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“You don’t sound so great yourself, you know.”
I ignore that, not wanting to admit that I’m panicking. “I’ll have her call you tomorrow, but she’ll be okay to stop taking it in the meantime, right?”
“Yeah, this hypothetical person will be okay to miss tonight’s dose and the one in the morning. Don’t call me again about her unless it’s an absolute emergency. I’m not going to talk about anything related to her unless your name is listed in her files as someone I have permission to discuss these things with. Understand?”
“Got it.” It’s tempting to tell him to be careful what he puts her on, but he knows her history as well as I do. He’s a good psychiatrist, and he wouldn’t put her on something if he thought she’d react badly to it.
“Next time you call, I hope it’s to catch up.”
“Yeah, me too. Later, Will.” I hang up and take a deep breath. My body finally begins to calm down as I start grabbing our luggage. This girl is going to kill me one way or another.
There’s so much that happened over the weekend, and I don’t know what to think about first. It’s causing me to think about everything. First, there’s apparently a story behind his mom’s death and that just doesn’t sound good. Then, I know I freaked him out with how I reacted on the medication. I’ve been on the new one Dr. Gunner prescribed after I called him Monday morning for three full days now. Is it possible for someone to be silently overbearing? He doesn’t constantly ask if I’m okay, but he does watch me a lot whenever I’m around. He asked me over again tonight, but I turned him down.
My anxiety has been off the charts. I’m not sure if it’s just me, or the medicine hasn’t kicked in yet, or if it’s the medicine making it worse. Whenever my anxiety gets really bad, that seems to be when my depression is lured out of its cave to attack. Rebecca planned to drag me out tonight. But I’m two seconds away from calling in the grinch. I’ve left every night this week to go to Trace’s. I’m not going anywhere tonight.
I text Rebecca with the bad news. Even though she’s in her last class, she immediately texts back that it’s fine and she’ll bring dinner for a night in. I work on homework in the meantime. About an hour later, my best friend has arrived.
“You’re going to love me,” she says with a grin, closing the door behind her.
I manage to lift my lips into a smile. “You brought fried pickles.” I could smell them the moment she closed the door. “I do love you.”
She hands me the takeout bags and then drops the rest of her things on her bed before taking a seat facing me. “I also got us pasta. I have another surprise too, but that comes later.” She keeps talking about her day, not giving me a chance to ask about the other surprise. I love that Rebecca can talk like everything is normal and has the ability to carry on a conversation by herself for the most part while we eat. “Have you decided about spring break yet?” she asks.
Spring break is coming up in a few weeks. I dread the thought, but then remember that means we’re close to the halfway mark of the semester.
Wow.
I’m almost halfway done. A small rush of relief flows through me. It lasts for a millisecond.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “Where do you want to go?”
Rebecca grins. “Las Vegas. How are you going to say no to that, Brittany? I know Las Vegas is on your list of places to go.”
I glare at her. “That’s why you chose it, isn’t it?”
“Yep.” She smirks. Then, she goes in for the kill. “Trace could come. That’s how much I love you and want us to keep our tradition, especially since it’ll be our last spring break. I’m willing to be a third wheel here.”
“Why would you be the third wheel? Dustin doesn’t want to go?”
“He already booked a trip to Florida with his buddies before we met, so no, he’s not coming. What do you say?” She looks so hopeful, and I know I’ll feel twice as bad if I say no since this is our last spring break.
“Fine,” I groan. “I don’t know if Trace will go, but I’ll ask.”
She doesn’t gloat other than grinning. “How are things with you and Trace?”
“Good.”
“Then why are you frowning?”
I lift my lips to correct my frown. “I just…” I sigh. “I’ve been wondering if I’m good for him,” I finish with a whisper, glancing down at my food. Most of the fried pickles are gone, but I have only eaten about a third of the pasta.
“Of course you’re good enough for him,” Rebecca tells me adamantly. “Has he done something to make you think you’re not? Come on, Brittany, that’s insane.”
I shake my head. She misunderstood what I said. “No, not good enough, but just plain good.”
She stands to throw away her empty plate. “I’m confused.”
Am I crazy for thinking this? I close the takeout plates and set them on the nearby desk. I grab my pillow and hug it to my chest, wanting to hold something. Rebecca sits down on her bed, waiting for me to explain.
