“Say it, don’t spray it,” Emma mutters, wiping off her book. “You know, your family has a point. You have been totally on edge the last few months and you’re getting…”
“I know. Worse. I’m worse and I’m horrible and aggressive.”
“I was going to say you seem really down and depressed and like you need to talk to someone.” She shrugs, then turns her back to me, sticking her nose back into her book. “But hey, what do I know? I’m just a physical therapist trying to read a book on the porch of the grumpiest dude in Sweetkiss Creek.”
A sound at the door behind me pulls my attention. Spinning around, I find my mother and Levi standing in its frame, both with arms crossed.
“You’re out of control,” Levi says in the calmest voice I’ve heard in months.
“Out of control?” I repeat, trying to keep my eyes from bugging out of their sockets as I jab a finger in the direction of where the dog was squatting, then swing it toward Bex’s house. “Didn’t you see that dog? How would she like it if I came over to her yard and took a dump?”
“Oh, Austin,” Levi groans, rubbing his forehead like he’s suddenly got a migraine.
“I know. She wouldn’t,” I mutter, but the words sound hollow even to me.
“Don’t act like I’m on your side, ‘cause I’m not,” Levi clarifies, and I can’t tell if it’s more for my benefit or his. Not that it matters. Nothing does these days.
“Fine. Totally okay by me.” But even as the words leave my mouth, I feel a flicker of doubt. Maybe Levi’s right. Maybe I am losing it. But, please. Like I’m going to admit that.
Mom flips her hair over her shoulder and rolls her eyes, the ultimate gesture of motherly disappointment. “I should never have let you move out.”
Her words hit harder than they should. I’m suddenly aware of how quiet the room has gotten, the tension hanging in the air like a thick fog. I want to snap back, to remind them both that I’m still me, but I don’t have it in me.
I know I’m on a rocky path, that I’m out of control and have been. Truth is, I’ve gotten so used to feeling bad that I’m not sure I know how to feel good or like there’s anything to look forward to anymore. I don’t know when it happened nor how, I just know it has. And it sucks.
Instead, I stare at the door, thinking about Bex and that infuriating dog. Thinking about how everything is spiraling out of control, and how I’ve never felt so lost. But mostly, I’m thinking about everyone else’s expectations. I grit my teeth, feeling the weight pressing down on me like a stubborn fog.
“Don’t worry about me,” I say, forcing a smirk that feels more like a grimace. “I’m just getting started.”
But even as the words hang in the air, I know they’re a lie.
As my brilliant declaration hangs in the air, I know it’s as believable as a cat claiming it’s “just looking” at the goldfish. The real question now is: How on earth am I going to untangle this ridiculous mess I’ve made without turning the world around me into a full-blown soap opera?
FIVE
Bex
Ilove fall. I love the crunch of leaves under my feet, the feel of the air, and the appearance of warm colors like burnt orange and rust in my wardrobe. It’s the best time of year. It’s not so cold that I need to bundle up, but there is enough chill to the air that a little heat feels good. Cozy sweaters are worn in abundance, fluffy blankets are pulled out of closets and brought out for a season or two, and smells like pumpkin spice and chai fill the air. At least at my house they do.
From my perch on the sofa, I stare at the fireplace in the corner and make a silent agreement with myself to light it this week if the weather stays like this.
I’d woken up this morning in a state of panic with heart palpitations banging their way through my chest and leg cramps so intense I’d had to slam my foot against the wall and press it firmly and with so much force that it felt like I was trying to put my leg through it. It’s the only way I can get relief when the cramps take control.
Things about Graves’ disease I wasn’t prepared for: all of it.
Sighing, I close my eyes and rest my head against the back of the couch. I could have stayed in bed for another few hours, but I’ve got too much to do. Graves is funny. It robs and depletes you of your energy, but you need to keep going. It’s also been robbing me of my hair lately, a shock I had last night when I was in the shower. I don’t notice it often, but every now and then when I seem to slip out of what my doctors have noted as remission, I’ll suddenly get the symptoms again. When it happens, I just go back to what I know. Taking some pills and working really hard to keep the stress out of my daily routine.
I swipe my prescription bottle from its place on the coffee table and pop one in my mouth. I don’t even need water, I’m so used to this now.
I make a beeline for the thermostat on the wall, turning the heater on. As I swallow my pill, my eye is drawn to the yard, which is my next stop. The grass needs to be mowed and I should do some weeding today, but something in the field pulls my gaze toward Austin’s house. I’m immediately reminded of who he is now and what I’m dealing with, the hitch in my stomach making me irritated with him for his actions the other day all over again.
“And to think I was going to take that job,” I mutter as I grab my gardening gloves and head out into the backyard to get some work done. I’m glad that I told Georgie I needed to think about it. I can’t fathom working with that man.
Once I’m outside, I pop my earbuds in and make sure I’ve got a good playlist pulled up. The first song is Djo’s “End of Beginning,” my latest favorite tune for those melancholy moments when my internal drama takes center stage.
I get busy with the weeding I have to do, but I can’t help glaring across the field at Austin’s. Former pro football player who has taken to hiding away in his house like an angry troll. But of course, as soon as I think about this, I remind myself what he’s been through—that it can’t be easy, especially seeing how it’s football season and the NFL is being promoted everywhere you look.
Then there’s the issue of the hedge. My hedge. I know I should probably let this one go, but it’s hard when I know I’m in the right. I can see myself sitting here, in the backyard, looking out over the pond and to the view of the rolling fields beyond. Future Bex likes this for me.
