Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2) (32 page)

Throwing up interrupts my answer. Taking deep breaths, I say, “Why? If it’s a virus, there’s not a lot they can do.” Not to mention that it’s not a virus. It’s anxiety.

“Call in sick. Stay home and relax.”

“I’ll be fine. Oh, god.” Here it comes again. Last night’s dinner gushes out of my mouth rapidly and back to back, making it hard to breathe. When is this going to end?

A few minutes later, apparently. When I slowly stand, Trace curses under his breath.

“What?” I ask.

He positions me in front of the mirror. There are dozens of little red dots on my eyelids and around my eyes. “It’s probably popped blood vessels from all the pressure around your eyes when you’re throwing up.”

Great. Good thing I own some concealer, or I might actually consider not going into work. With a sigh, I brush my teeth. Trace stands behind me with worried eyes. Good. Maybe he’ll tell me what the hell he’s up to and end this. Then again, he thinks I’m sick.

“I want you to stay home from work and rest.”

I rinse my mouth. “I’ll be fine.”

“Britt, you’re white as a sheet. You have to feel like shit. Why do you want to go in to work anyway?”

“Because I know how I feel and I’ll be fine.”

He frowns. I walk out of the bathroom and climb back into bed. Trace follows after me. He dozes off, but I stay awake, feeling too bad to sleep. Maybe I am sick. When Trace wakes up to see I haven’t gotten any sleep, he hands my phone to me.

“Call it in.”

I narrow my eyes, not enjoying how he’s giving me orders, but I call in sick because I feel like shit. Once Trace has gotten ready for work, he leaves and returns moments later with a bottle of water and a pack of saltine crackers. He leans over to give me a kiss on the forehead.

“I’ll come check on you at lunch.”

Oh, so I have to be sick for him to have lunch with me? Go figure. “Thanks,” I mumble anyway.

He gives me another kiss on the forehead and tells me to feel better before leaving. I’ve never taken a day off work. It feels weird. I feel bad about it once noon comes around and I feel just fine, just like I knew I would. Trace comes home with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and ginger ale.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he hands me my lunch.

“Fine. I feel like I should go into work.”

Trace shakes his head. “Might as well enjoy the rest of your day off. Besides, you don’t want to go in and feel bad again.”

Maybe he has a point.

“Thanks for the soup; it’s good.”

“Welcome.”

We’re quiet while we eat and watch the midday news. I wish we were talking instead. I guess it’s good news that my gut isn’t screaming that something wrong or bad is going on, but it’s still bothering me tremendously that
something
is going on that I don’t know about.

Hopefully, he’ll tell me soon.

W
hen I wake up hearing Brittany vomiting the next morning, she insists on going to work. That’s when I realize she probably wasn’t ever sick. She’s having panic attacks again. But she isn’t saying that. It has to be because of me. She’s pulled away from me and I need to correct that.

I come straight home after work to cook dinner. The look of surprise is still on Brittany’s face when she walks in the door to find food prepared and ready on the table.

“Hey. How was your day?” I ask as we sit down at the table.

“Work was good. My psychiatrist increased my dosage when I went to see him today. He’s hoping it’ll help balance me back out. He doesn’t want it to get worse and stir up my depression.”

“Any idea of what’s stressing you out?”

She shrugs. “No. Everything’s been normal.”

That’s a lie and we both know it. I let it go, though. After dinner, Brittany doesn’t feel like joining Lily and me on our walk, so I go alone. She’s napping in my recliner when I return. Lily jumps up to lie with her, startling her awake.

“Let me lie with you.”

She gets up to let me sit down before settling onto my lap. I recline us back.

“Are you getting excited about the trip to Italy?” she asks.

“Yeah.” The trip will be the first week of November, and since it’s already September, it’s not too far away. “Are you?”

“Yeah. It’ll be nice to get away before the holidays.”

It will be good timing. We don’t say much more as we relax and watch TV. Brittany falls back to sleep, not waking even when her phone rings with a call from her mother. I hold her and hope that between me taking my lunch to come bring her food yesterday and spending tonight with her, it eases her mind. But it might not, especially when I’m going right back to what I’ve been doing soon.

The next day, I’m running a little late, but I still beat Brittany home. I’m cooking dinner when the front door slams. Brittany doesn’t even glance my way. She looks pissed. She yanks open the refrigerator door, grabs a Sun Drop, and slams the door.

“What’s wrong?” I ask before she can walk out of the door.

She whirls to around to face me. “If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.”

Uh-oh. “You’re mad at me?”

“Yes!” she shouts. “God, you’re a complete idiot lately.”

“What did I do?”

“I asked you this morning to meet me for lunch. You said you would. Guess who had lunch by herself?” she yells.

Shit. I completely forgot she asked me. I slept in and was running late this morning. She asked while I was busy looking for a matching pair of socks. “Sorry, Britt. We had a meeting at lunch at the office.”

“Whatever. I don’t care. I’m going out with Melissa for dinner.”

“I’m cooking,” I point out.

“Don’t give a damn.” She heads toward the bedroom, and a few minutes later, she walks right out of the door, slamming it closed.

Fucking hell. If things keep up, I’m going to ruin our relationship. I’m not doing a very good job balancing things. It wasn’t until this week that I realized I wasn’t. Brittany’s frustration with me is starting to show, not that I can blame her. I wonder how much longer it’ll be until she explodes or confronts me.

Since she’s gone for the night, I finish dinner, eat, walk Lily, and leave. Might as well take advantage of her being gone and pissed at me.

When I make it back to the house, Brittany is still gone. Is it bad to hope that Melissa calms her down and convinces her not to be mad at me anymore? I wish there was a way to keep doing what I’m doing without messing with her insecurities, pissing her off, and making this worse between us. There doesn’t seem to be a way to do that since I can’t take time off of work to do it. I just didn’t realize at first what I was getting myself into and now, I’m too far in to stop if even I wanted to.

Brittany comes home around nine. She seems worse than when she left.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Just fine,” she answers. Yet she’s squeezing the hell out of her wrist. She seems antsy. What in the hell happened while she was gone with Melissa?

“Dinner with Melissa was fun?”

“Yeah.”

She still hasn’t looked at me.

Abruptly, she stands with her purse. “I need a hot shower; it’s been a long day.” Brittany rushes to our bedroom.

Now she’s the one acting weird and suspicious.

Wait.

Does she think I’m acting suspiciously? What reasons has her mind come up with for my behavior? Is she thinking the worst of me or giving me the benefit of the doubt? I can’t ask because if I bring up the topic, she’s going to want answers. Answers I can’t give her. I can’t tell her what’s going on. I just can’t. It would ruin everything.

Now is not the time to ease either of our consciences. All I can do is hope we both hang in there for the time being.

“J
ust so you know,” Melissa starts, “I hate periods. Usually, mine are pretty tame, but this one is giving me a run for my money. I’m bloated with bad headaches and cramps. Plus, my boobs hurt! So over it. Tell me yours are just as bad, so I don’t have a reason to hate you.”

I laugh. “This is not good dinner conversation, just so you know.” I think about my last period and realize it’s been a while. Oh, god. I’ve missed my period. With everything going on with Trace, I haven’t even thought about it. It didn’t occur to me that I missed it. Maybe it’s just stress.

“Are you okay? You’re pale.”

“Yeah, I just don’t feel well. If it makes you feel better, my periods are terrible and my boobs hurt, too.” The latter is the truth. They’ve been more sore than usual. Sometimes with my period, they hurt anyway, so maybe that’s a good sign.

But pregnant women have achy boobs, too, right?

Dear lord.

What if my vomiting isn’t just my anxiety?

What if it’s morning sickness? When does that usually start? Damn it! Why don’t I know this?

I need to find out. Then I’ll freak out if needed.

I try to stay focused during dinner, but it’s hard. Especially when I go to the bathroom and wonder if I’m going more than usual. Dinner with Melissa ends at seven. She heads home to her “wonderful husband” while I go to the drug store. Is this really happening?

I’m sitting in my car in front of the drug store, trying to get the courage to go inside and buy a pregnancy test. How accurate are those things anyway? Maybe I should wait and go see my doctor. Let her tell me.