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Maybe I’m not the complete or only cause, but I definitely play a part. If I could just get her better, then we can work on her issues with me. That seems like a difficult, if not impossible, task. I have to try, though.
On the drive home, my phone rings.
“Hey, Jane,” I answer the call from Brittany’s mother.
“Hey. I was calling for an update. I tried calling Brittany, but she sent me to voicemail.”
“Yeah, she’s probably pissed. She sure was pissed with me.”
“Well,” she begins, her voice soft. “You did break her heart, Trace. It doesn’t matter to her right now that you’re trying to put it back together. All she can see and focus on is what you did.” She clears her throat. “So, how was she?”
It doesn’t feel right to be tattling on Brittany, but I also think her mother deserves to know how she’s really doing. “She was angry and drunk last night, passing out soon after I got there, and she was angry and hungover this morning. Did you know she’s not taking her medication?”
“No, I did not,” she says quietly before sighing. “I don’t know how to help her, Trace. She’s never been like this. I’ve tried telling her to see Dr. Gunner again, or Mrs. Potter, but she’s not having any of it. How do I help her when she doesn’t want help?”
She’s not going to like my answer, because I don’t like it either. “We’re going to have to wait for her to hit rock bottom and hope that she’ll want the help once she gets there.”
“I feared that,” she admits. “You’ll keep an eye on her, won’t you? I’m hoping we can come visit her soon.”
“Yeah, I’ll be around.”
“Good. I’m glad.” She seems sincere.
“Can I ask a question?”
“Sure.”
I park my car in the driveway and ask, “She told me that you were the only one who thought she should give me another chance. Why?”
“You’re a good man, Trace. You were good to my daughter, you made her happy, and you love her. She still loves you, and love shouldn’t go to waste. Ray and I broke up three times before we got our act together. Sometimes, we’re just not ready to be with the person we’re meant to be with. Knowing my daughter, she’s told you how much she hates you. They say there’s a fine line between love and hate, and eventually, I think she’ll cross over it.”
“I hope so.”
“Thanks for checking on her for me. It’ll all work out. I’ll let ya go.”
We hang up and I make my way inside. Thankfully, Lily didn’t make a mess while I was gone and I give her a few treats after I let her outside. I push all the thoughts about Brittany out of my head, so I can focus on my day of work ahead. That’s a pointless thing to do. When I don’t have a client in my office, she’s all I can think about.
How many times will I have to he
ar her tell me she hates me before I get to hear her say she loves me? What is her rock bottom going to be like this time? Will she let me be around for it? How am I going to help her? Dozens and dozens of questions run through my mind and I don’t have answers for any of them.
After work, I head home. Brittany won’t have to worry about me bothering her today. I plop into my recliner, pat my thigh twice for Lily to come sit with me, and recline back. My phone rings and I decide to answer. It’s Will. I haven’t talked to him in a while, and I need to.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
“I wish you had told me that Brittany was your emergency.”
He’s quiet for a heartbeat. “So, you’ve talked to her.”
“Yeah.” I go into everything that’s happened so far.
“Wow. I hate to hear she’s so bad off. I was really hoping she was doing better. Sounds like even I underestimated her when I told you it would be hard to get her back. She’s really digging in her heels.”
I scoff. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it. I deserve it, though. I feel like this is my fault.”
“Did you tell her to stop taking her meds? Or to drink when she’s depressed? Or to stop seeing her therapist and psychiatrist? No. Being one of the catalysts doesn’t make it your fault. Brittany knows just as well as you do what it takes to survive with anxiety and depression. It isn’t your fault that she isn’t trying, and don’t let her try to convince you otherwise or I may just have to make a trip to Charlotte to kick your ass.”
Laughing, I say, “Okay. I hear ya. Can you talk about you now?”
