Page 89 of A Little Crush
“Tell me where you’ve been the last ten years,” I prod, determined to reconcile the woman across from me with the sidekick I grew up with while also hoping the innocent line of questioning will help make her feel comfortable.
She raises a shoulder. “I don’t know? Hanging out. Earning my degree. Staying as far away from Lockwood Heights as possible.”
“I noticed the last one.” I snort. “At least you’re honest.”
Brow quirked, she licks her pouty lips. “I’m always honest.”
“Up front, then,” I clarify. “Usually you’re one to beat around the bush.”
She caves instantly. “Good point.”
“What made you choose child psychology?” I ask.
“Oof. Let’s see.” She hesitates, playing with the straw in her glass. “After everything with Archer and Mav, it almost felt like a no-brainer. I spent years in therapy trying to understand the way my brain works and how to handle my compulsions and my anxiety and…the list goes on and on and on because it’s not something that can be fixed, you know?” Her smile turns rueful. “And then one day, I realized I could take all of the time I’ve spent in therapy and all of the things I’ve learned to help others with it. Add in how old I was when Archer died, and how different my experience was compared to Mav’s or Lia’s or yours, and I’m hoping it’ll help me relate to kids who have been through trauma in a way that would be beneficial to them. And then, like I said, add in my OCD and anxiety and…I guess it just made sense.”
My nod is slow as I process her response. “How are your OCD and anxiety?”
“As good as they can be,” she answers. “Neither are ever going away, which I know, but overall, I think I have a pretty good handle on them. Except when I’m lying naked on the bathroom tile with a throbbing shoulder while refusing to go to the hospital, but you know. Pretty good.”
I fight my amusement as I take a sip of my drink. The way she owns her shit even when it’s hard or could make others feel uncomfortable. I envy it. “I think you’re doing great, Rore.”
“Thanks.” She takes a deep breath, “Since we’re broaching the awkward subjects with the whole,how’s your OCD and anxiety going, I have one.”
“Hit me.”
“How’s your unrealistic desire to be perfect?”
A burst of laughter escapes me, and I reach for my water, chugging down half of it before setting it on the linen-covered table. “Still thriving, I guess.”
“And I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” she quips. “But for real.” Her expression turns cautious. “You doing okay?”
“Is my friend asking or my potential therapist?”
Her mouth twitches. “I saw you crumble from the pressure after the first game of the season. I just want to be sure you’re taking care of yourself.”
Ever the caregiver. I shouldn’t expect anything less.
Swirling the ice in my glass, I answer, “I’m doing my best.”
“Of course you are. You never give anything but your best.” She reaches beneath the table and touches my knee. “And that’s the scary part.”
My lungs expand as I fight to hold her gaze. “Trying my best is scary?”
“No, but running at full-throttle without ever taking a second to rest is a recipe for burnout. Do you know what that means?”
Despite feeling like I’m being scolded by my mom, I appreciate her candor and how she feels safe enough to tell me something I don’t want to hear. Leaning forward, I lace my fingers in front of me. “What does it mean, Rore?”
“It means your best stops being your best, and there’s a reason greatness is treasured instead of tossed around like little pieces of candy.”
“Pretty sure you’re jumping around with the metaphors,” I note.
“Pretty sure I’m allowed since it’s my degree and all.”
I snort. “Cop-out.”
“A hundred percent,” she agrees with a grin. “What do you like to do for fun?”
“Fun?”
