Page 46 of Pick Me
Oh, wow. I sucked in a breath and tried not to look as stunned as I felt, but in my whole life, I wasn’t sure anyone had ever said anything like that to me. Taken me seriously that way.
I had one older brother who was competent and in charge and another older brother who was the sweetest human to ever exist. They were both taller and stronger and funnier than me. People counted on them for things all the time.
My only gift was being more tech savvy than most people, and on an island with terrible internet and spotty cell service, that hadn’t been particularly useful. It had made me stick out rather than fit in. Somehow here in the Hollow, where the cows outnumbered the humans—a terrifying reality I pondered almost every day—I felt more useful than I ever had at home.
“Don’t thank me. I’ve never been so popular in my whole life as I am with Aiden,” I said, which was true. “Thanks for letting your kid chill with me.”
“I heard you two are winning the science fair with some robotic dog-treat dispenser.”
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss the specifics while the patents are still pending, Webb,” I said archly.
He laughed.
“Hey,” I added impulsively, “if you ever need to talk—”
“Thanks, Gage, but I’ll be okay. If you need an impossible task, try getting my brother to talk. Good luck with that.”
But it turned out I didn’t need luck at all, because when I got back to the apartment, Knox was sitting on the sofa, deep in a bottle of vodka and ready to chat up a storm.
“See this?” he called in lieu of greeting before I’d even closed the door. “This bottle was a gift from Bormon Klein Jacovic. A get-well present. Because what every person with mental health issues needs is top-shelf vodka, right?” He snickered. “Grab another glass from the kitchen, Goodman, and let’s toast to oblivious coworkers and to mothers who kidnap their own children.”
Wow. Okay, then.Not just chatty but drunk-chatty.
And unhappily drunk-chatty, at that.
I approached with caution.
“None for me, thanks. Still dehydrated from last week, remember?” But I took a seat on the far side of the couch and hitched up my knee to face him. “I guess this answers the question of where you disappeared to, huh? Webb was worried. And what do you mean ‘mental health issues’?” I added belatedly.
“No one told you?” Knox’s green eyes were a little unfocused but not totally glassy. Buzzed, then, not drunk. “I get panic attacks. The stress of my life in Boston was too much for me, or so my doctor says.” He rolled his eyes. “But all is well with me now that I ran home to Vermont, so Webb doesn’t need to worry.All is well with me. You know, I’ve repeated that phrase often enough, it almost felt true? At least, it did this morning.”
“Okay,” I said lightly, like my heart wasn’t squeezing at the pain in his voice. “I guess that explains the health issues Webb mentioned when I first got here. He never specified.”
Knox snorted. “He didn’t specify, and you didn’t push for an explanation? That’s not like you.”
I got that he meant the comment mockingly, but he was right. It wasn’t like me. “I didn’t really think about it.” I frowned. “I guess maybe because you seemed so healthy. My bad. Is there something I can do to help? My college roommate took meds for his anxiety, and it really made ahugedifference. Meditation helped, too. And therapy. And I know it’s almost a joke between us, but yoga—”
He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, no yoga for me, thanks. My therapist suggested reciting mantras, and I do that sometimes. I wanted medication, but he said I’d need to be monitored for side effects and doweeklytalk therapy, too.” Knox wrinkled his nose, and his bright green eyes were almost vulnerable as they met mine.
“And you… don’t want to do weekly therapy?”
“It seems…” He hesitated. “Excessive.”
“Does it, though?” I peered at him. “Therapy is a perfectly normal, healthy,responsiblething to do. There’s zero shame in needing mental health—”
“Yes, I know,” Knox said in a voice that said he absolutely did not know, or maybe that he believed it was true forotherpeople but not for himself.
I sighed. “You think it makes you weak to talk about your feelings?”
“No! Not at all. I just…” His mouth firmed and he shook his head once. “It does no good to dwell on negative shit. You’ve gotta push through. Keep looking forward. Remember people are counting on you. You know?” He sipped his drink. “That’s a life lesson for you, Goodman. Free of charge.”
“Wow.” I leaned my head on my hand. “That advice is worth about as much as I paid for it.”
Knox didn’t seem to notice my sarcasm. “So, I turned down the meds, and Dr. Travers said another option was to remove the stressors from my life temporarily.” He spread his hands wide, like it was plain to see which option he’d chosen. “And lo and behold, I haven’t had a full-on attack in weeks.” He curled in on himself again and stared morosely down at the glass in his hand. “Until tonight.”
“Yeah?” I tilted my cheek against the back of the sofa and watched him. The golden glow of lamplight caressed his beard the way I wished I could. “You should’ve said something.Allof us were worried about Aiden, Knox.”
He shook his head. “I was holding it together fine until Aiden came home. But then…” He swirled the liquor in his glass but didn’t continue.
