BooksBarbecue
Back Little Universes
Chapters (63)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Part 1
  6. Mae
  7. Hannah
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. Part 2
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. Part 3
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. Epilogue
  59. Mental Health Resources
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  62. About the Author
  63. Newsletter Sign-up

Despite the thrift-store furniture and scribbling on the walls, the place is immaculately clean. There’s an order here, once you start looking. The books on the shelves are organized by color. Notes to housemates tacked neatly to a corkboard in the large dining room. Labeled bins: CLEANING SUPPLIES, THINGS FOR YOUR LADY PARTS, EMERGENCY CHOCOLATE.

“So, this is the common room,” Jo says, waving a hand around the large, sunny living room. “This is where we hang for our daily meetings and other gatherings. You have to come to at least three meetings a week here. If you have Twelve-Step meetings somewhere else you also want to go to, that’s fine.”

This is part of what being in a sober home is. I want this structure, this support, even though the rules make me feel like a kid again. I need people around me to stay on my ass so that I keep the promises I’ve made to myself. It’s too easy to stay at home and not go to a meeting.

“If you have guests,” Jo continues, “they’re welcome to be in here or the dining room or your bedroom and they can use the downstairs bathrooms, but we ask that you respect the privacy of the rest of the house. Especially since this is an all-female-identifying space. Lots of trauma here, you know?”

I nod.

I’ve heard too many sad stories in meetings—girls being hurt by their dealers, by guys taking advantage of them when they were out cold on drugs. Getting attacked. I still don’t know what happened with Sean from Harvard. Mae said my pants were on. But I don’t know. That alone might be enough to keep me sober for good.

“I have a friend coming to help decorate my room tomorrow,” I say. “That girl I told you about from my meeting—the poet?”

Jaipriya and I have hung out once already. There was a poetry reading at Grolier Poetry Book Shop, which my mom used to go to a bunch back in the day. It’s where she met Dad. The cashier asked if I was a writer, and I said yes.

“Right on. Obviously no drugs or alcohol are allowed in the house—that includes your guests. I will kick your ass out if you use here or anywhere else. No exceptions. Okay?”

“Okay. Yes.”