58. Lyla
Chapter fifty-eight
Lyla
“I’m sorry.” I laughed sarcastically into my phone and stared at my computer screen. “The next appointment you have is in June ?”
“That’s right, ma’am, yes.” The healthcare worker on the other line was already annoying me with her obnoxious availability offers, but now Sylvia insulted my age by throwing in a “ma’am.”
My mouth hung open as I processed my options, although it didn’t seem like I had any. I guess I could book the appointment in June and just take notes on all of the shit that happened in my life? Provide a bulleted list of emotions and situations where I felt like my heart was going to hammer out of my chest.
I didn’t know what to say, so I sighed and admitted defeat. “I guess I’ll take the appointment in June then.”
“Great! Your appointment should appear on your account in two minutes. Please make sure you complete the intake paperwork at least two weeks before your appointment.” Sylvia sounded like she had just helped me solve an outstanding case, but her excitement made me feel like I had taken ten steps backward.
I was trying to move forward, to get on track to take care of things that were happening in my head that I couldn’t explain. Our entire healthcare system preached about mental health, yet when I tried to make an appointment with a therapist, I had to wait three months before I could see one. I understood why some people never followed through with therapy. It took a lot of energy to make the phone call and figure out who to talk to. Then, when I finally spoke to someone, they told me my problems could hold off for two months.
It was Sunday afternoon, and classes would resume bright and early tomorrow morning. Charlie was on her way back to campus, and Michelle and Keira were doing some sort of volunteer event in downtown Bowling Green. The apartment was quiet, and it was wild to think it would no longer be home after graduation. All of the parties and pregaming would be a memory. The nights around the breakfast counter with margaritas and tacos would be a thing of the past as we all followed our paths. I spent so much time wishing for my next chapter, but I never considered that I might miss being in this one.
Just as I was getting a little too sentimental for my taste, Deacon walked through the front door. He wore a compression shirt, gray sweatpants, and a backward hat. It was a delicious combination, and I wanted to devour every inch of him.
“Hey, baby.” He smiled, plopping down on the couch next to me. His eyes narrowed as he searched my face. “What’s the matter?”
I closed my computer. “Nothing. How was the gym?”
“Good, but what’s the matter? You look like Keira just asked you to clean the apartment before everyone gets back.”
I must’ve looked pretty pathetic. “Remember how I said I wanted to look into therapy? ”
“Let me shower real quick, and I can help you.” He sat up, and I reached for his hand, pulling him back onto the couch before he could get away.
“I tried ,” I whined. “They weren’t able to get me in until June. I just don’t understand. In the movies, people get into therapy the next day—”
Deacon sucked his teeth. “Nah, that’s bullshit.”
I sank further into the couch, defeated by Deacon’s blunt response. “Oh.”
“No, baby.” Deacon chuckled softly and prompted me to look at him. “That’s bullshit that they couldn’t get you in until June. Can you call the number again for me, please?”
I followed his instructions and handed him the phone. It was attractive watching him take charge like this. He usually saved his assertive tone for the bedroom.
“Yes, hi, my girlfriend, Lyla Brooks, called earlier today and tried to schedule a therapy appointment—” Deacon rested his arm above me on the couch. “No, she’s sitting next to me, but I had a question regarding her appointment . . . yes, I’ll hold.” Deacon raised his eyebrows eagerly, digging his finger into my side. I smothered my laugh when he started talking again. “Yes, that’s correct. Her birthday is August 7th.”
There was a soft pang in my chest as my birthday left his mouth. It saddened me to think about a date when Deacon wouldn’t be next to me. His birthday was a month before mine, and I wouldn’t be there to celebrate his either. I wondered what he and Cassie would do to—
“Yes, I understand that,” Deacon offered in a charming tone. “However, I wanted to ask what third-party companies you’d recommend or even contract through for someone who wants to get an appointment this month. ”
He leaned in closer and turned on the speakerphone. It was Sylvia again, only this time she sang like a canary, eager to answer Deacon’s question. She listed three companies with offices around Ohio, providing virtual and in-person options to accommodate different needs. I jotted down the information in a Google Document while Deacon said goodbye to his new phone-a-friend bestie.
After he hung up with Sylvia, I stared at the three options on the screen. “How did you know to ask that?”
“Dominic,” Deacon answered proudly. “After he passed away, I called my doctor and requested more information about therapy services. He explained that the general offices might take a while, and when I told him why I was calling, he gave me more information. Doctors aren’t technically supposed to mention third-party clinics unless they’re asked.”
I leaned into his chest and sighed. “Do you still go to therapy?”
“Sometimes,” Deacon said softly. “I reach out to her when I think I need a session. She’s in Michigan, so it’s nice that she has virtual appointments. I find myself needing to go around milestones or certain dates.”
“That makes sense.”
“I thought about scheduling one in a few weeks,” he admitted. “No matter how much time goes by, the twenty-fourth of every month—” He lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just hard.”
I couldn’t imagine having monthly reminders of a date you couldn’t escape. I had been with Deacon for six of those days, and I never noticed anything different. He did an amazing job masking the emotions he didn’t want to explain to anyone else .
“Do you ever do anything on those days? Is there anything I can do?” I looked up, and he met me with a soft smile.
“I usually take a half hour out of that day to talk to him. It helps just having that time—just me and him. I tell him about things that happened and ask him questions.”
I nodded as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I knew if I spoke, they’d come loose.
Deacon’s smile dug deeper into his cheek. “You already do it.”
I cleared my throat to adjust my tone. “Do what?”
“You asked if there was anything you could do, and you already do it. You have since the moment you became my best friend.”
I nodded again, faster this time because I was on the verge of a full-blown breakdown. Deacon pulled me into his chest, and I wrapped my arms around his waist.
A few silent tears melted into the fabric of Deacon’s shirt, and a warmth settled into my stomach. He was like having a cup of my favorite green tea the morning after a night out or going in blind with a book and falling in love with the plot. Deacon helped me in ways I didn’t even know I needed, and I hadn’t realized how much until he put it into words a few moments ago.