The smell of industrial coffee and lingering cigarettes hits me as I push open the community center door. Familiar territory by now, though the knot in my stomach never quite goes away. Almost two years of sobriety, and I still feel like an imposter every time I walk in.
Today's different, though. Summer's return has my nerves jangling like loose change in a dryer. My thoughts keep circling back to this morning, her body against mine, the way she manipulated me into something I wasn't ready for. I need this meeting more than ever.
The room's empty except for a few early arrivals arranging metal folding chairs in that imperfect circle we all pretend makes us equals. I check my watch thirty minutes early, just how I like it. Time to get my head straight before sharing.
"Scotty boy! What the fuck is good, my dude?"
The booming voice echoes across the room before I can even set my coffee down. Diesel Steve barrels toward me like a human freight train, all wild gray hair and manic energy. Before I can dodge, he's got me in a headlock, his bony arm powerful around my neck.
"Easy, Diesel," I choke out, awkwardly patting his shoulder. "Some of us need oxygen to live."
He releases me with a cackle that sounds like gravel in a blender, slapping my back hard enough to spill my coffee. His sunburned face is split by that familiar grin, the one that's equal parts warmth and warning.
"You look like warmed-over shit," he announces, studying me with those piercing green eyes that never miss a thing. "What's going on? You using again?"
"No," I say too quickly. "Just... stuff at home."
Diesel Steve narrows his eyes, leaning in close enough that I can smell the mint gum barely masking his morning cigarette. "Stuff at home? Like what? You get a dog or something? Bout time you had some company in that depressing-ass apartment. Or maybe you finally ask Jenna out?" he asks, waggling his bushy eyebrows suggestively.
My heart skips a beat at Jenna's name, and I feel my face flush with heat. Holy shit. Jenna. In all the chaos of Summer's return, I'd completely forgotten about her.
Pink-haired, bubbly Jenna, with the nervous laugh, whom I knew in college. She joined our group around a year ago. Jenna, who's asked me to coffee at least three times since we reconnected. Jenna, whose hopeful smile I'd gently turned down each time with the same excuse. "I'm still technically married."
The divorce papers had been sitting on my counter. I'd been so close to signing them, so close to finally moving on. I'd even practiced what I'd say to Jenna the next time she asked. "Actually, I'd love to grab coffee sometime."
But now with Summer back...
"Scott?" Diesel waves his hand in front of my face. "Earth to Scott. You look like you've seen a ghost, kid."
I meet his concerned gaze, my mouth suddenly dry. "Diesel," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, "my wife came back."
His bushy eyebrows shoot up so high they practically disappear into his hairline. "Your wife?" he repeats, like he's not sure he heard me correctly. "The one who…"
"Yeah," I cut him off before he can finish that sentence. "She showed up at my door two nights ago."
Diesel lets out a low whistle, running his hand through his wild gray mane. "Jesus Christ. That's... something." He studies my face with those too-perceptive eyes. "How you holding up with that?"
"I don't know," I admit, the words feeling like they're being torn from somewhere deep in my chest. "It's complicated."
"Complicated," he echoes, not bothering to hide his skepticism. "That's one way to put it." He glances around, making sure no one is within earshot, before leaning closer. "I remember what you told me about her. About what she did."
I feel my stomach drop at Diesel's words. He's staring at me with those eyes that can see right through bullshit.
"You're not just taking her back, are you?" he asks, voice low and gravelly. "She's been gone for what feels like a fucking lifetime, Scott."
I run my hand through my hair, the weight of the past two days crushing down on me. "Diesel, what the fuck am I supposed to do? The first time she... That was my fault. The debt, the drugs…"
"Sure," he cuts me off, jabbing a finger into my chest. "And you were a complete failure as a man for that. I'll give you that one."
The bluntness of his words makes me flinch, but that's Diesel, no sugar-coating, just the bitter medicine of truth.
"But after that, Scott..." His voice softens slightly, those weathered hands gripping my shoulders. "I mean, look at you. This past year has been absolute hell, but look how far you've come. You're working again. You own a car that actually runs. I even see you laugh at Jenna's jokes sometimes." He pauses, letting that name hang in the air. "You're healing, man."
"She's my responsibility, Diesel. Summer's a devil of my own making. I created this mess. Whatever she became after that... It's on me."
Diesel opens his mouth to argue, but his words are cut short when a pair of soft hands suddenly cover my eyes from behind, plunging me into darkness.
"Guess who?" A sing-song voice chirps in my ear, sweet and playful.
My heart drops into my stomach. I know that voice instantly, Jenna. Of all the times for her to show up, it had to be now, when my head is spinning with thoughts of Summer and our twisted attempt at reconciliation.
"Hey, Jenna," I manage, trying to keep my voice casual as the hands slip away from my eyes. I turn to face her, forcing a smile that feels brittle on my face.
She's beaming at me, all pink hair and eager eyes, wearing a mismatched outfit of striped leggings and an oversized sweater covered in cartoon cats. The bracelets on her wrists jingle as she bounces slightly on her toes, radiating that nervous energy that's so uniquely her.
Diesel Steve clears his throat, giving me a look that's equal parts amusement and concern. "Well, I think I'll go help set up the coffee station," he announces, backing away. "Give you two some time to catch up."
Before I can protest, he's gone, abandoning me to this uncomfortable collision of my past and what might have been my future.
"I missed you at Friday's meeting," Jenna says, tucking a strand of bubblegum-pink hair behind her ear. "Everything okay?"
"Uh, yeah..." I rub the back of my neck, my collar suddenly feeling too tight. "Friday was actually my ten-year wedding anniversary."
Jenna's face falls, her bright smile dimming like someone turned down a light. "Oh, Scott." Her voice softens with sympathy as she places her hand on my arm. "That must have been really hard to deal with alone." Her fingers give my forearm a gentle squeeze. "You should have called me, you know. No one should have to face something like that by themselves."
"I wasn't alone," I blurt out, the words escaping before I can stop them. My throat tightens as Jenna's eyes widen, her hand freezing on my arm. "Summer showed up at my door that night."
Jenna's face goes through a series of expressions so quickly I can barely track them, confusion, disbelief, hurt, and briefly something darker.
"Your wife?" Her voice has lost its musical quality, gone flat and hollow. "The one who left you for... for those men?"
I wince at her bluntness. Feels like we're just piling on at this point.
"Yeah," I nod, running a hand through my hair. "She just appeared out of nowhere. Crying, begging to come back."
"And you let her in," Jenna says. Not a question. Her hand drops from my arm, leaving a cold spot where her warmth had been.
"What was I supposed to do?" I hear the defensiveness creeping into my voice. "She was a mess, Jenna. Completely broken."
Her eyes search mine, looking for something I'm not sure I can give her.
"So that's it?" she asks quietly. "After everything she did, you're just taking her back?"
"It's complicated," I say, feeling the weight of those two useless words as they leave my mouth.
Jenna's eyes narrow, her delicate features hardening into something I've never seen before. "Complicated?" She lets out a laugh that holds no humor. "What's complicated about it, Scott? She's not good for you. She never was."
I open my mouth to defend Summer, but Jenna cuts me off with a sharp wave of her hand. The bracelets on her wrist jangle angrily.
"You need someone who would put you first," she continues, her voice rising just enough that a few heads turn our way. "Not whatever shit she was doing while you were here, fighting for your sobriety every single day."
"It's my fault she broke," I say automatically, the words feeling rehearsed even to my own ears. "I pushed her to that edge."
Even as I speak, I recognize the hollow echo of my conversation with Diesel. I'm like some wind-up toy, cranked tight and set loose to repeat the same tired justifications. The realization makes me feel pathetic, predictable.
Jenna steps closer. Her eyes are wide and earnest, searching mine for something I can't give her.
"Scott, listen to yourself," she whispers. "You're not responsible for her choices. She had options. We all do."
"You don't understand," I say, feeling the familiar frustration building in my chest. "You weren't there."
"No, I wasn't," Jenna agrees, surprising me. "But I'm here now. I've been here for months, watching you put yourself back together piece by piece." Her voice softens. "And now she waltzes back in, and you're just going to let her tear it all down again?"
I glance around the room, uncomfortable with how many people are pretending not to listen to our conversation. More members have filtered in, arranging chairs and pouring coffee with suspicious efficiency.
"Look, can we talk about this another time?" I ask, lowering my voice. "This isn't really the place."
Jenna stares at me, her pink hair catching the harsh fluorescent light. The room seems to shrink around us, all those pretending-not-to-listen ears suddenly fading away until it's just her eyes boring into mine. She's not angry anymore, something worse has replaced it. Disappointment.
"Sure, Scott," she says finally, her voice so quiet I have to lean in to hear her. "We can talk another time."
I exhale, relief washing through me.
"But I do have one more thing to say," she continues, her voice steady despite the slight tremor in her hands. "Nine months ago, in a meeting, you told this entire room that every time you thought you'd hit rock bottom, you just kept falling further and further."
Jenna's eyes soften, but her words cut deep. "From where I'm standing, Scott Adams, you're on some pretty shallow ground right now." She taps her foot against the linoleum for emphasis. "And I'm afraid of what happens when it gives way beneath you."