Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: thanks, as always, for the reviews. it really keeps me motivated.
--------------
"Peter, are you done? Are you there?"
Peter shook his head, and looked to the owner of the voice that had rattled him out of his latest space-off episode. "Sorry?"
"I said, are you done with that," and Heidi gestured to the delicate pieces of lemongrass that Peter was chopping in an attempt to help prepare Sunday dinner.
"Oh. Yeah. I'm done," said Peter.
"I swear. You're always in such a haze lately," said Heidi, and she stirred the pot of curry on the stove.
"I know. I'm stressed at work."
"Well, don't get too busy. Make sure to take time to enjoy the things you love," said Heidi, and she smiled at him.
Heidi seemed to rarely sit down these days. The house fairly crackled with her energy. She cooked meals, took singing lessons, and went out shopping by herself in the afternoon. Stuff she'd never done, before.
"You never seemed stressed anymore, since…" Peter's voice trailed off.
"Since the day I stood up from that stupid chair? It's okay. It doesn't bother me to talk about it." Heidi spooned the pot of curry onto a platter.
"Yeah, since then," said Peter.
"Well, I appreciate it. I know what it's like to watch from the sidelines, seeing everyone do things that I couldn't. I swore to myself that if I ever got better, I wouldn't waste a minute of it," said Heidi.
"A minute of what?"
Heidi set the spoon in her hand down, and her eyes that were so striking drifted to the windows behind Peter. "Life. My family. Love. Everything. I was so stupid, Peter. I had it all; right there, the whole time! And I wasted it for a lot of years."
"Anyway." Heidi started scooping pad thai into a glass dish. "Just don't you make the same mistake, okay? You hold onto the things you love, and don't worry about the little stuff."
Peter started to sprinkle the lemongrass he had just chopped onto the dish of pad thai.
"Wait, wait! Claire doesn't like lemongrass." Heidi grabbed a small bowl from one of the cupboards. "Give her some here without it."
-----
Maybe it's the little speech about Not Wasting It, or it's his own pervy persuasion, or maybe it's both, but he gets a sick enjoyment out of dipping up pieces of food that he knows Claire is going to eat. He picks out the best morsels and places it in a little bowl for her, just so.
She won't know and she won't notice. That's fine. That's good. If nothing else, he can make things as best for her as he can. He's to the point where his apologies look like pleadings, and maybe they are the same thing now.
-----
Movie theaters were a pain. Peter almost never went to them, because they're crowded and sticky and filled with people who cough. He liked to curl up on his couch in front of the DVD player instead, but try explaining to a ten year old why quiet living rooms are preferable.
That Sunday, the pad thai Sunday, his nephews were hot to see a movie that everyone was excited about. Heidi said that maybe Nathan could take them after dinner. Nathan promptly volunteered Peter for the job instead. And when he tried to say no, Nathan laid a guilt trip on him so thick that he only protested once, weakly, at that.
The boys cheered at the dinner table when he agreed. Nathan tried to give him some money, but Peter said it was his treat, really.
He grabbed his keys and was almost to the door when Heidi suggested that he take Claire too. Peter smirked and said that he was sure Claire had better things to do.
"I don't," she said, looking up from the magazine she had been reading. He didn't think she had been listening to the conversation. "I want to see it."
The car ride to the theater was filled with the chatter of his nephews, but Claire didn't say a word, just put on those big sunglasses that hid half her face, the ones that he hated.
He bought the tickets, and popcorn, and Claire corralled her brothers into the right theater. Peter found four spots together, and Claire pushed down the arms of the seats, set the right drink by the right boy.
Peter sighed and blew the hair off of his face. "DVD's, Claire. I'm telling you."
"But this is all part of the experience," she said, and reached for a handful of popcorn from the bag in his hand.
"Here," he said, and offered the bag to her.
"I only want a little," she said, and didn't take it.
"Just…" said Peter, and pushed the bag into her hand. "I don't even like it that much."
"Fine." Her fingers closed around it.
Peter scrunched down into his seat. His nephews were discussing the current on-screen advertisement. Claire looked straight ahead, methodically eating the popcorn.
"I thought you hated cartoons," said Peter, and his tone was embarrassingly accusatory.
"I sometimes do. But it's Sunday and I was bored." She shrugged.
"I thought you'd be out with…Chaz. Heidi says it's pretty serious," said Peter, and he stared at his knuckles.
Claire snorted and then tried to turn it into a cough, but Peter laughed anyway because he found her pig noises hilarious and somewhat endearing. He used to tease her about it, and she would laugh and punch him in the arm.
Her smile was nice to see. Then she sobered, and looked down at her lap. "No, Chaz and I broke up."
Peter stilled his body and managed a casual "Oh yeah? That sucks."
"Not really," said Claire, popping a few pieces of popcorn in her mouth. "He's a nice guy, but…not my type, really."
"I didn't know you had a type," said Peter.
"Oh, I do."
He desperately wanted to ask, but he didn't.
-----
He can't concentrate on the movie. His mind wanders to places it shouldn't, places he orders it not to go. On the ride back she doesn't speak to him, gives him one word replies when he tries to talk to her. He doesn't know what she's mad about, and he's too afraid to ask.
He hates how much he loved taking her to that movie, pretending in his own little way. He hates that the torture of ninety minutes in the dark next to her is enough to make him want to swear off films altogether.
-----
"So, you're anxious." Tani was wearing a bright yellow shirt, Capri pants, and Peter hadn't cancelled their appointment.
"Uh-huh."
"About?"
Peter paused for a moment, and gave one of the excuses he'd invented the night before. "I'm um, addicted to gambling. And I'm anxious. About it."
Tani nodded. He didn't ever write anything down, which Peter appreciated. "So the problem here isn't the anxiety, necessarily. It's the gambling, which causes the anxiety."
"I guess you could say that," said Peter.
"Where do you gamble? Atlantic City? Underground? You don't seem like the dog fighting type…"
"No, I gamble at home," said Peter.
"On the computer?"
"Yes."
"Of course I want to tell you to get rid of your computer. But that would mean I wouldn't get very much money out of you, would it? And of course, that wouldn't end the addiction," said Tani.
"I really can't just get rid of the computer. I have to find a way to stop how I feel about the gambling." Peter shifted uncomfortably. He hated lying, even about something like this.
Tani didn't say anything for a moment, and Peter hoped he didn't sense the cageyness surrounding his story. "If you want me to help you, you're going to have to be totally, balls-out honest with me."
"I will, I mean, I am. As honest as I can be, balls or not," said Peter.
Tani leaned back onto the couch, and gazed at Peter speculatively. Finally he sighed. "Okay, my brother. That's a fair promise, as good as I can ask for. So. Are you losing a lot of money with this gambling?"
"No, not really," said Peter. "Just time and…effort. I can't ever stop thinking about it."
"Well, admitting you're addicted is good. It's the hardest part. I'm going to say though, gambling addiction has the highest suicide rate of any addiction, including chemical ones," said Tani.
"I don't think I'm in any danger of that," said Peter.
"I don't feel that from you either, but I had to lay it out there. Gambling is treated like any other chemical addiction. The first step is to admit that you have no power over your addiction," said Tani. "Do you feel like you're at that place in your life?"
Peter lowered his head and thought quietly. "No. I'm not there."
"Why not?"
"Because I do have power over it. It's not much, but it's enough to keep me from royally screwing up," said Peter.
"But does it control your life? Do you have the ability to stay away from it if you want to?"
"Yes, absolutely. I never really…gamble. But I know it's there and that's bad enough. Just thinking about it," said Peter. "It drives me crazy, most days."
Tani rubbed his chin. "Hmm. Sounds like we're talking less about an addiction and more like an obsession. Hey, don't look so depressed. An obsession is an emotion, it's way easier than an addiction! You should be happy, man."
Peter heard the words but was not comforted.
-----
Just hearing the word 'obsession' makes him think of nutty guys who live in cabins in Montana. He thinks about movies like Fatal Attraction and The Crush and he's incredibly freaked out by the thought of him, Peter-the-Obsessed, ever being that crazy. Maybe he is already and just doesn't know it.
It's enough to put him off of her for two weeks. He avoids his brother's house in that time, avoids her. When he finally does see her on a Sunday afternoon, he feels the familiar churning in his stomach, and he knows that nothing, nothing has changed.
