Chapter 12
M y eyelids flutter open when harsh sunlight fills my bedroom again. I keep forgetting to close the damn blinds. It’s Wednesday, now. I think. It’s hard to keep track of time when you’re barely getting out of bed.
I felt this coming on as soon as Dex told me what Grady did. So, before I went down, I emailed my clients and told them I was sick, and that I’d be in touch to reschedule our meetings. I already knew what to expect. I’ve been through this before.
When Christy drove to Ann Arbor and dragged me out of bed, I felt just like this.
Not sick. But numb.
Lifeless.
I wonder how often my mom feels this way.
I think about calling her…but I haven’t asked her for emotional support once in my life, so why start now? I doubt she has any to give. If anything, she’ll call my sister, and make her come to my rescue .
But I promised Christy I wouldn’t burden her like that ever again.
Which is why I responded to her phone call yesterday morning with a text message that took me an hour to write.
I had to make it sound like bubbly and bright—which seemed impossible, given the storm cloud in my head.
Finally, I came up with: Hey! Doing well!
Super busy with work since I went viral. Promise to call soon!!
I think the exclamation marks helped sell it. Made it seem like I’m not back in that dark place again. I hope so, at least.
I sent the same message to Dex when he called on Monday night to check on me.
And I cut and pasted those words in a text to Vanessa, when she called last night to ask how my weekend was, and if I’d had another date with Charlie.
My god, that feels like a lifetime ago. It’s been four days since he slipped that sweet note under my door, and he hasn’t heard a thing from me. I’m sure he’s given up and moved on.
I hope he doesn’t think I’m some cold-hearted bitch who ghosted him.
Tears stream down my face at the thought.
Heartbroken, I close my eyes and fall back to sleep, because it’s the only way I get a break from feeling this low. This rotten. Empty.
And even though I know the goddamn blinds are still open, I can’t muster the energy to do anything about it.
I wake up on Thursday morning with the worst headache of my life. My mouth is dry, and I can’t remember the last time I had anything to drink.
A wave of anxiety rushes through me, and for the first time since Monday, I want to get out of bed. I amble to the kitchen, my muscles stiff and achy, fill a glass with tap water, and down it all in a few large gulps.
Suddenly overwhelmed by hunger, I scarf down whatever I can get my hands on, which isn’t much, since I haven’t been grocery shopping this week.
I find a banana in a bowl on the counter, and one last cup of yogurt in the fridge.
After I eat, I stand in front of the mirror in the foyer and begin to cry.
I look like hell. I haven’t showered since before I left for dinner at Grady’s. I still have the same makeup on that I fell asleep in at his place. It’s been four whole days.
I wipe my tears and walk to the bathroom, strip off the sweaty pajamas I’ve been sleeping in since Monday, and wash my hair and body.
The fact that I’m doing basic things like eating and showering gives me the slightest bit of hope that this won’t be as bad as last time. It can’t be. I don’t have Christy here to take care of me.
“I’m getting better,” I repeat as many times as it takes for me to believe it.
I step out of the shower feeling a little less sad than when I entered. And clean, at least.
After I’m dressed, I pause in the doorway of my art studio, grateful that I covered Charlie’s painting with a sheet yesterday. I kept bursting into tears every time I laid eyes on it.
I wonder if I can paint today .
Slowly, as if drawn by some magnetic force, I walk to my palette on the other side of the room and start mixing colors.
An hour later, I’m looking at a pair of bright blue eyes.
But I’m not sure if they’re Hunter’s or Grady’s.
On Friday morning, I get a text from Vanessa: Hey lady, I miss you! You’re coming to class this afternoon, right?
Damnit. I forgot all about my painting class. Am I in any shape to go?
I’m certainly feeling better than I was a few days ago. The hours I spent in my little art studio helped ground me, for sure. But the ground I’m standing on is still shaky. I was hoping to spend another couple of days in this bubble, alone, before I ventured out into the world again.
I text Vanessa back: I miss you too! Not feeling well today, so I’m going to stay home. Next week for sure.
She doesn’t reply.
Three hours later, I’m in my art studio when I get a call from the doorman.
“Vanessa’s here to see you,” he practically sings. “She’s on her way upstairs. I hope you don’t mind I let her in—I remember her from last week. Real nice gal.”
“Oh! Um…that’s great!” I say, panic flooding me.
I don’t want her to see me this way.
I don’t have the energy to be bright and bubbly. How the hell will I get through this visit ?
The sound of her knocking startles me. I comb my fingers through my hair, then open the door. Here goes nothing.
“Hey! Shouldn’t you be at work?” I ask, a smile blooming on my face the moment I see her. It’s only now that I realize how lonely I’ve been this week. Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away.
“I’m taking a long lunch break,” she says with a shrug as she bends down to pick up a brown paper bag. “And I brought my Haitian remedies.”
She walks past me to my kitchen island, where she sets down the bag and starts pulling things out of it: fresh herbs, jars of spices, lots of fruits and vegetables, and raw honey.
I tear up again. “What’s all this?”
She grins. “I’m going to make you Tati Marie’s tea recipe. And a smoothie that has enough Vitamin C for an army. You’ll feel better in no time.”
“This is so nice of you, Vanessa. You didn’t have to…” I begin to say before I get choked up. I’ve never had a female friend take care of me like this. Only my sister.
“Oh, hush,” she says, playfully. “Do you like ginger?”
I nod. “I love it.”
“Good, because you’re about to get a heavy dose of it,” she says with a wink.
Vanessa fills a pot with water, adds grated ginger, cinnamon sticks, star anise, and mint, then brings it to a boil.
Afterward, she turns down the heat and, while the tea simmers, she makes my smoothie.
I sit at the kitchen island watching her slice mangoes as we catch up.
I take the lead in asking her questions because I’m so terrified that, the more I talk, the more she’ll see right through me.
She’s a trained therapist—and here I am at what I’m hoping is the tail end of a brief depressive episode.
Please let it be brief. Please don’t let this be like last time.
“Hey, you okay?” Vanessa asks, her forehead creased.
Now I see that she put my smoothie on the island in front of me. I must have spaced out for a minute.
I swallow a sob, which strains my throat. I fight my tears, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this act.
I am not okay.
I am not okay.
I am not okay.
I am not okay.
I haven’t been for a long time. Not since November 9, 2002, when Hunter called and told me?—
“Jenna?”
I look into Vanessa’s concerned eyes. She’s sitting next to me now, at the island. I take my gaze down to my lap, where I see my hand in hers. A tear falls onto our intertwined fingers.
My shoulders slump from the tension I’m holding in my body. I’m so damn tired of fighting, I want to crumple into a heap on the floor.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I say out loud, although I’m not sure I meant to.
“Do what?” Vanessa asks, tenderly squeezing my hand.
I look up at her again. “I can’t keep pretending I’m fine.”
Eventually, I tell her my story.
It’s all out of order, though. I start with what Grady did to me—but for that to make sense, I have to tell her about my relationship with Dex.
And for her to understand why Grady taking a picture of me sleeping was especially triggering, I have to go back and tell her that my ex, Alex, did the same thing to me in grad school.
Except that I was naked in that picture, with only a bedsheet covering me from the waist down.
She already knows what happened with Scott, so I don’t have to revisit that mess. But as I watch her process my past, I can tell she knows there are pieces missing from the puzzle.
Finally, after two cups of tea and a lot of prodding, I tell Vanessa about Hunter.
I cry, and cry, and cry. And while I’m crying, she holds me.
Could this be the reason she came into my life? A therapist with a heart of gold who cares about me? Who listens without judgment and wipes away my tears?
All I know is, I feel a huge weight lift after being honest with Vanessa. But when I tell her that, she makes it clear that this is only the beginning of my path to healing.
“I’m going to print out a depression assessment, so I can help you figure out where to go from here.”
After I answer each question, I give her the assessment to score. When she’s satisfied that I’m not a danger to myself, her shoulders relax, and relief washes over her face.
But she insists I see a therapist.
“You need a professional to help you process what happened with Hunter,” she says, gently .
It’s the same advice my sister gave me years ago. I wish I had listened. This is only the first time since then that I’ve been so depressed I couldn’t get out of bed—but what if it’s not the last?
And even though I’ve been functional in between these episodes, that doesn’t mean I’ve been happy.
Let’s face it: what Christy said to me on the phone the other week is true. I’m miserable living without love in my life. I do want a relationship.
I want a relationship with Charlie.
But for that to happen, I have to stop punishing myself. I guess I learned the hard way that my sister was right. If I don’t process my trauma, it will keep coming back to haunt me.
I don’t doubt that a therapist can guide me through this. I’ve seen the benefits of therapy with my own eyes. The way Dex’s life changed after he finally reached out for help isn’t lost on me. But he’s such a good person. He deserved to feel better.
I wasn’t sure I did—until today.
When I opened up to Vanessa, I told her more about my relationship with Hunter than I’ve ever told anyone, including my own sister. And she didn’t judge me.
That’s why, when Vanessa mentions therapy, I don’t object this time.
“As much as I wish I could help you myself,” she continues, “there’s only so much I can do from a professional standpoint, because we’re friends. But I’m going to be here for you, as a friend, every step of the way.”
I reach for a tissue and dab my eyes. “That’s so sweet of you to say. But I don’t want to burden you. I mean, we only met a couple of weeks ago.”
Vanessa shakes her head with a tender smile. “But it doesn’t feel that way.”
I grin through tears. “No, it doesn’t.”
“It’s not often you meet someone and feel like you’ve known them forever, right? That’s special,” she says. “You have to lean into it.”
I nod, thinking of Charlie.
Before she leaves, Vanessa taps all her resources to find me a therapist, and even books my first appointment for Monday.
“I would offer to stay, or bring you back to my place for the weekend, but I’m leaving early tomorrow morning to visit my parents in Miami,” she says before biting her lip nervously. “I’ll check in while I’m there, but please promise you’ll call or text if you need anything.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say with a genuine smile.
Because this time, I truly believe it.
The next morning, I get out of bed as soon as my eyes open. I shower, get dressed, and eat breakfast. And then I leave my apartment for the first time in six days, which is a huge feat, even though I’m not going very far.
I stand outside Charlie’s apartment for several seconds, thinking about what I want to say to him. But right as I lift my hand to knock on the door, he opens it.
When his gaze meets mine, his dark brown eyes widen with a mixture of joy and relief. “Would you believe it if I told you I was on my way to knock on your door?”
They’re the same words I said to him a week ago, when he invited me to the art museum.
I tear up instantly. “Really?”
He nods, looking down at his shoes, then up at me again. “After we kissed, I could tell you were wrestling with something, so I wanted to give you space. But, it’s been a while, so…I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I wipe my eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop by sooner. Or call after you left that sweet note under my door. I wanted to. I meant to thank you a lot earlier, but…”
Normally I would lie. I’d fight my tears, put on a bright, bubbly smile, and say something came up at work. And, even though I’m sick and tired of burying my feelings, I have to admit it’s tempting. Being vulnerable is scary. But I’ll never get to where I want to be if I don’t try.
“Something happened this week that, um, triggered me. It opened an old wound from my past and…that’s just the tip of the iceberg, Charlie,” I say with a wry laugh.
“The truth is…I’m a bit of a mess. When it comes to love, especially.
For years, I’ve been telling myself that I didn’t want a relationship.
And I believed it…until I met you,” I confess to the man who’s had an inexplicable hold on my heart since I ran into him by the elevator.
The pink in Charlie’s cheeks deepens, his gaze steady on mine as he listens.
“But I can’t move forward with you until I face my issues. So I’m starting therapy on Monday. I don’t know how long this will take. And I certainly wouldn’t ask you to wait for me?—”
“No…of course not,” he agrees.
I nod, my lip quivering. Even though I know I’m doing the right thing, I’m devastated. It’s all I can do not to sob.
“But the thing is, Jenna…you don’t have to ask,” Charlie continues, his eyes gleaming.
“What?” I stammer, confused.
“I don’t care how long it takes,” he says as he pulls me close. “I’m in.”