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Maybe he has a point.
“Thanks for the soup; it’s good.”
“Welcome.”
We’re quiet while we eat and watch the midday news. I wish we were talking instead. I guess it’s good news that my gut isn’t screaming that something wrong or bad is going on, but it’s still bothering me tremendously that something is going on that I don’t know about.
Hopefully, he’ll tell me soon.
When I wake up hearing Brittany vomiting the next morning, she insists on going to work. That’s when I realize she probably wasn’t ever sick. She’s having panic attacks again. But she isn’t saying that. It has to be because of me. She’s pulled away from me and I need to correct that.
I come straight home after work to cook dinner. The look of surprise is still on Brittany’s face when she walks in the door to find food prepared and ready on the table.
“Hey. How was your day?” I ask as we sit down at the table.
“Work was good. My psychiatrist increased my dosage when I went to see him today. He’s hoping it’ll help balance me back out. He doesn’t want it to get worse and stir up my depression.”
“Any idea of what’s stressing you out?”
She shrugs. “No. Everything’s been normal.”
That’s a lie and we both know it. I let it go, though. After dinner, Brittany doesn’t feel like joining Lily and me on our walk, so I go alone. She’s napping in my recliner when I return. Lily jumps up to lie with her, startling her awake.
“Let me lie with you.”
She gets up to let me sit down before settling onto my lap. I recline us back.
“Are you getting excited about the trip to Italy?” she asks.
“Yeah.” The trip will be the first week of November, and since it’s already September, it’s not too far away. “Are you?”
“Yeah. It’ll be nice to get away before the holidays.”
It will be good timing. We don’t say much more as we relax and watch TV. Brittany falls back to sleep, not waking even when her phone rings with a call from her mother. I hold her and hope that between me taking my lunch to come bring her food yesterday and spending tonight with her, it eases her mind. But it might not, especially when I’m going right back to what I’ve been doing soon.
The next day, I’m running a little late, but I still beat Brittany home. I’m cooking dinner when the front door slams. Brittany doesn’t even glance my way. She looks pissed. She yanks open the refrigerator door, grabs a Sun Drop, and slams the door.
“What’s wrong?” I ask before she can walk out of the door.
She whirls to around to face me. “If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.”
Uh-oh. “You’re mad at me?”
“Yes!” she shouts. “God, you’re a complete idiot lately.”
“What did I do?”
“I asked you this morning to meet me for lunch. You said you would. Guess who had lunch by herself?” she yells.
Shit. I completely forgot she asked me. I slept in and was running late this morning. She asked while I was busy looking for a matching pair of socks. “Sorry, Britt. We had a meeting at lunch at the office.”
“Whatever. I don’t care. I’m going out with Melissa for dinner.”
“I’m cooking,” I point out.
“Don’t give a damn.” She heads toward the bedroom, and a few minutes later, she walks right out of the door, slamming it closed.
Fucking hell. If things keep up, I’m going to ruin our relationship. I’m not doing a very good job balancing things. It wasn’t until this week that I realized I wasn’t. Brittany’s frustration with me is starting to show, not that I can blame her. I wonder how much longer it’ll be until she explodes or confronts me.
