. So lay it on us, mama. What are you really afraid of?”
“Losing him.” The words came out as though someone else was saying them. She knew they were true, but it was still a surprise to hear them out loud. “I’m afraid of losing him to alcohol, like I lost Victor.”
The group murmured their understanding.
“Sure, Victor’s got it together now, his life is back on track and he has a gorgeous new wife, but the alcohol and the pills and the depression...took him away from us. I know that the kids and I, my mom, we could live without Schneider. But I don’t like to imagine that possibility. I’ve spent the last two weeks bracing for the worst, trying to prepare myself in case he couldn’t handle getting sober again. I can see it so clearly, what my life would be like without him in it--and I do not like that picture.”
“Are you sure you’re not boning him?”
The group laughed, and Penelope rolled her eyes at the familiar refrain, prepared to move on like she always did.
That was so not the point, and it wasn’t even funny. Ha ha, her best friend was a rich, kind man who anyone would be lucky to be with. Why had that ever seemed funny before?
Jill held up a hand. “Okay, but, serious question. Why aren’t you?”
“Girl...”
“Come on. He’s hot, he takes care of your family, he’s good with his hands--the guy is the whole package!”
“Stop trying to get me to set you up with him,” she replied, starting to get a little annoyed. Yes, Schneider was her best friend, but she didn’t need people listing off his best qualities. She knew all of this already.
“I’m not talking about me anymore, I’m talking about you. You’re always avoiding the question, but there’s got to be a reason he comes up so much in group. We’re here to share, Alvarez, so share.”
“Yeah, come on,” Ramona agreed. “This is a safe space.”
Her words might have been slightly mocking the process, but even Penelope’s ride-or-die friend looked more serious than usual.
“We all know you love him,” Ramona added. “And I know you’re not gay--your loss.”
“It’s not like that,” Penelope protested. “It’s never been like that between us.”
“Didn’t he hit on you, like, the moment you met?”
“Didn’t you say he looked good at Elena’s quinces?”
Cynthia pointed at her, remembering. “Weren’t you the one his own father thought was his girlfriend?”
“That’s right, I forgot about that,” Beth chimed in. “And Victor thought he was your boyfriend!”
“Guys, stop it. Please. Time to move on.”
“That means we hit a nerve,” Ramona announced, way too proudly.
“Penelope, I feel like the group has a point. One you should consider exploring when you have some time to yourself. Why has Schneider’s relapse brought up so many fears for you that are related to your marriage to Victor?”
Time to herself, Penelope thought with annoyance as she drove home. Right, because she had so much of that lately, she really needed to spend it thinking about Schneider as boyfriend material.
No one was home at her place when she got there, and the note her Mami left on the fridge informed her that they’d all gone out for pizza.
Oh look, she thought to the empty room. I’ve got time to myself. All the time I could ever need for exploring deep thoughts.
She was at Schneider’s door before she let herself wonder what she was doing there.
“There’s a rule, right?” She demanded when he answered her knock.
“What?”
“There’s a rule. Isn’t there? In AA. Some rule about waiting a year before you date, or something. I didn’t memorize it but I know I read that somewhere.”
“It’s not a rule, Pen. It’s more like a personal guideline. Anyway, Avery and I broke up, remember? I’m not dating anybody. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I was just--I got asked something in group and it reminded me of that...guideline. I knew you would know. I’ll see you later.” She spun on her heels without saying goodbye.
“Hey!” Schneider called after her. “Wait up!”
But she was already half-jogging back to the stairs, retreating to her quiet home. See? She told the women in group as though they could hear her inner monologue. He can’t date now, for like a year. That’s why!
The great thing about being part of such a strong, supportive group of women like the ones in her veterans’ group was that they knew how to call her out on her crap.
The annoying thing about them was that she had apparently internalized that particular talent of theirs.
Oh, is that the reason? Asked a voice in her head that sounded like Jill. That reason you just invented five minutes ago, that’s why you’re not into Schneider?
‘Cause I was thinking it’s you being too scared to deal with your shit, Ramona added. Penelope could almost see the unimpressed glare that would accompany her words.
It might be helpful to ask yourself why this possibility is so hard for you to confront, Penelope, said her seriously annoying inner Pam.
Enough, she told herself sternly. If she was going to meltdown over this, she wasn’t really interested in doing it as a group inside her own brain.
Get it together, Penelope, and face your feelings.
Why was she so afraid to answer the question?
Because she was afraid of the answer.
And what answer was that?
Well, fuck, she thought, and possibly whispered out loud to her empty apartment, as the knowledge she’d been running from for a while landed in her lap.
Followed by a knock on her door.
Please be someone else. Anyone but Schneider, she begged the universe.
“Pen, it’s Schneider!” came his voice through the door.
Damn it. She couldn’t pretend not to be home when he saw her two minutes ago. And she couldn’t ignore him forever.
Feeling every day of her 40 years weigh on her, Penelope crossed the living room and opened the door.
“You knocked.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“No.”
He didn’t look surprised by the question, or insulted by it. Schneider since his relapse was quieter, sadder, and more serious. It would be hard for her to handle, except she had been feeling pretty sad and serious too. She stepped back to let him in.
“Why did you knock?”
“I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me. This way it was up to you.”
“If I hadn’t answered, you would have...”
“Gone home? Yeah.”
“Why?”
“This is your house, Penelope. I’m in your life because you let me be. I don’t want to force anything.”
Two years ago, she would have laughed at that. Schneider was a master at including himself where he wasn’t wanted. More than anybody she’d ever met, he cheerfully jumped into situations without waiting for an invite.
Two years ago, she didn’t have nearly as good a handle on her own b.s. Therapy really had helped. And one thing she had undeniably learned from it was that everybody made choices.
Schneider made the choice to drink, or not drink. His brain was different from hers, so his choices were influenced by different things, but he still made the choice.
And Penelope made the choice to let him into her life. First because her Mami loved him, then because the kids did, but also, because she liked him there.
She would have protested that, denied it, in the beginning. She would have said that it wasn’t up to her, that she never actually welcomed him.
But she decided not to turn him away, not to push the issue, not to lay down the law. Any of those moments, when he crossed a line she realized she didn’t care about any more--when he slept or showered in her house, when his dinner invite became unspoken, when she started taking for granted his open door policy in the middle of the night--she could have stopped it.
She didn’t shut it down. That was a choice.
She trusted him, more than anyone else in her life, even more than her boyfriends or her mom. That was a choice.
She stared him down, and held him, and didn’t give up until he was ready to fight to stay sober again. That was a choice.
Letting him into her apartment a few minutes ago, that was a choice too. Her empty apartment. With her friends’ words still ringing in her ears from the meeting earlier.
Penelope sat down on the couch, and waved him over to join her.
“I don’t want to force anything either,” she told him. “And it means a lot to me, more than you know, that you still care about my boundaries when it matters. We’ve been close for so long now, we’ve been through so much...but you’re still careful with me.”
“Of course I am.” He looked mildly offended now, at the idea of being any other way.
It made her smile.
“You said before, that it’s a personal guideline instead of a rule. What did you mean by that?”
“Oh. I meant that it’s a good rule to live by, but AA isn’t a cult. It’s not like you’re not allowed to make big changes before the year mark. It’s just encouraged, that you really examine the impulse to do that, that you’re following the steps and focusing on your sobriety. Why did you ask about that? What’s going on?”
“I had group tonight,” she started, and Schneider nodded.
“I know. It’s Tuesday.”
She let out the breath she was holding back a little, let herself relax into her feelings. Every fiber of Schneider’s being was full of love, and he directed so much of that her way without even thinking about it.
What he had to work at was doing it less, at maintaining boundaries, at not overwhelming people. And he did, when it counted.
He tried so hard with her, to be what she needed and to ask for so little back.
Of course she loved him. Of course she was in love with him.
The only part that was crazy was how long it took her to admit that to herself.
Thank god for therapy.
“I skipped it last week,” she continued, and he nodded again, this time with a little intake of air that she heard, and understood. “I needed to be here. I needed it, Schneider, more than I needed to be there. You don’t have to feel bad about that.”
He shrugged, and her heart ached for him. It kept doing that, when she saw him looking so...broken.
She had seen Schneider sad over the years--he cried at cereal commercials--and she had seen him covering up his pain. Usually when she was the one causing it.
But his relapse was the first time he actually showed her the damage he was carrying around. It was the last thing that tipped her over into loving him, she knew that now. Not because she wanted him to be broken, but because on some level, she had always believed the image he tried so hard to maintain.
The chill dude. The easygoing hipster. The friendly, happy rich guy.
This Schneider, whose pain was so close to the surface--he held her heart.
Hers felt pulled toward him, every single time he got that look on his face. Like some part of Penelope knew she could try to help, if she let herself. Even if she couldn’t fix any of it, there was nowhere she’d rather be.
And telling him that was a choice she was ready to make.
“Because I skipped a week, they all wanted to make sure I was okay...and that you were. I talk about you sometimes,” she confessed. “Not, like, your business, but who you are in my life. How you talk me through panic attacks, or how you bonded with my mom.”
“I get it. It’s okay that you told them,” Schneider assured her. “Shameful secrets are terrible for staying sober. It’s better for me to be honest about it. And my drinking affected you, so it’s your story to tell, too.”
“Thanks.”
She reached over and took his hand, a mirrored moment of that day when his father was there. When he was already drinking. She knew that now, and she was pretty sure he was remembering it too, because his hand flexed in hers, and his face slid into the mask he wore when he was scared.
“When I was talking to them about what the last two weeks have been like for me, the feelings it brought up about my history, and about my relationship with you, they asked me a really simple question, and I realized I couldn’t answer it.”
“What was the question?”
“Why aren’t you and I a couple.”
His hand squeezed hers, definitely involuntarily, but she squeezed back just to try and keep him from pulling away. She’d done so much running already; she didn’t need Schneider to run from this too.
“It’s an easy question, isn’t it? When Victor thought you were my boyfriend that time, it was hilarious. But they asked me tonight, and I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t say...anything. It’s not so funny anymore.”
His hand was still in hers, though all of Schneider seemed tensed and ready to bolt if she let go.
“No, I guess it isn’t,” he agreed. And he waited.
“You always let me take the lead,” she pointed out. “Have you ever noticed that? You let me set the terms, when I need a hug or I need to be left alone or I need to talk.”
He didn’t answer that with words, just swiped his thumb across the back of her hand where she was holding on to him, and kept waiting.
“I think you do that because you know it’s what I needed. When you met me again, almost four years ago, I really needed to be in control of things, while I pulled it all back together. And I’m grateful.”
“I’m grateful for you,” Penelope told him, looking over to catch his gaze. “I don’t say that enough.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I should.” She shook her head. “Anyway, not the point. My point is, you’ve gotten so good at letting me decide things, at being what I need...I never ask about you. It just doesn’t occur to me, because what we have works. But it matters, that I couldn’t answer the question with those women who know me really well. It matters that I could barely answer the question to myself. And I think...”
She looked at him again, just a flick of her eyes his way, then nervously down at their joined hands.
“I think, I didn’t know how to answer because I only know how I feel. How can I explain our relationship when I only have half the story?”
“So.” She let go of his hand so she could shift her weight away from him and turn to face him head-on. “What do you need, Schneider? What do you want?”
“That’s a complicated question.”
“It is. Can you answer it anyway?”
“Of course I can,” he said, without hesitation. “Just not sure I should.”
“I’m asking. I don’t need anything from you right now except the truth. Okay? And you and I are still going to be okay, whatever your answer is.”
His eyes held on hers for a long moment. Then he nodded. “Okay.”
Schneider turned to face her, mirroring her movement, her position. “I need to be careful. My sobriety is the most important thing, because if I screw it up, I could lose everything that matters. Even love has its limits. Even family.”
“I understand.”
“And I need to be careful, too, because this isn’t something I’m good at.”
“What is?”
“Relationships. I’ve tried, and I’ve failed. A lot.”
“Did you ever consider that you can’t singlehandedly fail at something that involves two people? It’s not like a test.”
“I’m not good enough for you,” he replied, as though there had been some transition she missed that would give that context.
“Who gets to decide that? You? Because I’m pretty sure I’m the boss of me, Schneider, and you’re one of the best men I’ve ever known, so you can shut that down right now.”
“I--Penelope, I’m an alcoholic. I’ve never held a real job. Or been in a relationship that lasted longer than a few months. You can’t look at yourself and then tell me that I’m a good choice for you.”
“I have looked, Schneider. Sometimes the person holding that mirror up was you. When was the last time you really looked at yourself? Past the crap from your childhood, past your addiction history...have you noticed who you are? How hard you work to make other people feel valued, and safe?”
She reached up, her fingertips brushing his cheek. “You love everybody, Schneider. I wish you could love you that much. Maybe then you’d see what I see.”
The corners of his mouth lifted. “A very handsome man?”
“The man I love.”
Penelope grinned at the way his eyes widened. That wiped the smirk off his face.
“Can you answer the second half of the question now?”
“Huh?” He blinked at her as though he’d lost his glasses.
“You told me what you need. What do you want?”
Schneider smiled, that sunny grin she hadn’t seen for the last two weeks. Wow, she’d really missed that.
“Well, I want to come over for dinners and coffee and tag along to all the family events. Text you memes, talk you through your problems...have you at my AA meetings every once in a while.”
“So, you want what you already have.”
“Hey, what I have is pretty great,” he pointed out. “And if I could keep having that? With an option for more? Then I would have everything.”
“An option for more.” She nodded. “Maybe in fifty weeks or so?”
“It’s just a guideline,” Schneider reminded her. “But yeah, I need some time. Hopefully that’s okay.”
“Of course it is!” Penelope reached out, rushing to reassure him that she meant it. “You know that I’m here, whatever you need.”
“I know.”
Schneider pulled her into a hug. “I love you too,” he told the top of her head.
Taking it slow was good, Penelope decided, listening to his heartbeat as she held on. This was going to change everything.
They had to tell the kids. Oh, god--her mom too.
And of course, she was going to have to detail all of this for her friends next week.
The ladies in group were going to make fun of her for months. She could feel it already.
Maybe wedding invitations would shut them up.