Soaring (Magdalene #2)(139)
Author: Kristen Ashley

I let her, watching her and seeing Mickey did have a type.

His type was me.

Sure, Rhiannon had dark blonde hair, but she also had hazel eyes, a pretty face, she was my height (maybe an inch taller) and she was very curvy in a nice way. She wore classy clothes that were a bit edgy. She took care of herself.

In fact, watching her, I noted that now, miraculously, she didn’t look five years older than me. She looked my age. Her skin brighter, healthier, the flush from the cold outside still on her cheeks.

She interrupted my musings on Mickey’s type when she looked back to me and declared, “It’s time for honesty.”

Oh God.

We’d been together for less than an hour, Ash was off getting a cart, I wasn’t ready for honesty.

I braced.

She noticed it and her voice softened. “Not bad honesty, Amy. But honesty for me, after a while where I wasn’t honest at all, is a good thing.”

“I…okay,” I said, not knowing what else to say and not saying what I wanted to say, which was that I didn’t know what she was going to say but I still wished she wouldn’t say it.

I didn’t get my silent wish.

She started talking.

“I know it seems weird, me buying my daughter sheets and stuff for her room at her dad’s. But I have a feeling Mickey’s told you about me so I have a feeling you know I haven’t been mother of the year. Not this year, or the last, or any for a while.”

When she meant honesty, she wasn’t kidding.

I decided it best not to respond, however, I kept my expression open for her to continue.

She did.

“I have a problem,” she declared.

I fought against my mouth dropping open.

Was she saying what I thought she was saying?

“I’m working on it,” she went on. “I’ll be working on it forever but at least I’ve started working on it. When they were with me, the kids were talking about you and I knew the way you were around, knowing Mickey, that you meant something. I didn’t…that didn’t…” her voice dropped to a whisper, “that upset me.”

“Rhiannon.” I was whispering too.

She lifted her chin slightly. “They liked you. I…you were…it seemed like you were making a family. And I…I…” she shook her head, “I didn’t handle that very well. Then I missed Cill’s birthday—”

“Mickey and I weren’t even together then,” I told her quietly.

“Yes you were,” she replied.

We were. We were in the throes of a bizarre mating ritual but we were into each other. I just didn’t know it and he was fighting it.

I made no reply.

“That was…” she held my eyes, “a mother doesn’t do that, Amy. Miss her boy’s birthday.”

“No,” I agreed carefully.

She straightened her shoulders. “So I missed Cill’s birthday. Ash was slipping. And I was wallowing. Mickey and I got into it and I didn’t even know how some of the stuff I was saying was coming out. I knew he wasn’t like that. I knew he’d never do the stuff I was accusing him of doing. And when he gets angry,” she smiled a melancholy smile, “I’m sure you know, he lets loose. So, even still angry at me, when he phoned about his scene with Aisling it was dawning on me I had to wake up. Everyone was being adult about the situation, even the kids. The only one who wasn’t was me. Then I came to the house and saw you.”

I kept eye contact, unsure of what was coming.

She kept speaking.

“You were nice. You seemed comfortable there. That didn’t sit well with me either. It hurt. But you were nice. You weren’t cold or mean. You were…you were…nice.”

“I’m divorced too, Rhiannon, I have kids. I know it’s important to try to keep things good with all involved, doing that for the children. Saying that, my ex and I haven’t actually accomplished that feat,” I admitted.

“Well, I’m sorry,” she replied. “I hope that gets better. I’m actually surprised to hear it because I walked away from meeting you and I thought, if that woman could stand in the home that used to be mine and be friendly and welcoming, which had to be hard considering all that was going on, but it would always be awkward, and you did what you could not to make it that way, then what was wrong with me?”

“Rhiannon—” I started.

“I went right from there to Reverend Fletcher.”

I blinked.

She continued, “There’s a meeting at the church, Wednesday nights. I started going.”

Oh my God!

She was saying what I thought she was saying!

She shook her head, looked over my shoulder, then back at me. “It’s not enough. But there’s a community center in Fullham. It’s a drive but they have meetings on Monday evenings and Saturday afternoons. I don’t have a sponsor yet or anything, but there are folks who go who’ve been in recovery a lot longer than me who have given me their numbers so I can call if things get…if they get…hairy.”

I held my breath.

“I haven’t had a drink since I met you that Friday,” she announced.

Oh my God.

How fabulous!

“Rhiannon, that’s wonderful,” I told her, wanting to reach out and grab her hand but knowing that wasn’t where we were so I didn’t.

“It’s hard. Seriously hard. The hardest thing I’ve ever done,” she told me.

“I’m sure,” I said quietly.

“But it’s the best thing I ever did, except making beautiful babies.”

I nodded.

She was so right.

“Are you…have you…do the kids know?” I asked.

“Mom isn’t pouring and I figure they noticed it. But officially, not yet,” she answered.

“Mickey?” I asked.

“I don’t want to ask you to keep secrets but I’d like to tell him myself. I intend to do this soon so it isn’t like you have to keep it from him forever. I just wanted some time and to stay on track for a while before I shared.” She took a breath and carried on, “And the important thing right now isn’t me. It’s seeing to Aisling. When things are better with her, I’ll explain the process to the kids.”

I nodded again. Though I thought that her sharing that might help things get better with Ash, it wasn’t my recovery and it wasn’t my place to give my opinion.

And I wasn’t entirely certain why she was telling me and intended to wait to tell those a far sight closer to her. But it was hers to give to who she thought it was right to give. This had to be a process and she didn’t seem to be winging it. Maybe I was step one, a person who was on the edges of her life who, not in a bad way, didn’t really matter. Maybe I was a practice run. The beginning of the rest.