Page 111 of London, Can You Wait?

“Least your evenings are free.”

“Nope. I help Helen make dinner, we all eat together, and then I do therapy homework and that corporate writing gig before bed. I’m splitting the cost of therapy with Dad and paying for my food and necessities, so I need the cash.”

“Joan scheduled all this?”

“To the minute. She won’t let me sleep in, eat sugar, or surf the web—and she nicked my phone from the drawer in my bedside table and hid it. I had no clue until this morning. I was looking for an old CD to make a workout playlist and there it was, wedged behind her Guns N’ Roses collection.”

“Joan for the win!” Lucy snickered. “Best hiding spot ever. God, I love her.”

“I’m just relieved that when she took my phone from my drawer, there was nothing else battery-operated lurking in there!”

Lucy laughed even harder.

“Luckily, she’s open to bribery. I can skip Zumba if I go for a jog. I also had to agree to help her tutor a difficult computer student.”

“Yeah, you gotta watch those dodgy pensioners.”

“This one you do! He booty-calls Joan. Has a prescription for blue pills and everything.”

“Ewwww!” Lucy wailed. “I don’t know what bothers me more, that image or you becoming a Zumba-ing jogger. I want my couch potato bezzie mate back!”

“It’s part of my therapy. My psychologist says exercise releases endorphins, helps with anxiety symptoms.”

“Lex, you’re not becoming one of them, are you?”

“One of what?”

“Those boring workout people like Simon—tracking your steps, eating kale, and blending your meals into disgusting green drinks. Mind you, Harry’s mum would love you…”

“No, she wouldn’t. I’m not you.” Alex smiled as she dodged two teens on skateboards. “Anyway, just because I’m doing it, doesn’t mean I like it. I can barely jog two blocks without collapsing, but I like how it lets my mind wander. I’ve come up with a bunch of play ideas while doing it.”

“I’d rather Zumba.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been craving alone time. Joan, Helen, and Dad have been amazing, and they mean well, but they’re suffocating me. Helen just wants to mother me—”

“Aw, bless her!”

“It’s sweet, but she won’t let me do anything, even washing my own clothes. Everything comes out with a stinky flowery fragrance—I can’t stop sneezing. And I swear Dad asks me ten times a day how I’m feeling but never mentions Mark. None of them do, but I want to talk about the split. Thank God for my psychologist. She isn’t always Team Alex—which is good—but she’s never judgmental.”

“Unlike me?”

“Yeah, but I still love ya, Lucy.” Alex laughed and waited at a red traffic light.

“So how is therapy going?’

“Good. I’ve ugly cried too many times to count, but I think it’s helping. It’s got to help. Fainting at the theatre was an all-time low. I can’t be that girl again.”

“You won’t be, Lex.”

“It’s going to take time, training my brain to react differently, but I’m committed to it. I need to own my anxiety, manage it, and not feel embarrassed by it. That’s the only way I’ll feel better, and I WILL feel better.”

“I’m really proud of you, Lex. We both are.”

Alex switched the phone to her other ear. “I’ve realized that a lot of my anxiety comes from worrying over the future, and I need to live in the here and now, focus on what I’m dealing with in this moment instead of what might never happen down the road. Take it one step, one minute, one hour at a time.”

“Um, hello? Didn’t a certain someone say that to you…I don’t know, at a certain wedding?”

“Maybe? Okay…you did, but sometimes—” Alex’s eyes followed a red Vespa zooming past.