Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
S HANNON
Shyley and I aren’t just sisters. We’re best friends, too. But that doesn’t stop us from fighting over our favorite spot on Mom and Dad’s sectional couch—the chaise lounge part—every time we’re here together. When she walks right past it and takes another spot, I’m immediately suspicious.
“What’s going on here? Is this some sort of an intervention?” I blurt out.
Mom throws a quick glance over at Shyley, who gives Mom a subtle nod. Oh, my God, it is an intervention.
“Shan, we’re worried about you,” Shyley says. Her voice is hushed and drips with concern.
My eyes dart between her and my mom. “I’m fine. I’m just tired. It’s been a busy week.”
“How is the new job, honey?” Mom’s voice is calm, but there’s an undertone of unease.
“It’s fine. Listen, Mom, if it’s too much for you and Dad to help with Chase, I get it. I can?—”
“It’s not too much at all. That’s not what this is about.”
Mom scoots closer to me, and Shyley stands, walks over, and sits on the chaise near my feet. I look up at her and her mouth is downturned in a frown.
“Shannon, I came to Mom because I needed help and didn’t know how to talk to you about this, but... I’m worried you’re depressed.”
I scoot back and try to burrow into the cushions of my seat. I don’t want to talk about this right now because the sudden pressure behind my eyes tells me I’m seconds away from crying.
“I’m okay,” I manage to squeak out. “If this is about the divorce, that doesn’t mean I’m depressed.”
“It’s not about the divorce,” Mom says. She looks down at her coffee cup momentarily, then meets my gaze again. “After I had Shyley, I was depressed. It’s very normal. It’s called postpartum depression. The thing is, mine didn’t go away. I had to see someone about it and take medication.”
I’m shocked. Mom, depressed? I can’t imagine my vibrant, spunky mother as anything but full of life, love, and energy. I glance up at her, and she’s watching me closely.
“What?” I practically whisper. “I’ve had a lot going on.”
“Are you also sad? Maybe you feel like you don’t want to do anything, don’t have the energy to? Things you used to love don’t bring nearly as much joy?” Mom’s voice is soft and compassionate.
Well, this is wonderful. Now I’m full-on crying. Like weeping.
I use the back of my hand to swipe at the tears now pouring down my cheeks. I hate that she hit the nail right on the head with how I’ve felt. It takes me a few moments to pull myself together enough so I can talk.
“I-I’m trying to make it better.” I can barely get the words out.
Mom leans forward, tucks my hair behind my ear, and takes hold of my hand.
“Oh, honey, you can’t always make it better on your own. Sometimes, you might need a little help.”
Shyley wraps her hand around my ankle, letting me know she’s here. “You’ve been sad for a long time, Shan. It started after you had Chase, and I thought it would get better, but it hasn’t. You’re so hard on yourself, always putting yourself down. You don’t see yourself like the rest of us do.”
I roll my eyes at her assessment. “I’m pretty sure I see myself exactly how I am.”
Mom scoots closer to me and lifts her arm, the universal signal to nestle into her side, and I don’t hesitate. Before I know it, Shyley squirms between my other side and the couch cushions and snuggles up next to me, resting her head on my shoulder.
We stayed like this for I don’t know how long.
“Baby? Will you do something for me?” Mom asks. “Will you please make an appointment with your doctor and see what they think?”
I don’t say anything at first. But when my sister, my best friend, whimpers out, “Please, Shan?” I lose it.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll try.”