Page 85 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

“I’m listening.”

“I’m taking a long, hot bath in that tub of yours before I leave.”

If I let her leave.

“Well, I’ve lived here for a few years and it’s yet to be broken in, so I think it’s about time.”

“You seriously never take baths? With that tub?”

“Stewing in my own filth doesn’t sound as relaxing as people make it out to be.”

“How dirty are you?” she asked, shooting me a scrunched-brow look. “I mean, I shower after baths anyway. I don’t like to have soapy water on me after.”

“Then what’s the point of the bath?”

“The vibes.”

“Guess I can’t debate an argument as strong as ‘vibes.’”

She ignored that. “I haven’t had a bath in years.”

“You don’t have a tub?”

“I have a bath/tub combo. But it needs replacing and I don’t want to put my bare butt on it. Besides, it would be a leg-and-hip bath at best. Most of me would be outside of the water.”

“Just let me sit with that image for a minute.”

To that, she let out a little giggle before watching me with a scrunched look.

“What?”

“Why does your family make it sound like you’re such a jerk? You’re not a jerk.”

“It’s mostly because I choose not to socialize a lot of the time. Which is not normal in a big, Italian family like ours.”

“Can I say something without you getting offended?”

“Probably. Only one way to find out.”

“I wonder if maybe you’re so good about my anxiety because you have a touch of it yourself.”

“I don’t have those panic attacks like you do.”

“No, but that’s a panic attack. You can have anxiety without panic attacks. Or panic without anxiety. Or you can be lucky and have both. Like me. I just think it might make sense for why you find family dinners so overwhelming. And then need to flee and go back to your own place. It sounds a little like social anxiety. The one type I don’t really have.”

I guess it wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities. I guess my view of anxiety was a little narrow. I really only had my little sister’s and Caitlin’s to compare it to. Which presented in a more external way. But the way I felt in social situations did sort of sound the way Caitlin described how she felt—like the air was too thick to breathe, like there was a weight on my chest, like everything was just too bright, too loud, too close.

“Maybe,” I decided after thinking it through.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Actually considering it instead of just blowing me off. I had a boy…”

“You can say boyfriend. I know you weren’t a nun.”

“Right. Well, I had a boyfriend who was very obviously dealing with some significant depression. And he about bit my head off when I—very gently—brought it up.”