NOVEMBER
Today marked three months and two days since John willingly admitted himself into rehab. Harry and I met with his sponsor alone to hear how he was doing, and he was extremely candid with us in saying that he couldn't remember the last time he worked with an addict who had been using as long as John was, but was so eager to get better.
Maybe it was my hormones, but I broke down in happy sobs hearing that, and it was hard to stop as he went on to explain all the progress he's made. Apparently he was very vocal at all the meetings, and he was even helping newer patients by sitting down with them and empathizing with their struggles.
It was almost too good to be true, but now as I watched my dad come down the hallway to meet us in the lobby, suitcase behind him, I didn't even know who I was looking at.
His hair had grown a little more and he styled it nicely with gel, the purple hue under his eyes no longer existed, the whites around his hazel irises were actually white and not pink, and his skin was plumper as if he actually had blood flowing through his veins, and he gained the proper amount of weight for how tall he was. I wouldn't have recognized him at a second glance.
"Hi Dad," I practically whispered, seeing him smile as he stopped with his suitcase.
"Hey, kid," he patted my back as I stood on my toes to hug his neck. He smelled like shaving cream, not like smoke and liquor.
"Hi, Granddad!" Nora squeaked. "Happy Thanksgiving!"
John chuckled as he knelt down to hold his knuckles out to her, something they started doing about a month ago. "Happy Thanksgiving."
Just like Nora, with a childlike smile on my face, I watched Harry and John look at each other before Harry extended his hand. He said, "You don't look like shit."
"That was kinda the point," John gave him a half smile, and I caught the outline of Harry's dimples before he stopped himself from caring too much.
"Well, let's get the hell out of here, then," Harry said.
"Yeah, let's get the hell out of here," Nora echoed, eliciting laughter from both Harry and John while I scolded her and tried to contain my own.
Harry set John's suitcase in the trunk of my car while I helped Nora into her seat and John climbed in on the other side. It was cold out with the sun being hidden behind a haze of grey clouds, so I cranked the heat and made sure they could feel the air through the backseat vents.
When I brought the idea to Harry, about John living with us, he reacted the way I assumed he would. He said he didn't like that he would feel as though he couldn't drink or smoke, or that liquor would be accessible to John at all, that he would be just down the hall from Nora, and that he was still a tie to Lisa.
I agreed and heard him out on all accounts, but I also reminded him that the alternative was a halfway house, and the relapse statistics for those who chose that option were higher than I liked. Harry understood that, and he caved when I asked him if he really just spent almost $100,000 just for John to snort a line the second he got out.
And besides, we were still on track to have him start working as a dishwasher at one of Harry's restaurants in Los Angeles. He would be making $16 an hour working full time, and I guess he said that Liam was going to be his designated parole officer of sorts. He'd take him to work and bring him back home to make sure he didn't get into any trouble. The plan was foolproof, I thought.
"Well, this is home," I sighed as we all stepped out of the car, and Nora was quick to take John's hand to lead him up to the front door.
Harry stayed behind with me as he grabbed John's suitcase, both of us watching. "I don't like how attached she is," he said.
