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I’m sorry?
That doesn’t seem quite right.
“Oh.”
Yeah…that reaction falls kind of flat.
“She was diagnosed when I was in high school. Honestly, it was a relief and answered a lot of questions.”
“Does she take something for it or talk to a counselor?”
“Yes, on both accounts. She meets with a psychologist on a regular basis and takes medication. The meds can be a fight,” she says with a small sigh. “She doesn’t like the way they make her feel. Sometimes, she’ll stop taking them. And I get it, they can upset her stomach and give her headaches. Days will go by, and she can’t get a decent night’s sleep. Then, she walks around like a zombie before crashing. The problem is that she can’t function without them. Not long term. When it gets bad, she can’t get out of bed for days. It’s kind of a catch-22.”
Well, fuck.
Lola’s life couldn’t be more different than my own. I have no idea what it would be like to step up and take on the responsibility for the care of your parent. My heart constricts at the idea of her being forced to grow up so fast without anyone but herself to rely on.
Is that part of the reason Tony walked away?
Was it easier than sticking around and dealing with a mental health issue?
My voice drops as all this swirls through my brain. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She slants a look in my direction. “Why would you?”
The simple answer is that I wouldn’t. Lola is an expert at keeping everything buried deep inside where it can’t see the light of day. If I hadn’t forced myself into her life, I wouldn’t know anything about her. We’d probably still be taking verbal swipes at each other.
“Do you talk to anyone about this stuff? A counselor or maybe a friend? Someone you can vent to?”
She shakes her head before staring out the passenger side window. “Nope. I don’t need to. Everything is under control.”
Is it?
On the surface, it might appear that way, but now that I understand more of what’s going on, how doesn’t she feel like she’s constantly drowning? It’s a lot to deal with. Especially for someone her age.
“You can always talk to me,” I offer.
She studies me carefully in the darkness. When she fails to respond, I shift on my seat, wondering what exactly she sees when she looks at me.
The remainder of the drive is made in silence. I’m consumed with thoughts of the girl sitting beside me. She’s so much stronger than I imagined and the most determined person I’ve ever met. If I’m being honest with myself, it makes me ashamed for always taking the easy way out. The path of least resistance, as my parents would call it.
Lola didn’t have the same opportunities as I was given. Instead of quitting when shit got tough, she dug deep and took care of what needed to be done, because in the end, there wasn’t a choice in the matter.
How can I not respect and admire that?
Once we hit the familiar tree-lined street near campus, I ease the truck over to the side of the road and find a parking place. As we exit the Escalade, I slip my arm around her shoulders, steering her up the front porch stairs and into the house. A burst of laughter and raised voices greet us as we step inside the entryway. There are a dozen people packed into the living room as the pumping beat of music blasts throughout the first floor. A couple of pizza boxes are strewn across the dining room table along with cans of beer.
A couple teammates call out my name in greeting. My gaze scans the room, looking for the people who actually live here, but they’re conspicuously absent. It’s all a bunch of underclassmen. Two couples are going at it hot and heavy on the couch. One of the girls is straddling a guy’s lap. She’s wearing nothing more than a lacy bra and jeans. I have a feeling that it’s only a matter of time before the rest of her clothing vanishes and these two are putting on a free, X-rated show.
I give Lola a bit of side-eye, worried that this kind of PDA will piss her off, but she doesn’t say a word and her expression remains neutral as if their sexcapades haven’t registered. I give everyone a chin lift before hustling her through the dining room and swinging a left down the hallway where my room is located.
For the first time, I wish I had a bit more privacy. I’ve spent the last three and a half years partying my ass off, drinking until I was on the verge of passing out, and smoking bowls. Just generally living my best life until I get drafted to the pros. I never thought there’d come a time when I was over it. It’s tempting to kick all their asses to the curb.
