Margot, C-List, & I have been shooting an email back and forth comparing lives. My succinct update: "I'm working at Trader Joe's. And now have a full-time job babysitting a grieving, alcoholic 21-year-old, apparently..."
I may have made the mistake of reverse-drunk-dialing Irish after getting an email saying he'd left my number at home. He'd already played the Century Club, then started shooting tequila, then gone back to beer, and, he told me proudly, had "already puked six times." I won't give you the details - last I heard from him was an email at 7:30 saying they were about to start another Power Hour (60 shots of beer in 60 minutes), and as far as I know, he's still drinking.
While we were on the phone, though, he asked me if Lui knew I was talking to him. "Lui's not here, he's out picking up something for dinner," I explained. And then when he expressed concern that Lui would come home and be upset, "Don't worry, I'm watching out the window for his car."
Irish laughed. "Elle, we have to stop doing this!"
"This? There is no this!"
He agreed, vowing to have a man-to-man chat with Lui, some other time, when he was sober.
But now that I'm thinking about it, I can't help but wonder: is there a this? I mean, I'm pretty invested. And like I said, it feels like a full-time gig. He's giving me explanations and excuses, apologies and promises, like I'm someone he has to answer to. And I understand he might feel like nobody else cares or worries about him, but how much can I really do here? My cousin/voice of reason, Lev, just told me I seem kinda depressed. And... maybe. It's a lot to handle. I can only imagine how he must feel. And then we're back at square one, where I just want to help him, because... poor kid.
And besides, it is sort of gratifying, to feel needed.
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