In an old brick building near downtown, I sit on a beige couch in my mom’s tidy apartment. We are chatting in her living room between potted plants and a few nick nacks. She looks at me with worry, “But what if he changes his mind?” My stomach feels heavy like it’s full of rocks; I think to myself, “She’s right. He will probably try to stop me from going at the last minute. What bullshit. I used to be a reliable person and now nobody can count on me except J.”
A tiny shift in my resolve, “I will leave anyway,” I state. My mom looks incredulous, “So you will come with or without him?” I answer, more confident, “Yes. My family should be able to count on me. This is ridiculous. My brother wants help getting into rehab; my best friend is in crisis. I will plan it with him, but I am going even if he throws a fit at the last minute.”