Fix Things
I didn’t stop going back to 3CG to help out whenever I had a chance. I didn’t stop spending time with Zac, either, although I did manage to refrain from rolling around in the floor with him. We made no attempt to pretend that we were just friends, but we didn’t fool around on the job. It was an unspoken rule we’d decided upon after being discovered by Taylor, I supposed.
In any case, I didn’t have a lot of time to spend there. Not wanting Zac to hear the songs I’d written about him, I started going back to Tobias’ friend’s studio to record there. After a few days of spending an hour here and an hour there at the studio, I had more than a few demos. One long, late night that had me feeling really guilty for having Layla out so late left me with enough finished songs for an EP, although I couldn’t really see myself putting out an album. Still, I liked feeling accomplished, and I was in a good mood as I walked down the street with Layla strapped to my chest.
I should have known that good mood wouldn’t last long.
My phone rang from somewhere in the depths of my pockets, causing Layla to fuss as I dug around to find it. It was, of course, her father.
“Hello?”
“Colbs?” He responded, the last letter slurred just enough to make my heart skip a beat, and not in a good way. Between that and the noise in the background of the call, I had a very bad feeling. “Are you busy?”
“Are you sober?” I shot back.
“No, I don’t think I am,” he responded seriously. “S’why I was calling, actually. I don’t think I can go home like this.”
I sighed. I could see clearly where this conversation was going, and there was no need to prolong it. “And you want me to come get you? After I specifically told you that you weren’t allowed to see Layla when you were drunk?”
“I can’t go to Taylor’s. She has spies there.”
“How drunk are you?” I asked, then sighed again. “Nevermind. Just… where are you?”
After a moment’s pause and some muffled talking in the background, he replied, “The Patriot.”
“I’ll be there soon,” I replied, then ended the call before he could say anything else.
He knew I couldn’t refuse him, and I knew he was taking advantage of that. Did I let that stop me from hailing the next cab that passed by—because I had no desire to drag a drunken Zac down the streets of Tribeca–and asking the driver to take me to The Patriot?
No. I did not.
And so, a few short minutes later, I was the subject of quite a few odd stares as I stepped out of the cab, baby on my chest and diaper bag in hand, and scanned the sidewalk in front of the bar for Zac. Luckily, I spotted him quickly, slumped against the building with his vaporizer glued to his lips. Drunk and smoking. Great. That was exactly the sort of memory Layla needed of her father. My only consolation was that she was probably too young to form any memories of this night. It was a small consolation, though.
“Colby!” Zac’s head snapped up and his eyes lit up when he noticed me standing in front of him. A bit of something like shame flashed across his face. “I didn’t know you—I mean, if I had known you had the baby with you…”
“Who else did you have to call, Zac? I’m not just leaving you here. However, you are paying for the cab that is still sitting at the curb waiting for us. I figure we’ll be even then.”
Zac didn’t argue with that, so I nudged him toward the cab. I didn’t really feel a need to be nice to him right then. We climbed into the cab together and I directed the very patient driver to my apartment complex. Neither of us said a word on the drive home, although Layla babbled a few words to Zac. The only intelligible one, as usual, was “Dada.” At least she had learned that much, although a part of me had hoped she wouldn’t recognize him in this state.
A few short minutes later, the cab deposited us in front of my apartment. I tossed the diaper bag to Zac and hurried on in front of him, hardly caring if he kept up with me at all. The more I thought about what he had done, the more upset I was. By the time the door to my apartment had shut behind us, I was positively fuming.
“I realize you didn’t have anyone else to call, but what the fuck makes you think it’s a good idea to ask to come here when you’re like this? You think this is how Layla should see you?” I asked, tossing my purse down on the counter.
“I didn’t really think about that,” he replied.
“Yeah,” I said. “I can tell you didn’t. Did you think about anything other than just getting drunk? And what the hell, anyway? Drunk in the middle of the week?”
He shrugged. After a moment of silence, it was clear I wasn’t going to get another answer out of him. I grabbed the diaper bag and hurried off to my bedroom, where I began getting Layla ready for bed. I’d taken several snacks to the studio with us, so at least I didn’t have to worry about feeding her as well as taking care of her stupid, drunken father.
Soft footsteps alerted me to his presence, but I didn’t turn around to face him. “Colby, I… I’m sorry about all this. I really just meant to go for a walk. It’s not like I went out plannin’ to get shitfaced. It just happened.”
“So, while you were walking, you tripped and fell into a vat of beer? What?” With Layla safely in her crib, I spun around to look at Zac. “I mean, it doesn’t just happen. It’s a choice to pick up the first bottle, although I’ll grant you that you are clearly too drunk to know when to stop.”
“Yeah, they cut me off,” he mumbled, slumping down onto my bed. “But I mean… I just needed to clear my head, so I went for a walk, and then… well, y’know.”
“I would say this is the opposite of a clear head.”
Zac ran a hand through his hair, letting out a groan. “We had a fight, alright? That’s all. And I had to get away.”
I sat down next to him. “You know that’s the same excuse you gave for why you cheated? And it’s just that—an excuse. You blame her for your bad behavior. And I’m not saying she never does anything wrong, but it doesn’t make the bad things you do as a knee jerk reaction right.”
“I have a feeling that would have made a lot more sense if I was sober,” Zac slurred.
I groaned and stood up. “Why am I even trying to talk to you, anyway? Just go to sleep, Zac.”
With the conversation effectively over, I walked into the bathroom. A pair of pajamas lay in the floor and I picked them up; I didn’t really feel like changing in front of Zac right then. Once I had changed, I brushed my teeth and washed off my makeup. I was far past the point of trying to impress Zac. I was probably just a big blur to him right then anyway.
It shouldn’t have surprised me to walk back into my bedroom and find him sprawled across the bed, presumably passed out. His pants, shoes and shirt were in a pile by the foot of the bed, and one long, bare leg stuck out from underneath my comforter. I groaned, which caused him to stir only slightly. Seeing no other option for myself, I climbed into bed, nudging him aside the best that I could to give myself a little bit of space.
“Mmm, Colby,” he mumbled, his voice gravely with sleep already.
“Don’t even think about it,” I replied, yanking the covers over my body.
Zac flipped his hair back and opened his eyes. “I wasn’t thinking—what? You think I came here for sex?”
“I don’t know why the hell you came here,” I replied. “Probably because you know I’ll put up with your shit.”
“You? Put up with my shit? You’ve kicked me out almost as many times as my wife has.”
“Don’t compare me to her,” I hissed.
“I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean anything by that,” he said, reaching out to brush back a piece of hair that had fallen out of my ponytail. “Are you mad at me, Colby?”
“Yes,” I replied. “How could I not be? God, do you even see how you only make things worse when you go out and get trashed like this? It’s not going to fix anything. Ever.”
“So what do I do? How do I fix things?”
I inched away from him. “Why do you ask me questions like that?”
“Because it would be so much easier if someone could just tell me what to do. I obviously suck at figuring it out for myself,” he replied, sounding surprisingly lucid.
“Well, I don’t have any answers for either of us.” I rolled over, not feeling like looking him in the face anymore. I was already far too close to forgiving him when I knew he didn’t deserve it.
“I don’t either,” he said softly, wrapping his arm around me as though he were protecting me. I was too tired to even laugh at how absurd that was, when he was the one I needed protection from. “I don’t either, Colbs.”
I could feel him drifting off to sleep behind me, and I wished I could rest so easily. Most likely, though, he was just passing out, the alcohol lulling him to sleep just as it had dulled the rest of his senses. Could he really rest easily? Without a few drinks, probably not.
I wanted to have sympathy for him. I really did. And deep down inside, I did feel sorry for Zac. But I was seeing a pattern of behavior here that I couldn’t ignore and pretend that the obvious wasn’t happening. I couldn’t act like his drinking was normal and acceptable. The more and more I saw him drunk, the more I started wonder. The fact that he had such thin, but well-used rationalizations for it only made it worse.
But who was I to tell the man I was addicted to that I thought he had a drinking problem?
It wasn’t a conversation I relished having. Maybe I would feel different in the morning. Maybe not. I was willing to put it off at least until then, though. In the light of day, maybe I would have answers. Maybe Zac would have answers. Maybe things wouldn’t look so bleak.
Maybe was really all I had to hold onto right then.