88. Jenna
Jenna
Iknock on his door feverishly. I’m in over my head here and probably way out of my bounds, but I’m sick of watching my two best friends fall madly in love with each other and then blow their relationship to smithereens the first chance they get.
I’ve had enough and haven’t they?
“Kai, I know you’re in there, let me in, god dammit!” I pound on his door again with my fist tightened.
Finally, it swings open and Kai, disheveled and unkempt, greets me with a hostile rough, “What are you doing here, Jenna?”
I grin sardonically. He looks surprised, but not angry. Which is something, I suppose.
“The better question is what the hell are you doing with your head so far up your ass, Kai? And thank god I’m here to help you pull it out,” I quip.
“Nice to see you too. Please make yourself at home,” he says sarcastically while I stomp into his penthouse apartment.
“What the hell is going on with you two? And what is that smell?” I ask, wrinkling my nose in disgust. He backs up a bit on his crutches, giving me a wide berth.
“Well, I haven’t been able to clean that effectively with one leg and I’m sure you already talked to Kendall about what’s going on between us,” he answers. I venture further into his apartment, peering around with him on my heels.
“I have but I’m more interested in hearing your version,” I reply, folding my arms and leaning against his kitchen island.
“Fine but can we sit at the couch or table? My leg is killing me.”
“Lead the way.” I follow him to his spacious living room that I’m sure at one point had been clean and organized.
But there are glasses on the coffee table, boxes on his floor, loose clothes on furniture.
He plops down on the couch and I sit in the leather loveseat.
He’s wringing his hands together nervously.
“Kendall and I are taking a temporary break,” he sighs. “While I try and figure my shit out.” He runs both his hands through his hair.
“Okay and how long exactly do you envision this break lasting?” I lean over and prop my chin on my clasped hands and elbows on my knees.
“I don’t know.”
“Right, okay. So how will you know when your shit is figured out? What’s the indicator of that?” I’m not purposely trying to be a bitch or a thorn in his side. I just want to get to the root of all this. I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines.
“I don’t know, Jenna, Jesus. If you haven’t noticed, my life is a shitstorm right now.”
Okay, I have to start easier. Softer. He’s already in rough shape and he doesn’t need me piling on. He needs support; we could figure out the rest after.
“Okay, well I think I can help with that,” I say.
“How?” he eyes me skeptically.
“Let’s start with your apartment. Get this sucker clean. And we’ll go from there, start with smaller easy tasks and work our way up. Whatever I can help you with I will,” I offer.
“I’ve been trying to clean it all morning but haven’t made much progress… clearly. You’d really do that?” He seems unconvinced but it quickly transforms into pure undiluted relief.
“Of course I would. And let me restart because I feel like I came in kind of hot.”
He smiles and it's small, almost undetectable, but it’s there. “Yeah, you definitely did,” he agrees with a halfhearted chuckle.
“How are you really, Kai?”
“Pretty fucking bad. I’m miserable and I'm afraid I'm going to lose her, Jenna,” he replies.
“You won’t. We’ll figure this out,” I say, trying to inject reassurance in my tone.
First, I clean his apartment and get rid of all the alcohol in it.
Then I take out the garbage and tackle the mountain of dishes in the sink.
I wipe the countertops and disinfect the bathroom, vacuum the floors, and put his room back together.
When I emerge from his bedroom, he’s on the couch, his computer perched on his lap.
“What next?” I say.
“I think I should go to an AA meeting,” he whispers without looking up from his computer. I know this is hard for him, that some part of him feels ashamed even when he doesn’t have to be.
“Okay, I’ll help you find one,” I suggest, pulling my phone from my back pocket. “There’s one on Thursday in Griswold, 6:30 p.m.,” I tell him. “You can Uber if you can’t get someone to bring you.” I message him the link and raise my eyes to his.
“Thanks.” And he seems genuinely grateful. If I had to guess, Kai has probably spent the last few weeks fighting for his independence, trying to claim any shred of his old life that he could. Even though he very much needs all the help he can get.
“You’re welcome. What else?”
“The Bucks have been hounding me about an official statement for my early retirement. I’ve been putting that off,” he admits, lacing his fingers together behind his head and leaning back against the couch.
I know he’s trying to appear nonchalant, but I watch his jaw tighten, the vein in his temple bulging.
“Isn’t that the director of public relations job? Tell them to draft a statement that you’ll look over and edit if necessary. That’s literally what they are getting paid to do.”
“Right,” he comments while opening his email.
After we Instacart groceries, make him an appointment with a therapist that specializes in PTSD, schedule weekly house cleanings, and research dog adoption events, we take a break.
“Kai, how’s your mental health? How are you doing with everything that happened to you?” I wonder. We’ve put a dent in his to-do list and his apartment looks way better but we’re still addressing symptoms of the problem—not the actual problem.
“You’re a therapist and you seem to know me pretty well, despite us not talking all that often. So, why don’t you tell me, work your therapy voodoo magic,” he replies. He doesn’t want to talk, fine. I can nudge him in the right direction.
“Are you having any thoughts about harming yourself?” I ask, hoping I’m way off base. His face stiffens. He works hard to avoid my gaze but he answers.
“You mean like swallowing an entire bottle of pain meds or wanting to sleep and not wake up?”
“Yeah, like that, Kai.”
“Not as frequently as I was,” he concedes.
“Okay, what about any PTSD? Do you have other intrusive thoughts, difficulty sleeping, flashbacks of trauma?” I mentally run through the list of symptoms we might see in people that have experienced significant traumatic events.
He nods his head. That’s pretty much what I expected.
But I hope for his sake, for Kendall and Akio’s, and for everyone who holds him so close to their heart that we can get him through this.
He needs to get through this but he can’t do it alone.
I make a mental note to contact his mom and ask if someone can check on him daily.
“Okay, I know you are seeing that therapist next week, but I think you also need to loop your regular therapist in. Are you on any antidepressants or anti-anxiety meds?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral and even.
I want him to feel like he can divulge whatever he needs to, whatever is weighing on him.
“No, I haven’t been on any since college.”
“Well, I think you might need to consider it to help you get through the next couple months. Just something to take the edge off a little bit, okay? Think about it,” I suggest. He needs a bridge, something to help him cross from this muck he’s drowning in, to a possible future where this isn’t all there is.
“Okay.”
“Who else knows, Kai? About how bad this has gotten, the extent of it?”
“Just my mom. But I suspect my dad and Kendall have somewhat of an idea,” he admits. His head hangs as he observes his hands.
“Listen, I’m going to give you a really harsh dose of reality tea and hope you don’t choke on it.
You need to let her back in, Kai. You need to let her help you and we both know you can’t do this without her.
And you need to start leaning on the people in your life that love you.
We love you so fucking much and we want you here for a very long time.
” I don’t want to push too hard or pressure him but I also am not willing to let him lose this fight.
Kai needs to realize his people will have his back, lift him up, see him through this.
Do all the things he has always done for them.
“I know,” he says quietly. “I just don’t know how.”
“Just ask. Whatever you need, just ask. No one will blame you for needing help right now. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning California time, if you're freaking out and you’re in a bad place. Just call, okay?”
“Okay.”
“All the people in your life want to help however they can and they will. And as far as Kendall goes, she’ll be here in an hour.
And I don’t care if I have to lock you both in a room myself until you make it right, but you guys will fix this.
” We might not have seen each other in a while, but I start bossing him around again like virtually no time has passed.
Another smile, a bigger one this time. Progress.
“Why are you doing this for me?”
“Because you’re my friend. You’ve always been my friend, and that means something. I should have been there for you when she left and I wasn’t. I ran to California, away from my problems. And I left a lot of people that I cared about behind. I’m trying to make that right.”
“Thank you for being here, for helping me. And for calling her.”
“You’re welcome.”