Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 104151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“We’ll get you checked in, and be back to visit before Thanksgiving,” Dad said, opening his door.
I grabbed my bag and climbed out. “Don’t bother. I don’t want to see you.” I headed toward the entrance.
“Eve,” Mom said, following me.
I whipped around right before reaching the door. “I’m doing this for you. Only you. So don’t forget it. And don’t do anything stupid and selfish like slitting your wrists or driving off a bridge.”
“Eve,” Dad said in a sharp tone.
Mom swallowed hard and blinked back her tears.
I ignored my dad.
“Eve,” Mom whispered.
“Just answer me. Do we have a deal?”
She slowly nodded.
“Great. Let the fun begin.” I opened the door and headed for the front desk.
“Can I help you?” A smiley blonde asked.
“Eve Jacobson,” my dad said.
I didn’t make eye contact with anyone. The lady took me through a long list of questions. I had to consent to being admitted because I was eighteen. And I could leave whenever I wanted to leave.
But the look on my dad’s face was a reminder that if I left early, I wouldn’t be welcomed home.
My parents left me with hugs and whispered “I love yous.” Then I was escorted to another room where they went through all of my belongings.
I fucking hated my life.
Despite crying myself to sleep every night, the people at the rehab facility were friendly. It was the kind of prison I imagined convicted celebrities went to. I got outdoor time every day and three square meals.
The surprising bonus was the therapy sessions, group and individual. There were some really messed up people in the group sessions.
“Eve, would you like to add anything today?” the therapist asked after I stayed silent for the first week.
On one hand, it felt weird sharing intimate family details with strangers, but I also thought it might feel freeing to bounce my woes off people who wouldn’t take sides because they didn’t know me or my family.
“My name is Eve, but you already know that.” I wrinkled my nose while tugging at the arms of my sweatshirt. “I guess I’m one week sober.” I shrugged because I had gone much longer than a week without alcohol.
I wasn’t an addict. But celebrating sobriety seemed to be the theme, so I went with it.
“I started drinking when I was fourteen. I came home early from a friend’s house, and I overheard my mom and dad arguing in their bedroom. My mom was crying. My dad was like, ‘What have you done?’ And my mom said she couldn’t do it. He said, ‘Do what?’ And the next thing I heard was him whispering, ‘You’re pregnant?’ She said it was too much. She didn’t want four kids, and she knew it was awful and sinful, but raising three girls, two years apart, and being a pastor’s wife who took care of the congregation like an extension of our own family was too much. Dad asked if she took the whole bottle of pills and said she could die. She said …” I fought the unexpected rush of emotions.
Their argument had played in my head too many times to count. It usually made me angry. But this was the first time I tried to say the words out loud.
I cleared my throat, offering a sheepish smile as I blotted the corners of my eyes. The group of eight offered nothing but sympathetic looks.
“She said she’d rather die than start all over again.” Scraping my teeth over my bottom lip, I stared at my lap. “And I wondered, why? Then I thought of all the times she told me I was going to be the death of her. And I couldn’t remember her ever saying that to my sisters. So I’ve always felt it was me. I was the child who made her think that death would be preferable to having a fourth child. And had she waited any longer to get pregnant with my younger sister, she might have tried to end that pregnancy too. But I was two when my younger sister was born, so I must not have been awful yet.”
I laughed, scratching my head and glancing around the windowless room. “Sorry. That was a lot, and I still haven’t explained the alcohol part.”
“It’s fine, Eve,” the therapist said. “And if you don’t want to share everything today, you don’t have to.”
“I feel like I’m almost there, so why quit now?”
She nodded and smiled.
“My mom spent several days in the hospital or somewhere. I don’t know. We weren’t allowed to see her. Dad said she was having ‘routine testing.’ But that’s all the information he gave us. When mom returned home, she was herself. They didn’t mention the pills or a baby. And after a few months, I realized there was no baby. Not anymore. Then I overheard some older kids from school talking about their hangout spot in the woods not too far from my house. I knew they were drinking, and one of them, who had recently lost his dad, said life didn’t suck after a few drinks. The next weekend, I had my first drink. And he was right, life didn’t suck as much after a few drinks.”