Dawn hasn't quite broken when I pull into the church parking lot, my headlights sweeping across empty spaces still glistening with morning dew. 6:45 AM on a Tuesday, and I'm voluntarily awake, which would have seemed impossible during my using days. Back then, this hour only existed if I hadn't gone to sleep yet.
I kill the engine and sit for a moment, watching my breath fog the windshield. The early bird meeting starts in fifteen minutes, but I always come early. It's become part of my ritual on Tuesday mornings before work.
As I reach for the door handle, an image of Summer this morning flits through my mind, her face peaceful in sleep, blonde hair fanned across the pillow. It was nice seeing her like that for once, vulnerable and still, instead of pouncing on me before I'm even up. But today she slept through my quiet exit, looking almost innocent. Almost.
The heavy church door creaks as I pull it open, the sound echoing in the pre-dawn stillness. The basement stairs beckon, fluorescent light spilling up from below. I can already hear the muffled sounds of folding chairs being arranged, coffee being brewed. The familiar ritual that's become my lifeline.
I descend the stairs, each step taking me further from thoughts of Summer and closer to the only place where I can be completely honest. The basement is already half-full, regulars nodding at me as I enter. Diesel Steve is arguing with Martha about the proper coffee-to-water ratio while a couple of newcomers hover awkwardly near the donut table.
"Morning, Scott," calls Rita, the elderly secretary who's been sober longer than I've been alive.
I raise my hand in greeting, heading for the coffee station when I see her, pink hair impossible to miss even in the dingy basement lighting. Jenna stands by the refreshment table, her oversized sweater practically swallowing her slight frame. She hasn't noticed me yet, and for a second I consider pretending I haven't seen her either.
But before I can change direction, she looks up. Our eyes lock across the room, and her whole body seems to tense. She sets down her coffee cup with deliberate care.
"Scott..." Her voice is soft, uncertain, nothing like the sharp-edged disappointment from our last conversation.
"Hey, Jenna." I try to sound casual, like we're just two people who happen to attend the same recovery meetings.
She takes a deep breath, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater. "Scott, look, I'm sorry about what I said at the last meeting." The words tumble out quickly, like she's been rehearsing them.
"It's really no big deal," I tell her, waving away her apology.
"No, I feel terrible about it," she insists, stepping closer. Her eyes, wide and earnest behind those oversized glasses, search mine. "I overstepped. Your marriage is your business, not mine."
I shrug, uncomfortable with her intensity. "Seriously, Jenna. It's fine."
"Let me make it up to you," she says, suddenly brightening. "I'd love to take you and your wife out to dinner this week. Maybe Friday?"
My stomach drops. The thought of Summer and Jenna at the same table makes my palms instantly sweaty. "Oh, uh, that's really not necessary at all."
Jenna's hand shoots out, wrapping around my forearm. The touch is casual but somehow intimate, her fingers pressing gently against my skin.
"Please, Scott," she says, her voice dropping lower. "Actually, I was so anxious about how I left things that I... well, I kind of reached out to your wife on Facebook a few minutes ago."
I stare at her, blood running cold. "You what?"
"I found her profile and sent her a message," Jenna continues, her thumb absently stroking my arm. "Just to introduce myself as your friend from the program and to see if she wanted to eat dinner togather."
"Did she respond?" My voice sounds strained even to my own ears.
Jenna shakes her head. "Not yet."
"Well, no worries," I manage, though worry is exactly what's coursing through me.
Something shifts in Jenna's expression then, a hardening around her eyes, a slight lift of her chin. It's subtle, but unmistakable. Determination.
"I just want to meet her," Jenna says, still holding my arm. "Get to know the woman who's so important to you."
Jenna's phone vibrates in her pocket, interrupting her intense gaze. She releases my arm to fish it out, her eyes widening as she glances at the screen.
"Oh! That's her now," she says, her voice rising with excitement. She swipes her finger across the display, reading quickly. "She says dinner sounds great! Friday at six works for her."
My stomach plummets to somewhere around my ankles. Summer agreeing to dinner with Jenna is like inviting a tornado to tea with a hurricane. There's no scenario where this ends well.
"That's... great," I manage, though my voice sounds strangled even to my own ears.
Jenna beams at me, but there's something unsettling in her expression, a gleam of triumph that doesn't quite match her cheerful tone. "I'm so excited to finally meet her again! After everything you've told me about her..."
I suddenly remember all the things I've shared during my darkest moments… The raw, unfiltered pain of Summer's betrayal, the humiliating details of how she left me for Taevion. Jenna knows all of it. And the way she's looking at me now, with that mixture of possessiveness and determination, sends alarm bells ringing through my head.
"Jenna," I start carefully, "I'm not sure this is a good…"
"It'll be perfect," she interrupts, squeezing my arm again. "I already know this amazing little Italian place downtown. Very intimate." Her eyes soften as they meet mine,. "I just want to support you, Scott. Both of you."
"Jenna, I really don't think…" My words evaporate as Diesel Steve's booming voice cuts through the basement.
"Alright, folks, grab your seats! Meeting's starting in two minutes!" He claps his hands with enough force to make the coffee cups rattle.
Jenna's eyes widen as she glances toward the circle of chairs now nearly filled. "Oh! I better go find a seat," she chirps, that unnervingly bright smile spreading across her face again. She gives my arm one final squeeze before bouncing away, pink hair bobbing with each step.
I stand frozen by the coffee station, watching her weave through the chairs until she finds an empty one across the circle, as far from my usual spot as possible. The distance does nothing to ease the knot forming in my stomach. Summer and Jenna in the same room, at the same table, discussing God knows what... The mere thought makes my palms sweat.