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“Like…?”
“Meditate. Go for a walk. We have education pamphlets, actually…”
The door cracks open, and the nurse steps in. She eyes Nick warily.
He glances at her. “Maria, will you get Maddison one of the stress reduction pamphlets?”
She starts flipping through the glossy papers in bins on the wall.
“No, really, that’s fine,” I say. “I’ll look some stuff up online.”
Nick’s fingers click the keyboard as he types something into my chart. “How about that counselor referral?”
“No, thanks. I’ll try a few things on my own first. That’s a good idea.”
It’s already occurred to me that this feeling in my chest started Thursday night, when I piled my suitcase in my black Jetta and pointed my car east. I’d bet anything that this adrenaline-and-cortisol thing is related to my movie and Sylvester.
Maybe dealing with the issue will be better than anything, when it comes to the symptoms. Like pulling up a weed at the roots, instead of fussing around with the leaves or branches.
Nick stands, and I do the same.
When we shake hands, it goes on for a little too long.
His eyes linger on mine. “It was really,reallygood to see you, Maddison.”
“Likewise.”
I felt like I could have talked to him for hours. Didn’t he say the same thing? A flash of the last time we hung out—fourteen years ago—surfaces in my mind.
I ruined it.
If not for that stupid night, maybe Nick and I would have carried on being friends all this time. Maybe we wouldn’t bestanding here on two very different life paths, meeting only to surely part again.
Maybe everything would’ve been different.
But that stupid night happened.
I kissed Nick.
Or… he kissed me. I’m not really sure who’s at fault, but I know that after that moment, everything changed.
No more easy conversations.
No more late-night ramen.
No more marathon study sessions, or fake-competitive checkers games, or cover song critiquing.
With a frown I pull myself from my memories and suddenly realize that we’re still shaking hands. The nurse is giving us a puzzled look. I pull my hand back and snatch up my purse.
“Tell your folks I say hi,” he tells me. “Your mom is always great at filling me in. Hope you have a nice visit and a good trip back to LA. I sawSilver Balloons, by the way. I liked everything except the ending.”
“Yeah… me—me too.” Wait—my mom fills him in?
My jaw slackens as I watch the door close behind him.
The nurse, Maria, clears her throat. “That’s neat… you live in LA?”
“I used to,” I say, still staring at the door.
