Page 86 of The Lucky One
“Lauren, why don’t you go upstairs,” Humphrey suggested the second everyone except me was finished. Of course I was the last one again.
“Ugh, fine.” Lauren rolled her eyes and came over to give Jon a hug from behind. Jon let go of my hand for the first time that night, and I used the opportunity to cut a piece of salmon. “Jemily?” Lauren mused. “Or Emijo? Either way, I ship it.” She giggled, and I had to suppress a laugh.
After she had left the room, Humphrey sprang out of his chair, making the candles shake and the silverware rattle on their plates. He was next to Jon within a breath, yanking him up by the collar. My fork frozen in midair. “What are you on!” Humphrey yelled.
“Fuck, nothing!” Jon yelled back, his face turning red. Desperately, I looked at his mother to intervene, but she just stared at her napkin.
“Don’t treat me like a fool, Jon!” Humphrey thundered. “I know the signs of being high, and you have all eight of them!”
“Gee, thanks. Maybe I’m just naturally ugly.”
Humphrey let go of his collar. “We gave you a chance. We thought for her”—he pointed at me, a bit of spit flying through the air—“you wouldn’t mess it up again. Who knows why though!”
Jon shoved Humphrey away, staring a challenge into his eyes. “First of all, her name is Emily, and she’s fucking amazing. And second of all, I didn’t mess up. I’m sober!”
Humphrey scoffed disbelievingly. Unfortunately, I could see where he was coming from, but there were better parenting strategies to get Jon to talk.
“Let’s do a blood test,” his mother said suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention.
Jon’s brows furrowed in disgust. “What?!”
She stood up, gripping her used napkin. “It’s the only way to know for sure if you’re sober or not.”
“If you don’t trust me, I don’t know why we’re even here,” Jon retorted.
He grabbed my hand and tugged me out of the dining room. I didn’t look back as we dashed out the front door toward freedom.
The second we stepped out, Jon lit a cigarette, raging, and started pacing circles on the pathway. “Can you believe them? They want to test my blood like I’m a freaking science project!”
I looked down at my hands, well aware he would hate what I was about to say. “I don’t think it’s such a bad idea, Jon.”
“What?” he yelled, coughing out smoke. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I trust you when you say you’re not using, but they don’t know you the way I do. I agree that the way they asked you was wrong. But think about it—it would reassure them that you’re not high, and it’s another reason to not relapse because you need to prove that you’re sober.”
Jon narrowed his eyes at me.
I tried again. “From a psychological angle, this is an opportunity to support you in your fight.”
His shoulders slumped, and he took another drag. “I can’t believe you’re on their side...”
“I’m not on their side!”
“Yes, you are!”
“Fuck, Jon. This isn’t about whose side I’m on! This is about you reconnecting with your mother. Screw Humphrey, but she’s your mom! She went through the same thing you did, and she got sober. Do you want to be at war with her for the rest of your life?”
Jon looked down at his feet. I walked up to him, put my palms on the spot behind his neck they so effortlessly molded onto. “What does it hurt to do a blood test if it makes her happy?”
Jon rested his head on my shoulder. “Fine... I’ll do it.”
“You will?”
“Yes, but this better be the only time you’re siding with them.”
“I promise.” A promise that was easy to make.
He drew himself out of my embrace and I used my chance to kiss him, tasting nicotine on his dry lips. “You know,” he said, “I’m thankful that you came, but I’m in desperate need of a meeting.”