I’d been searching everywhere for how to get through to Ada, grasping at straws for someone to give me an answer. And like all the people here, I had nothing but tears, sleepless nights, and heartbreak.
Sweat dripped down my back as we all stood, linking our clammy hands in a tight circle, the therapist joining last. We locked hands, and a buzzing tingle stomped along my scalp, shooting pain into my teeth.
With a nod, the therapist said, “You did not cause it.”
Everyone repeated it, but I didn’t. I couldn’t speak a lie and pretend it was truth. My responsibility taunted me, and the humiliation swelled inside of me like a geyser, clogged my lungs of breath, and blurred my eyes with tears.
“You cannot control it.”
Guilt sloshed in my gut, and it ignited the fury I’d been forcing into hibernation. Anger at Ada for refusing my help, anger at my parents for giving up, and anger at all the people who put harm in Ada’s life.
Anger at myself for giving a shit.
“You cannot cure it.”
Hands and knuckles and elbows hit me as I rushed out, ignoring questions of worry. I swiped at my cheeks, sucked in another half breath. It was barely enough to break me out of the house and onto the front lawn.
Outside, the sun turned the lawn into a reflective shield, leaving me disoriented. I scrambled to get my sunglasses on. Disoriented, I did a half spin, catching volunteers setting up the potluck, the screechy voices of kids setting up a round of kickball, and the smoky scent of barbecue burning my nose.
I rubbed my stomach to stop myself from hurling on the lawn. Finally, through a wiggling heat wave that had settled over the grass, I found the parking lot. Swiping my fingers through my sweaty hair, I swallowed hard and set a path forward, keeping my eyes on my feet to stave off a sudden wave of motion sickness.
It wasn’t until I practically knocked someone over that I realized that my plan was flawed. My hands flew up to grab hold of the person that’d tripped into my arms, an apology stuttering out of my mouth.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Naw, it’s cool, bro—”
My body reacted before I could fully register what was happening. I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.
“Hey, I didn’t know you’d be here today. I was just about to call you,” Nik said, his face lighting up. But even the sight of his pretty smile did nothing to assuage the pain I felt in my bones, and his face fell immediately. “Something happened to Ada.”
He said it with confidence, like he thought that was the only possibility. I shook my head and waved my hands, hoping that my crappy attempt at emotional charades made at least a modicum of sense.
Nik circled his arm around my waist and pulled me close. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said as he guided us away from the noise.
Shame coiled with my sorrow. Couldn’t I have lasted a few more minutes before I darted out of that support group? Right now, it was easy to say that I wouldn’t be back, but I knew it wouldn’t last. I knew I’d continue to fight for Ada for as long I lived.
Nik and I ended up on the opposite side of the house, toward a secret corner where two chairs and a table sat tucked under a large tree. I sat down, tossed my sunglasses on the table, and scrubbed my face.
“Nothing’s happened to Ada. Not yet, anyway,” I said, combing my fingers through my sweaty hair. “But she’s refusing to talk to me, so the only way I know she’s still alive is by keeping my phone near me at all times and religiously checking area jail websites for new arrests and news sites for reports of unidentified bodies.”
“Addiction is painful. For the addict and the people who care about them. In a perfect world, we’d never have to deal with it, but life’s a bitch,” Nik said, his voice weighted with compassion.
“At the risk of being an enormous dick, at this point I’d hand it off to anyone but me,” I said, resting my elbows on my knees and rubbing my shaky hands together.
“Naw, I don’t believe it. You’re too kind to do something like that,” Nik said with affection so sincere it made my stomach flutter. I glanced over to him, our gazes connecting. In that suspended moment, the noise of the crowd faded away, leaving only a fluttering sensation that I couldn’t quite put a name to.
“Wanna get out of here?” Nik asked, the side of his mouth tipping upward when he saw me nod. “All right, let me go say bye to some people and I’ll meet you there. My house isn’t far from here.”
The only time I’d seen Nik’s house was in the shadow of night, the details hidden in the darkness. Under the blinding Sunday sun, it shimmered, inviting and warm.
“Damn, it’s hot as hell today,” Nik said after we stepped inside, kicking his shoes off. “Want something to drink? For once, I got an option that ain’t water, but it’s Diet Coke.”
“Water’s fine,” I said, stepping out of my shoes and walking over to the couch. Nik disappeared into the kitchen, and I stood in the living room awkwardly, too wound up to actually sit down.
My eyes fell on the bookcase, catching a glance of a new piece of pottery. It differed from the other pieces, with vines of gold winding around the cup. I lifted a finger up toward it, hesitantly hovering over a thick golden strip.
I heard Nik moving behind me as his hand reached for the bowl. He held onto it for a moment, spinning it around in his palms before offering it to me. I lifted it up against the sunlight coming in through the window, my breath hitching at the way it glimmered in the sunlight.
“You made this?” I asked, unable to contain my wonder.
Nik bit his lip to fight a smile. “Kinda. The bowl came with the class, and we used tools that were from a box. But yeah, I smashed it and put it back together.” He ran his thumb along the lip, before cupping his hands over mine. “How long you been iced out? I’ma guess a bit since you’re looking for an arrest record.”
He was gracious enough to leave out the part where I was also looking for Ada’s obituary. It didn’t stop the guilt from gurgling awake, leaving a bitter taste on my tongue. Ada was always just out of my reach, slipping further and further away.
“Week and a half,” I said, handing the bowl back to Nik as I walked over to the couch. “She usually reaches out to me after a couple of days to borrow cash or crash in her old room when she needs to lay low.”
Ada was always a touch out of my reach. If I couldn’t figure out how to help her, then she’d slip away forever.
Nik joined me on the couch and placed the bowl in the middle of the table. Against the mundane basket of remotes and two glasses of water, its magic shined even more.
“What is that called?” I asked, pointing to the bowl.
“Kintsugi,” Nik said, his nose wrinkling when he tripped on the pronunciation. “It’s got all this fancy shit you can do with it, but I kinda like it just plain. That way you can really see what it means.”
“What does it mean?”
