“Oh, excuse me!” I matched his volume. “I don’t think a guy who had to run the plans for his will by his ex-girlfriend has any room to lecture on the topic of personal boundaries.”
“Don’t you dare bring that up, Sophie. We put that behind us. It’s not fair!”
“Fine! I rescind that example and substitute another.” I glared at him. “How about all the times we had to worry about whether or not your adult daughter who was living with us was going to overhear us doing it? How many times did that happen? Because it seems like it was a lot.”
He didn’t immediately respond, so I went on, “I know what’s wrong with you lately, okay? You’re upset because you know Stephen’s book is in the house, and you’re just waiting for it to pop out and scare you.”
The furrow of his brow and the hard set of his jaw told me that he wanted to stay angry. He turned away from me. “I stopped drinking.”
In the second that I was too shocked to speak, I did some mental math. Neil had been super cranky for a couple of weeks now. I’d noticed that he’d cut back a lot. He hadn’t been drinking wine at dinner, and he’d only had two drinks at his birthday party, which was usually a boozy celebration.
“You didn’t notice.” It wasn’t petulant of him to say so. It wasn’t like I’d failed to pick up on weight loss or a haircut. This was major.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Maybe that sounded like an allegation, but it was the first thing that burst from my mouth. “I could have helped you. We could have gotten through this part together.”
I drank wine with dinner last night. I asked him if he wanted a beer last weekend.
“I wanted to see if it would be noticeable.” He shrugged it off. “I suppose that’s the answer.”
“No, Neil, it’s noticeable.” Not in the way he probably wanted it to be noticeable. “You’re kind of…”
“Go ahead,” he said cautiously.
“You’re really cranky.” I held up my hands and dropped them. “I thought you were just upset about the book.”
“I am upset about the book.” His eyebrows rose and he blinked a few times as he took in a prolonged breath. “That’s why I stopped now. Doctor Harris has been trying to get me to quit entirely. He wanted me to do that from the beginning. It probably would have been easier.”
“How long have you been…off the sauce?” Ugh, could I have picked a worse way to phrase that?
“My last drink was the whiskey at my birthday party. I thought it would be fitting; new year, new beginning.” He went back to cutting up vegetables. His voice lower, he added, “I’m sorry I’ve been acting the way I have. It’s not an excuse.”
“It kind of is,” I argued, but gently. “Alcohol was one of your coping methods. Now, you’re having to endure stress and little daily frustrations without any kind of emotional release.”
Which was why he’d intentionally provoked the fight with my mother, I suspected. The Neil I knew—the one who hadn’t been going through withdrawal from a powerful, lifelong addiction—wouldn’t have done something so petty and destructive. Especially not where my family was concerned.
Unless this was the way Neil was without alcohol. That was an uncomfortable thought.
No way in hell was I going to start worrying about that this early into his sobriety. I went to his side and put my hand on his wrist carefully, to stop his hands and get his full attention. He turned to me, reluctant and ashamed. I didn’t let my gaze waver from his. “You could have told me. You shouldn’t have had to do this by yourself. Even if you did just want to see what would happen.”
“What happened is I discovered what a complete ass I am when I’m not drinking.” He exhaled audibly through his nose. Seeing Neil discouraged and disappointed in himself was enough to convince me that despite his self-assessment, the guy who’d been stalking around the house, complaining and snapping at me, was absolutely not the real Neil.
He went on, “You shouldn’t have to help me through this, Sophie. You’ve already put in your time.”
It took me a second to make the connection. “Helping you through cancer was not ‘putting in my time’. In sickness and in health, right? That’s not a one-time deal.”
“It still feels…unbalanced, at the very least.” But a corner of his mouth lifted. The gloom appeared to be lifting then his expression fell again. “I’m so sorry. Would you like me to speak with Rebecca?”
I considered. “No. We’re not going to apologize for doing what’s best for us. This is our life.”
“And here I am, driving another wedge between you and your mother.” He scraped the peppers into a prep bowl and reached for some parsley.
“She’ll get over it.” I shocked myself with the levelheaded way I brushed off my mom’s anger. I wanted her approval for this marriage, but if she didn’t give it… Oh well. “If she doesn’t, it doesn’t matter. I want you more than I want my mom to sign off on my life choices.”
“I should know better,” he said with a rueful smile. “I shouldn’t interfere between the two of you. We’re only given one mother. You’re lucky enough to have a good relationship with yours, as I had with mine. It would be unspeakably cruel of me to ruin it for you.”
Leaning against the counter, I studied his profile. There were signs of his grief every time he mentioned his mother. The vertical crease between his eyebrows appeared, and his jaw clenched, a little vein bulging below his ear with each heartbeat. I leaned up to kiss it, startling him.
“Don’t frighten a man with a knife in his hand, Sophie,” he admonished, but he smiled.