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With cheese.
Friday, September 10, 7 p.m., the loft
Wh
en I got home, Mom and Mr. G were just getting ready to order dinner. Mom took one look at me and was like, “Bedroom. Now,” because Rocky had pulled all the pots and pans from the kitchen cupboards and was banging on them (a trait he no doubt inherited from his father, whose drum set still has a prominent place in our living room).
So I dragged myself into my bedroom and collapsed onto my bed, startling Fat Louie, who was so surprised when I landed on him, he actually hissed at me.
But I didn’t care. I think I have dysthmia, or chronic depression, since I have all the symptoms:
Emotional numbness
Perpetual, low-level melancholy
Feeling of merely going through the motions of everyday life with very little enthusiasm or interest
Negative thinking
Anhedonic (unable to savor or enjoy anything; except cheeseburgers)
“Your father tells me you were sent home from school in the middle of the afternoon,” Mom said, after shutting the door, so that the sound of at least some of the banging was lessened. “And I understand from Lars that you went to the airport to try to say good-bye to Michael.”
“Yeah,” I said. Seriously, I have zero privacy. I can’t do ANYTHING without the whole world finding out about it. I don’t know why I even try to keep anything secret. “I did.”
“I think that was the right thing to do,” Mom said. “I’m proud of you.”
I just stared at her. “I missed him. His flight had left already.”
Mom winced. “Oh. Well. You can still call him.”
“Mom,” I said. “I can’t call him.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course you can.”
“Mom. I can’t call him. I kissed J.P. And Michael saw me do it.”
Now it was Mom’s turn to stare at me. “You kissed your best friend’s boyfriend?”
“Actually,” I said, “Lilly and J.P. broke up today. So he’s her ex-boyfriend. But yes.”
“And you did this in front of Michael.”
“Yes.” I’m not sure the Quarter Pounder with cheese was actually the best idea. “I didn’t mean to, though. It just sort of…happened.”
“Oh, Mia,” Mom said with a sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I don’t know,” I said, tears tickling my nose. “I’ve completely ruined everything with him. He’ll never forgive me. He’s probably glad to be rid of me. Who wants a crazy girlfriend?”
“You’ve been crazy since Michael met you,” Mom said. “It’s not like you’ve gotten any noticeably crazier.”
The thing is, I knew she was trying to be encouraging.
“Thanks,” I said, through my tears.
“Look,” she went on. “Frank and I are ordering from Number One Noodle Son. Do you want anything?”
I thought about it. The Quarter Pounder really wasn’t sitting all that well. Maybe what I needed was some more protein, to help keep it down.
