Returning to Chicago takes an unexpected turn for you as you grapple with attending Al-Anon meetings, confronting past trauma, and seeking genuine connections. Amidst this backdrop, an intricate relationship unfolds between you and Chef Carmen.
Enjo...
"For as long as I can remember, my mother was an addict."
The sound of coughing, adjusted seats, and sniffles surrounded you in the small basement space of the church. Al-Anon meetings had become a regular part of your routine since your return to Chicago. This was your first time speaking up, breaking your silence to share the pain that had long been buried.
The room was bathed in the harsh glow of fluorescent lights, lending an air of vulnerability to the proceedings. As your eyes scanned the room, you felt the weight of the stories shared, each person here carrying their own burden of hurt.
Your gaze fixed on a spot on the wall as you recalled the past, your voice steady but with an underlying tremor. "My mom used to do this thing when I was little," you began, your words finding their way into the room. "She would come into my room at odd hours of the night. A kiss on my forehead followed by a sniffle, like she'd been crying."
The coolness of the metal chair beneath you seemed to seep into your bones as you continued, the memories resurfacing. "At first, I thought it was sweet. A mother's way of comforting her child after a tough day. But, in reality, she was checking to see if I was awake before getting high." The room seemed to hold its breath, embracing the shared vulnerability.
You paused, taking a deep breath before carrying on. "I remember the day my dad died. She was on her way to recovery. And I thought...'Here we go again,' you know?The same cycle all over." Your voice faltered, emotions threatening to break the surface.
As you composed yourself, your eyes locked onto your bandaged hand, a reminder of your recent accident. "This isn't self-harm, just so you know," you said with a touch of wry humor, attempting to lighten the mood. "I work in a kitchen," you explained, a faint smile tugging at your lips. The room's response remained somber, but you pressed on. "Sorry, not my best joke. I came back to take care of my mom, and it was... a struggle."
The room absorbed your words, the weight of shared experience hanging heavy in the air. "I remember returning from a catering event once, and she was completely out of it. I tried to help her, and she screamed,'YOU SHOULD HAVE NEVER COME BACK! HE'S DEAD BECAUSE YOU LEFT! I SHOULD HAVE GOT RID OF SOONER, YOU UNGRATEFUL BITCH!'" The room seemed to collectively wince at the pain embedded in those words.
A rueful laugh escaped you, laced with a tinge of sadness. "It wasn't my mom speaking at that moment; it was the addiction. I didn't know how to handle it then, and honestly, I still don't. We haven't spoken in months. A part of me wants to give up, but I can't. I know my dad would be disappointed."
Your eyes glistened with unshed tears, your vulnerability on display for all to witness. Silence hung in the room for a moment before scattered claps filled the space, a communal acknowledgment of your of your shared pain.
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Carmen's eyes scanned his phone screen, the soft glow illuminating his intent gaze. He stood by the window in his apartment, its glass pane a barrier between him and the world outside. Cigarette ash dangled precariously from the tip, a testament to his restless state as he awaited a response.
"Why did I send that? I just want to see you?" he grumbled, the symphony of passing cars outside serving as a backdrop to his inner turmoil.
"What is it about Y/N?" he mumbled, his eyes closing briefly as he allowed himself to remember the moment he pulled up to your building. There was something in the air, an intangible desire that tugged at him. He recalled the way your eyes had widened just slightly, as if they held secrets he yearned to discover. The freckles scattered across your face seemed like constellations of secrets waiting to be unveiled. He could almost feel the hint of a smile that graced your lips, a smile that he found himself replaying in his mind. The scent of the night air had been infused with your intoxicating scent, a sweetness that lingered long after you'd stepped out of the car. His fingers moved to rub his temples, the cigarette held delicately between them. The glowing text bubbles on his phone held his attention, like stars in a sky of uncertainty.
"Say something. Just don't make it weird. Come on, Y/N, don't be weird," he muttered, almost willing the words to reach you.
The bubbles vanished, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips as he tossed the phone onto his bed. The ember of his cigarette was crushed, its end extinguished in the ashtray. The room felt heavy with a longing he couldn't shake. He loathed the ache that came with wanting, the desire to connect with someone so deeply that it bordered on obsession. It reminded him too much of Mikey, his older brother. Memories of their last conversation resurfaced, the echoes of words spoken.
"Why don't you give me, like, like, three things about Copenhagen, man?" Mikey's voice reverberated in his mind. "Tell me."
"I don't know. Uh..." Carmen had replied.
"Anything," Mikey had urged, his voice filled with the warmth of familiarity.
"It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen," Carmen had said, his voice tinged with awe.
"Yeah," Mikey had responded, hooked on every word.
"Uh... I slept on a boat. And, uh... I fed an invisible cat."
"Hmm. Well, Carm... that's a home run," Mikey had chuckled.
"Yeah?"
"Out of the park," Mikey's smile ingrained in the back of mind.
"Fuck, Mikey... I don't know what to do here," Carmen thought, the quiet contemplation mingling with the night's stillness.
