I nodded.
“The roommate gave you her number?” I could see Val’s wheels turning. Any minute now she’d raise one eyebrow and let out a diabolical cackle.
“Yeah, she did. Whitney gave me Brooke’s number.”
“Okay. Girl wisdom tells me that means two things: one, Brooke has talked about you, enough that this Whitney chick feels like she knows you and you’re good enough for her friend. No way in hell would I give my friend’s number to some rando I didn’t know unless I thought he was good people. Two, Whitney thinks there’s room for you in Brooke’s life.”
My eyes lit up. “Val—you’re a genius.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m incredible. Steady your surfboard, though. Something has clearly spooked this girl, enough for her to push you away both at the reunion and on the phone. It doesn’t seem like your whole White Knight approach to rescue the princess and slay the dragon is working for you.”
I rolled my eyes, but she had me. “Fair,” I conceded. “So what—I give up?”
“You give her some space. And you maybe, and I meanmaybe, give it one more try. If the roommate slash bestie wasn’t on board, I’d tell you to fuck right off.”
I laughed. “Those etiquette classes are really workin’ for you, Val.”
She stared daggers at me through her dark eyeliner.
“One more try?” I asked, a kernel of hope blooming deep in my chest.
She nodded. “One more try.”
10
BROOKE
Fun Fact #36: In 2010, over 31 million people in the U.S. received counseling or therapy.
Other than work, I stayed in bed for the next week after Cade’s phone call. Was I right that we needed to keep the past in the past? My heart thumped in confusion.
I canceled my Thursday date with Brock, telling him I was sick. I guess I was, in a way. He brought by some kind of fancy soup and my weekly roses.
Brock told me his sister wanted to reach out to set up an appointment for wedding dress shopping, but I put him off for now. I knew most women in my position wouldn’t be able to wait to have that Say-Yes moment in the perfect white dress, but in my current state of mind, I couldn’t motivate myself to want to go. Rather than being an exciting experience, the idea of wedding dress shopping made me think of itchy fabrics against my skin and my joints locking up from trying on dress after dress.
I was definitely in a funk.
I even told Whit I wasn’t up for any movie marathons, and by the third attempt, she stopped asking.
These emotional slumps had gotten more common for me over the last couple years. I knew logically, I had a pretty good life—good job, great best friend, safe home to live in. But no matter how much I told myself that, sometimes only the negative thoughts made their way in.
My RA was often at the forefront of my mind during these times. I was sick—and it was a kind of sick that wouldn’t be going away. That was heavy news for me to receive at the tender age of 19.
It wasn’t a death sentence—it wasn’t incurable cancer.
But it still sucked.
And it still changed so many things from me, from my daily routine, to my plans for the future, to how I viewed my body. I mourned my lost athleticism—what I wouldn’t give to even have an ounce of the daily energy I had in high school.
The flare days were the hardest. With proper medication, I usually only had them once or twice a month, but on those days, I felt like my legs were made of stone. The simple act of getting out of bed or taking a shower could zap my energy for the entire day—seriously.
On flare days, my joints felt aflame, my wrists and feet would swell, and sometimes it felt like I was being stabbed with a thousand tiny ice picks. My joints would get so inflamed that I couldn’t even find the relief of the “pop” they’d usually make.
I was more exhausted than when I had the flu, yet outwardly Iseemedfine, without any traditional “sickness” symptoms to the untrained eye. It was unbelievably frustrating.
The silver lining was that now that I had worked at the same hospital for over a year, I qualified for FMLA, and my sick days due to flares couldn’t lead to my job termination. Still, these arethe kinds of things I had to think about as a chronically ill person—probably not exactly an average 23 year-old’s biggest worries.
I also worried for what was in store for me in the future. I could barely handle more than my day-to-day routine, and I was only 23.
