Driving Me Mad (23 page)

“Want to grab lunch after my
appointment tomorrow?” I ask as I finish stuffing my things in my
bag.

“Absolutely! Just text me
when you leave and we’ll meet up somewhere.”

“Will do. See ya later.” I
wiggle my fingers in a wave before walking out of the dorm. My
phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out. “Hey, Mom,” I answer,
getting into my car.

“Hey. How’s it going? I’m not
interrupting you or anything, am I?”

“No, I’m just leaving campus
and things are good. My grades are better, and my anxiety hasn’t
been as bad lately, so I think the meds are working.”

“That’s great to hear! Are
you nervous about tomorrow?” she asks, and I pull onto the
road.

“Yeah, but I think it’ll be
okay. Trace keeps telling me it’ll be fine, and I keep reminding
myself that what anxiety I do have is completely normal.”

There’s a long silence, which
is odd.

“Mom? Are you there?”

“Yeah, Brittany, I’m just
confused.”

“About what?” What is there
to be confused about?

“This Trace is the same Trace
who was your therapist, right? I didn’t know you still talked to
him. Why are you getting a new therapist there if you could just
continue talking with Trace? I know you really liked him.”

Oh, god. Dear lord,
no
. “Mom,” I begin. “Trace isn’t my therapist and he doesn’t
work at that office anymore.”

“Then how are you talking to
him now? I assumed you were having phone appointments like you
sometimes do with Dr. Gunner.”

Shit, shit, shit! “I...” God,
how am I supposed to tell her? Stupid, stupid, stupid! I’ve been so
careful to avoid saying his name, and I’ve let it slip.

Mom has caught on that
something is going on. “Brittany, what are you hiding?” I don’t
answer fast enough and Mom figures it out. She gasps. “He’s your
boyfriend, isn’t he? Brittany, what are you thinking? What is he
thinking? You can’t date him! Isn’t he married?”

The only good thing is she
didn’t ask if he took advantage of me.

“Get in here,” she hollers to
my father. “Brittany is dating her married therapist!”

God, this is so bad. I pull
into Trace’s, and I hate that I’m about to bring this on him on top
of his bad day. First, I need to explain things to my mom. “Mom,
he’s not my therapist. Can you take a breath and let me explain
first?”

“Explain,” my dad demands.
Great. Now, I’m on speaker.

“First, Trace is divorced and
has been for a few years. After I left for college, he’d check in
with me, or I’d email him if I was having issues. I eventually gave
him my number because I didn’t want to email anymore and texting
was more convenient. By that time, he was in the middle of his
divorce. We just started talking more and more often as time went
by, he called me sometimes, and that was it. Then, he got a job
opportunity here. He took it, moved, and I ran into him. That’s
when we started dating.”

Trace opens the door to let
Lily out, and I can see his frown from over here that I’m sitting
in the car still.

“So, his divorce had
absolutely nothing to do with you?” Dad asks.

“God, no. We were still
walking the professional and friendly line at that point.”

There’s a small silence. Mom
speaks next as Trace starts walking to the car. “He’s older,” she
points out before adding, “Trace has depression?”

“Yeah.” I hold up my finger
to him, so he won’t open the door yet. “Look, Mom, he’s so good for
me. He treats me well and keeps me sane. Can we please talk about
it later? He’s had a bad day, and I’ve come to see him because I
help keep him sane, too.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “We’re
still coming up next month, and we expect to see him.”

“Brittany, just be careful
and take things slow, okay?” Dad tells me.

“I will,” I promise. “I’ll
talk to y’all later. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hang up and Trace opens the
door as soon as I pull my phone away from my ear. He pulls me into
his arms. “What’s wrong, Britt?” he whispers.

“How bad was your bad day?” I
murmur into his chest instead of answering.

“Not bad enough that I don’t
want to know what’s wrong.”

Lily starts pressing her nose
against my leg to get my attention. I sigh and pull away from Trace
to pet her. “Nothing is really wrong.” I look up at him when Lily
walks away from me to explore the yard some more. “My parents know,
but it’s okay,” I rush to say when his hand starts rising to grip
his neck. I grab it and hold it in mine. “I accidentally said your
name, so then Mom started asking questions. She thought I was
having phone appointments with you, and I had to explain to her
what was actually going on.”

“Did they question my
professionalism from when you were my client?” he interrupts.

“No, they never questioned
that. Their biggest worry was that they thought you were still
married. They’re okay with it, and they want to see you when they
visit me next month.” He takes a big breath. “I’m sorry,” I
finish.

“Don’t be. It was an
accident, but everything has turned out fine if they’re okay with
it. I was expecting a panic attack about school or something, so
you caught me off guard. Let’s go inside and eat dinner.” He pulls
me aside, so he can reach in to grab my bag and purse for me.
“Lily, house,” he calls to get her running toward the front door.
Trace shuts my car door, takes my hand, and leads me to the house.
He takes my things to his room before joining me in the
kitchen.

“Want to talk about your
day?” I ask, grabbing a slice of pizza to put on my paper towel and
sliding the fried pickles between us.

Trace shrugs. “Wanted to call
the grinch the moment I woke up.” I can’t help but smile at him
using my phrase. My smile fades once he continues with, “And it’s
worse now. I thought calling you might help. I’m not in the mood to
go anywhere though.”

“In the mood to watch me do
homework? I have some to finish up, and then we can do whatever you
want.”

“I was thinking of fixing
those Ritz crackers, peanut butter, and marshmallows, and then
watching a movie in the recliner with you. If Lily will let you sit
with me, that is.” He leans down to rub her head since she’s lying
next to his seat.

“I’ll push her off,” I
lie.

“You can share, can’t you,
girl?” He rubs behind her ear, and she yawns. “How was your day?”
Trace lifts his head, finally leaving the dog alone.

“Been worrying a lot, but
only two attacks. I’m calling it a good day.”

“Worrying about your
appointment in the morning?”

I nod. “Mostly, but not too
much. Just a normal amount.”

“It’ll be fine,” he says,
probably for the tenth time.

We finish eating in silence,
and then I wrap up my homework at the kitchen table while Trace
fixes dessert. To some, he may seem fine. He’s doing something
instead of lying down. His mood seems subdued, but otherwise okay.
However, he can’t be still. Either he’s grabbing his neck, or
tapping his fingers when his arms are crossed over his chest, or
he’s shifting his weight. His lips are in a firm, tense line. Trace
has a lot of inner turmoil going on, even though it’s not
obvious.

“Are you doing homework or
studying me?”

My eyes lift to his at the
sound of his gruff, slightly annoyed tone. “Homework,” I answer and
proceed to do it.

Trace sits down with me once
his crackers are done. I munch on a few while I work. It ends up
taking me a little longer than I thought, and Trace gives up on
waiting. He walks into the living room, and I hear the footrest of
the recliner popping up.

Twenty minutes later, I’m
finally done. Lily is actually on the couch, which surprises
me.

“Still want me to sit with
you?” I ask, just in case he’s changed his mind and would rather
have some distance.

He doesn’t reply verbally. He
moves his arm, sits up, and I take that as my cue. Once we’re
situated and he reclines, he starts rubbing my back. I think that’s
another one of his tells. It’s just as soothing for him as it is
for me, if not more.

Trace grabs the remote off
the other armrest to find something new to watch. He settles on a
marathon of
Fast ‘n Loud
.

“Thank you,” I say
quietly.

“For what?”

“For telling me you had a bad
day.”

He kisses the top of my head.
“Thanks for making it easy.”

***

A
surge of pure
fury floods my veins when I’m startled awake by a noise. I was
sleeping so well; what in the hell is waking me up? The fury
lessens dramatically when I realize the noise is Brittany vomiting
in the bathroom. Shit. I really don’t feel like getting out of bed,
but I can’t lie here while she’s in the middle of a panic attack.
The need to comfort her is greater than my own need, and today, I’m
thankful for it. It’s a sign things aren’t as bad as they felt
yesterday when I was drowning and texted her because I needed her
to come pull me up for air.

I throw the covers across the
bed and shuffle my feet until I’m in the bathroom. She’s hovered
over the toilet, one hand holding her hair, while the other rests
on her thigh. Silently, I take over the hair-holding job and start
rubbing her back. Another round of last night’s dinner gushes from
her throat.

She spits. Her voice is
gravelly and raw. “Do you know what pisses me off?” she asks,
wiping away the tears from puking. Brittany doesn’t give me a
chance to respond. “I swear on my life I’m not actually this
nervous about my appointment, but it’s like my body doesn’t give a
fuck and it’s going through the motions anyway.” She sighs, stands
upright, and flushes the toilet. I take a step back to give her
room to brush her teeth. When she’s done, she turns and leans
heavily against me. I wrap my arms around her. “Sorry for waking
you up.”

“Don’t worry about it.
Anything you want me to do for you?”

“Hold me.”

Well, that’s easy. I drop my
arms, take her hand, and lead her back to bed. It’s four in the
morning according to my alarm clock. No wonder I’m so tired. We
climb into bed, and I do exactly what she’s asked of me; I hold
her.

“I really am sorry about
waking you up, Trace,” she whispers. “Especially since you had a
bad day yesterday.”

“Don’t be. I’m okay today.”
For now, at least.

“Do you think we’ll ever
catch a break?”

“We will.” What I don’t say
is that I have a feeling things will get worse before they get
better. “Let’s get some more sleep. Think you’ll be able to?”

Her shoulders shrug. “Don’t
you want to bore me to sleep again?”

I chuckle. “Anything you want
me to talk about in particular?”

She’s quiet for a moment, and
then she asks, “What was the best decision you made last year?”

“Deciding to move here,” I
easily answer. “Even if we had just stayed friends, moving would
still be the best decision I’d made.”

She tilts her head back to
look at me. “You would be happy just being friends?”

I take her hand, interlocking
our fingers. “You were already my best friend, Britt. I’d take
whatever you wanted to give.”

Her eyebrows rise a little,
and she gets that goofy grin on her face. “I’m your best
friend?”

“Yeah.”

Her grin widens. “I love
you.” Just as soon as the words leave her mouth, she gasps. “Don’t
say a word,” she rushes to say. “I mean I mean it, but I don’t want
to hear you say it yet. I mean I don’t want you to say it because I
said it, even if you mean it. I just, oh my god. Why are you
laughing?”

“You’re cute,” I tell her, my
laughter fading away.

“This is not a time to laugh
at me,” she whines.

“What would you rather I do?
You’ve forbidden me from talking, and I do think you’re cute. This
is probably the only instance of you freaking out I can enjoy.”