[Ah. There is an anxious moment, just the space of a breath, where he wonders what he really has to offer here. Not only did she manage to clean herself up in less than half the time it took him to get his shit together, but she'd been clean longer than he has.

Then the moment passes, and he rolls a shoulder.]

Must have been eleven, twelve years for me.

[That time is a muddle of grief and alcohol and the stress of keeping two little girls alive when their mother was gone. He's lost details like his own exact age when he gave up hope on finding Summer alive, or even finding a body to bring home.]

I'd only stopped a couple months when I first got drawn into the dream. Making it this far seemed kind of impossible back then.

[He doesn't want to say something trite like how she surely will be able to do it again if she's done it once before, or that he believes in her, or something like that. Really, he's not sure what to say. He's never exactly been to one of those support group things. He rubs at his neck.]

Look -- to be honest, I've got absolutely no clue how this works. This whole 'fellow drunks' thing. I'm probably the worst person to ever give anyone advice on how to unfuck their life, but uh. I get the feeling your original reasons for trying didn't make it out of the ocean with you, so...if you need anything, you got my number, I guess.