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Chapter 10
By the time Grace was twenty five, she had tried to quit drinking four times.
The first time was right after college. It was easily her most pathetic failure, as it failed when she took a drink to celebrate not drinking. Grace shuddered to think she had been that stupid.
The second time was just after she realized she couldn't write poetry anymore. Considering how dependent she was by then, she did pretty well. Grace went just over two weeks without a drop of alcohol. Unfortunately, this attempt was fairly expensive, as she had to replace all the liquor she threw out on her first sober night.
The third attempt hardly qualifies. Grace ran out of beer and called it fate. She lasted three days before deciding that fate was for lazy people, and buying some brandy.
The fourth attempt was just a week before she turned twenty five. Grace went to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, but decided that the leader, Greg, was an idiot and never returned.
Whenever Grace thinks about her failed attempts, she is reminded of a joke she once heard about smoking: "Quitting is easy; I do it once a week. It's not a very funny joke.
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Grace lost track of all her old friends sometime between the second and third attempt. Her friendships with Joan and Adam died out naturally, as they both moved away and all of them went on with their lives. Her relationship with Luke ended with a bang.
Luke showed up on Grace's doorstep on February 11.
"Hello, Grace."
"Luke? What are you doing here?" she asked, surprised.
"Felt like saying 'hi,'" he said with a shrug.
"Then pick up a phone," Grace said crossly.
"Can I come in?" he asked pointedly.
Grace stepped back to let him in without a word.
"So… how're you?" he asked.
"Good. You?"
"Pretty good."
"That's good."
"Yep."
They stared at each other for a few moments. Finally, Grace walked away.
"Grace, where are you going?" Luke called after her.
"Getting us some drinks. It's possible for me to be polite, Luke."
"I never said it wasn't," Luke muttered to himself. Grace made no answer.
She stalked back in and gave him a can of soda. Both of them sat down on the couch.
"Can I ask you something, Grace?"
"You drove all this way," she said. Luke took this as an invitation to ask his question.
"Why are you calling me 'Luke?' You never used to."
"I—what?" she asked, flustered.
"You used to call me 'Girardi.' What changed?" he asked.
"Nothing changed," Grace said quickly.
Luke stared at her, and Grace found herself fighting the insane desire to kick him out of her apartment.
"Shit, Grace, could you make this any harder for me?" he asked in a strangled voice.
"Make what harder for you?" she asked, her voice equally strangled.
"I don't think I ever stopped loving you, and I'm not convinced you ever stopped loving me. I can't be sure, though, because you've closed yourself off from all of us," he said in a rush.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Girardi?" she asked angrily. She couldn't believe he was springing this on her so suddenly.
"Oh, so we're back to 'Girardi,' now," he said.
"Stop being an asshole," she said. "Why are you here?"
"This is the anniversary of your mom's death, and I wanted to see if you were okay," he said quietly. His anger had drained away as quickly as it had appeared. Now he just sounded tired.
Grace's breath caught in her throat.
"You remembered that?" she said, once she could breathe again.
"Have you been listening to me at all, Grace? I just said I think I'm still in love with you. Of course I remember the day your mom died, and of course I want to be sure you're okay on that day."
"Well, I'm doing okay. How about you?" she asked shakily.
"We already had this conversation, and honestly, it was stupid enough the first time. No need to repeat it," he said flatly.
Neither said a word. Grace stared at the can of soda in her hand, and Luke stared at Grace.
"Grace, if you ever need to talk to someone, call me. Visit me," he begged softly.
"I don't need you," she said, looking up at him.
"Maybe not," he said, "but if you ever… ever want me, I'll be there for you."
"Why?" Grace asked, the vulnerability breaking through.
"Honestly, Grace? I don't know."
"Um, same to you, Luke; if you ever need someone, you can call me," she said awkwardly.
"I'm not sure you really mean that, but thank you," he said with a smile.
"You're welcome," she said softly.
"Do you mind if I raid your fridge?" Luke asked. "I'm starved."
"Go for it," Grace said, relieved that the conversations had moved to safer topics.
Luke walked into the kitchen, but Grace remained on the couch. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel. Part of her was happy to see Luke, but an even larger part of her was scared. She was confused, tired and depressed. It was, after all, the anniversary of her mother's death.
"Grace Polk," Luke said sharply, "what the hell is this?"
"Oh, shit," Grace breathed. He had opened the cupboard by the refrigerator.
"Why do you have so much liquor, Grace?" he asked when she entered the kitchen.
"I throw parties for the people at the paper," she said lamely, "and they expect me to have drinks for them."
"You throw parties," Luke said, clearly not believing her.
"Yes, I do," she said.
"Grace, tell me truth."
"I am telling you the truth," she said angrily.
"I've always been honest with you, Grace. Return the favor."
Grace stared at him with crossed arms.
"Fine," he said sharply, "be that way. I'm leaving."
And he did.
Grace sat down at the kitchen table and considered crying. She considered writing some poetry. She even considered going to temple.
Instead, Grace poured herself a shot of vodka.
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The drama will be continued shortly…