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figured that as soon as I’d earned the money I needed to put myself back on stable financial footing, I’d come back to visit or fly Kevin out to see me. I still had my New York apartment and no plans to sell it. As for Kevin, if he had any reservations about my departure, he didn’t say so. In the McEnroe family, they sometimes say, “The boys aren’t so good with their words.” Kevin is one of those boys. But my guess is that the reality of my departure didn’t hit him that night. It hadn’t really hit me, either. None of us felt that the move was going to be permanent.
    IN SPITE OF all the allegations and alienation, in some way, going home meant returning to Ryan. It took me a few months to find an apartment and pack all my things. All the while, my father was on my mind. My role on Rescue Me was finished except for the finale, for which I would fly back to New York. I moved in the summer of 2009 and set about reestablishing a life in the city where my father had been the center of my world.
    One of my first orders of business in L.A. was attending an AA meeting. I went to a morning meeting in Beverly Hills that I had gone to on many previous visits to L.A. As I took my seat and watched people filter in, I noticed an attractive woman who seemed to know everyone at the meeting. After the meeting, I saw the same woman talking with a circle of women. She seemed very involved and invested in their lives. I could tell that she was their sponsor, and I imagined she was a good one if she was actively helping this many women stay sober. I was curious. I went up to her and introduced myself. Her name was Patty. She was dark-skinned, with long hair and a va-va-voom body, but tasteful style. It was a summer night, and she was wearing a pretty cotton dress with red flowers on it, which looked like a vintage dress from the forties. I told her I really liked the dress. She told me a bit about herself, and then I said, “I’m looking for a sponsor.” After a brief conversation, we exchanged phone numbers.
    The next morning I called Patty, and a few days after that we met at her place in Beverly Hills to talk. Patty’s apartment was comfortable and laid-back, with a comfy couch, cats that meowed a lot, and a Chihuahua named Pepito.
    Patty asked me what I was hoping for in a sponsor. I said I was looking for someone who could walk me through the steps. I wanted to find a woman who would be interested in my recovery and life, but who wouldn’t be distracted by who I’ve been, or seem like I am, or the life that I appeared to have lived.
    Patty was around my age, which I liked. She hadn’t had children, but I could instantly see that she would focus on our similarities, not our differences. I recognized a very good, strong spirit in Patty. I didn’t get the sense that she’d judge me, or compare us, or feel threatened by me. She was open and caring, maternal and protective. She was kind but also careful.
    We agreed to give it a go, and from then on Patty and I talked on the phone every day. Sometimes sponsors expect their sponsees to call them. It becomes something of a power play for them to have a protégé whose responsibility it is to report to them. That dynamic doesn’t work for me, especially since my inclination is not to reach out for help, even when I should. Patty doesn’t play that game. We call each other, and it doesn’t matter to either of us who dials the phone. We’re not there for a power play. I’m there for an alcohol and drug problem. Finding Patty was my first step toward building a stable, sober life in L.A.
    One of the other early phone calls I made when I was getting my footing in L.A. was to my old friend Tony. Tony and I had known each other since we were ten and went to the same school. In our teens, we’d go to the famous old-school Beverly Hills deli Nate and Al’s, and drive around doing all the silly things