The meeting was on the second floor of a synagogue on Forsythe Street. You couldn’t smoke there. It was an unusual experience being in an AA meeting that wasn’t thick with cigarette smoke.

There were about fifty people there and she seemed to know most of them. She introduced me to several people, all of whose names I promptly forgot. I felt self-conscious, uncomfortable with the attention I was getting. My appearance didn’t help, either. While I hadn’t slept in my clothes, they looked as though I had, showing the effects of last night’s fight in the alley.

And I was feeling the fight’s effects, too. It wasn’t until we left her loft that I realized how much I ached. My head was sore where I’d butted him and I had a bruise on one forearm and one shoulder was black and blue and ached. Other muscles hurt when I moved. I hadn’t felt anything after the incident but all those aches and pains turn up the next day.

I got some coffee and cookies and sat through the meeting. It was all right. The speaker qualified very briefly, leaving the rest of the meeting for discussion. You had to raise your hand to get called on.

Fifteen minutes from the end, Jan raised her hand and said how grateful she was to be sober and how much of a role her sponsor played in her sobriety, how helpful the woman was when she had something bothering her or didn’t know what to do. She didn’t get more specific than that. I had a feeling she was sending me a message and I wasn’t too crazy about that.

I didn’t raise my hand.

Afterward she was going out with some people for coffee and asked me if I’d like to come along. I didn’t want any more coffee and I didn’t want company, either. I made an excuse.

Outside, before we went separate ways, she asked me how I felt. I said I felt all right.

“Do you still feel like drinking?”

“No,” I said.

“I’m glad you called last night.”

“So am I.”

“Call anytime, Matthew. Even in the middle of the night if you have to.”

“Let’s hope I don’t have to.”

“But if you do, call. All right?”

“Sure.”

“Matthew? Promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“Don’t have a drink without calling me first.”

“I’m not going to drink today.”

“I know. But if you ever decide to, if you’re going to, call me first. Promise?”

“Okay.”

On the subway heading uptown I thought about the conversation and felt foolish for having made the promise. Well, it had made her happy. What was the harm in it if it made her happy?