Page 48 of Stay With Me

I can’t help but laugh. “I do love outdoor activities but more like walking and leisurely biking. Rowing sounds like torture. I’m more of a take a stroll or do yoga type of girl.”

“Oh, okay.” He pauses and glances over at Christine, who is still ignoring us in favor of reading her book. When he looks back at me, his pupils are dilated and he’s fiddling with his hands.

“So, um, I haven’t had much chance to explore the culinary scene. Are there any good restaurants in the area that are a must to try?”

“There’s a couple I really love but if you like Italian food, you have to go to Giuseppe’s.”

His face lights up. “IloveItalian.” I catch him glance down at my left hand then quickly look back up to my face. “Would you be interested in checking it out with me this weekend?”

My stomach clenches and my heart bounds in my chest. Christine sets her book on the table and watches at me.

“Oh, um…” I’m overwhelmed with a need to get out of here. I dart my eyes around, as if I might find an exit nearer than the door across the room.

Martin misreads my actions, probably assuming it’s simple nerves.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

I leap out of my seat. “Excuse me. I-I have to go.” I bolt from the room, not even grabbing my lunch bag or e-reader, but I’m already in the hall when I realize it and there’s no way I’m going back. I’ll get them later.

I rush to my classroom and look for a private place where no one will bother me for the last seven minutes of my break. The only area I can think of is the bathroom off our coatroom. I decide it’s my best option and hurry there, breathing a sigh of relief when I lock the door on the single stall room.

The bathroom was built for kindergarteners, so the toilet is quite low to the ground and smaller than an adult toilet. I’d probably fall off if I tried to sit on it. But I’m a little dizzy from the mini-panic attack I just had, so I give up and plant myself on the floor, leaning against a wall.

This is a new low for me. Hiding in a children’s toilet stall, sitting on the floor, near tears. My hands are shaking, and I feel nauseated. It’s been a little over six months since Teddy died and I’ve made a lot of progress in my grief journey with the help of my friends and my therapist. But Martin totally caught me off guard, and so did my reaction. I mean, Jesus, two weeks ago I just donated a thousand dollars for a dinner and dancing with Charlie, yet some guy I barely know asks me out and I lose it.

Charlie. It hits me I need my resource team that Annette taught me about right now. I mean, the ocean visualization has been a great help, but I haven’t used the resource team visualization yet. I guess now’s as good a time as any to try.

I close my eyes and imagine Trina here, squatting in front of me, holding onto my knees and making me feel protected and grounded. I breathe in through my nose for the count of four and exhale out through my mouth for the count of seven. Next, I imagine Shayna sitting next to me on the ground, my head resting on her shoulder. She’d tell me it’s okay that I freaked out in front of everyone in the lunchroom and that I’m here on the ground.

I chuckle, my tears slowing as I imagine her saying“Who gives a fuck what people think about you sitting on the bathroom floor. If anyone wants to give you shit about it, they’ll have to come through me first.”Shayna’s language gets increasingly foul when she’s angry or upset on behalf of someone she loves.

I continue my breath work, the dizziness and nausea subsiding. But I keep my eyes closed, still not ready to leave the stall. I imagine Charlie standing like a sentry at the door, knowing he’d never let anyone get by him to hurt me.

Between these three—my sister, my best friend, and my… my Charlie—I feel loved, safe, and protected. And not crazy for sitting on the bathroom floor.

I take three more focused breaths, then stand, and dust off the back of my pants. God only knows what is on these floors. After I step out of the stall, I wash my hands at the tiny sink just outside the room, and splash water on my face.

When I return to my desk, I find my lunch bag and my e-reader there, along with a note that reads:

Let me know if you need anything. Don’t worry, Martin won’t come down here to talk to you. Christine.

“Aw, she may act crass and rough around the edges, but she cares,” I mutter to myself.

Then, the bell rings and I take one more deep breath, preparing myself to smile when the lunch aide brings the twenty-four rambunctious five and six-year-olds back to my classroom.

* * *

CHARLIE

“I gotta hand it to you, when you suggested ‘the faintest lilac’ for one of the guest bedrooms, I thought I’d hate it. But I don’t.” I step back and look at the sample color painted on the wall. “I don’t hate it at all.”

“I knew it. Told you so.” Emily pokes me in the chest as if to prove her point. “And then we’ll use the dark gray for an accent wall in each guest bedroom to tie them together thematically, and they’ll both match the bathroom. Follow me and I’ll show you my idea for the Jack-n-Jill bath.” Emily’s excitement is palpable and I’m glad I asked for her input on the paint and bathroom colors for my upstairs.

When we’re in the bathroom, she explains how she thinks I should do white subway tiles with dark gray grout on the shower walls and then do the main bathroom flooring in dark gray tile. She suggests I paint the walls a light gray, with a charcoal gray or black vanity.

“But this wall here,” she spreads her arms over the large wall the vanity will go against, “this wall we’ll do in white shiplap. It’ll be gorgeous—rustic chic.” Her grin is bright and her eyes shine with excitement.

“Wow, you can really visualize this stuff, huh?”

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