Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Maya
My crochet hook loops and pulls the bright orange yarn in a steady, practiced rhythm.
The small, lumpy sphere in my hands is slowly starting to resemble a pumpkin, the first of many I plan to make for the “Gourds of the World” display in mine and Zachary’s classroom.
Across the table, Flick is mid-rant, her hands gesticulating wildly as she describes the latest antics of her cat, Catherine, or Cat for short.
“…so I come home, and there she is, completely wrapped up in my new skein of merino wool. She looks like a mummy, or like she tried to single-handedly recreate the laser scene from Mission: Impossible. She’s just frozen in the middle of the living room, tangled in this bright pink web, looking at me with this expression of pure, unadulterated betrayal, as if I’m the one who did this to her. ”
Alexis and Devin are howling with laughter, and despite the heavy exhaustion that’s been my constant companion for days, a real, genuine laugh bubbles up out of me.
It feels foreign and wonderful. The last few days have been a blur of anxiety and nausea.
The conversation with Zachary at the climbing gym left my head spinning, a dizzying mix of confusion yet, somehow, understanding.
Then, finding those words—“Trier-Outer”—scrawled on my car sent a chill through me that has yet to completely fade.
Zachary had been furious, his hands clenched as he immediately reached for his phone to call the police.
But the dust was so easily wiped away, nothing was broken, and the thought of filing a report, of turning that petty, unnerving act into a whole official thing, was more than I could handle. I just wanted to go home.
On top of everything, the new medications are wreaking havoc on my system.
A low-grade nausea has been nearly constant, making all food completely unappetizing.
The only thing I’ve been able to stomach are the fudge brownies Noah made.
Alexis brought a whole container of them tonight, and I’ve already eaten two.
They’re a small miracle of chocolate and kindness.
As Flick launches into another story about Cat’s war on houseplants, a craving for another brownie hits me. “I’ll be right back,” I say, pushing back my chair and setting my pumpkin-in-progress on the table.
I stand up, and the world tilts violently.
The edges of my vision go fuzzy, then black, like a curtain dropping.
The sound of my friends’ laughter seems to warp and stretch, coming from a great distance.
My legs feel like they’ve been replaced with wet noodles.
I take a stumbling step toward the counter where the brownies are, my hand reaching out for something to hold onto, but I only find empty air.
I’m falling. But I don’t hit the floor. Strong arms wrap around my waist, breaking my descent. “Whoa, Maya, I’ve got you,” Devin’s calm voice says, close to my ear. She gently lowers me the rest of the way until I’m sitting on the rug, the rough fibers pressing into my palms.
The blackness recedes, replaced by the concerned faces of my friends circling above me.
“Maya? Are you okay?” Hannah asks, her voice tight with worry.
“I… I think so,” I stammer, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I just stood up too fast.”
“Has this happened before?” Hannah presses, kneeling beside me. “Since you started the new meds?”
I hesitate, not wanting to worry them. But I can’t lie to her. “A few times,” I admit quietly. “Just for a second or two. I’ve felt… dizzy. I figured it was just my body getting used to the prescription. I was going to call Dr. Sharma next week if it didn’t stop.”
Devin reaches out and takes my hand, her grip firm and reassuring. “You can’t just wait a week on stuff like this, Maya.” As she squeezes my hand, her forearm brushes against the loose sleeve of my sweater, pushing it up slightly and revealing what looked like a dark stain on my skin.
“What’s that on your arm?” Flick asks, reaching over to push my sleeve farther up my arm.
I follow her gaze. A huge, angry bruise mottles the pale skin of my inner arm. It’s a chaotic swirl of purple and sickly yellow-green, tender to the touch even though I hadn't felt it form.
“Oh my God,” Alexis gasps.
“Is that new, too?” Hannah asks, her voice barely a whisper.
“Yeah,” I say, staring at it. I’m completely bewildered. I have no memory of hitting my arm on anything. “I… I didn’t even know that was there.”
That’s it for Devin. Her expression hardens with resolve. “Okay, that’s it. We’re going to the hospital.”
“No,” I protest immediately, the thought sending a fresh wave of panic through me.
“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll call the twenty-four-hour nurse line.
I’ll call Dr. Sharma first thing in the morning.
I don’t need to go to the emergency room.
” The last thing I want is to spend hours under fluorescent lights, being poked and prodded, only to be told it’s a side effect and to follow up with my specialist. The thought alone makes my eyes burn with tears.
“Maya, these are serious side effects,” Devin says, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Dizziness, fainting, unexplained bruising? You are not waiting until morning.”
“She’s right,” Flick chimes in, her earlier humor gone, replaced by a quiet intensity. “We’re not taking any chances.”
I look at their faces, a united front of loving, stubborn concern, and I know I’ve lost. The fight goes out of me, replaced by a profound weariness. Tears well up in my eyes and spill over, tracking hot paths down my cheeks.
In an instant, they’re all in motion. Alexis starts gathering my things—my tote, my yarn, the half-finished pumpkin. Flick disappears and returns with my coat. Hannah helps me to my feet, her arm a steadying presence around my waist.
“We’ll take my car,” Hannah says. “It’s the most comfortable. Devin, you drive. Flick and Alexis, can you stay behind and lock up the shop and then go to Maya’s apartment to feed and check on Frida?”
They all agree to the plan and get me bundled into the backseat of Hannah’s car.
Devin gets behind the wheel, and Hannah slides in next to me instead of taking the passenger seat.
She pulls me close, and I let my head rest on her shoulder, the familiar, clean scent of her perfume filling my senses.
The overwhelming panic begins to subside, replaced by a quiet sense of surrender.
For tonight, I don’t have to be the one in charge of my broken body. My best friends have it covered.
Hannah’s fingers begin to gently stroke my hair, a soothing, rhythmic motion.
The car pulls out onto the dark street, the streetlights painting fleeting stripes of orange across the car’s interior.
Under the steady comfort of my friend’s hand, my eyes drift closed.
For the first time in what feels like weeks, I feel safe.
I feel calm. And I let myself fall asleep.
That sense of calm evaporates the moment we push through the double doors of the emergency room.
The waiting area is a chaotic sea of misery.
Apparently, half a local kids’ soccer team came down with food poisoning, and the air is thick with the sounds of crying children and stressed-out parents.
The peace of Hannah’s car is a distant memory.
They put me in a wheelchair and roll me into a curtained-off cubicle, then help me onto an uncomfortable gurney.
Hannah pulls up a chair and takes out her knitting, the soft click of her needles a tiny island of normalcy in the chaos.
A nurse has already come and gone, taking what feels like a gallon of my blood.
Now Devin is on a mission for coffee and food I’m able to eat, since the doctor wants to see if eating helps with the dizziness.
I lean my head back against the pillow and close my eyes, trying to block out the noise.
But my mind, unhelpful as ever, immediately supplies a memory.
My ex, Sam, sitting in a chair just like Hannah’s during one of my major flares.
I can still hear his voice, tight with frustration.
“Can’t you just take the steroids, Maya?
It’s what the doctor recommends.” I remember telling him how depressed they made me, how I didn’t feel like myself.
He’d sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“But it’s the safest option if we want to start thinking about a family.
Stop being so selfish and think about our future children.
” He’d called me selfish for prioritizing my own mental health.
I push the memory away. This is different.
I’m here with women who champion my choices, who listen to what I need.
A man’s voice, raised in pain, cuts through my thoughts. It’s familiar.
“…I know, I know, just try to hold still,” a nurse says.
“Easier said than done,” the man grunts.
It’s Zachary. My eyes fly open. What is he doing here? Before I can process it, the curtain around my cubicle is ripped open. A tired-looking ER doctor holds a tablet.
“Maya?” she says. “We have your blood test results. Good news is the bruising isn’t from a low platelet count.
The bad news is your kidney function is quite low.
Your GFR is down to thirty-eight. Given what your rheumatologist noted in your file, we’d like to do that biopsy tomorrow morning rather than wait two weeks.
We’re admitting you overnight for observation, just to make sure that number doesn’t drop any lower. ”
The world spins, and this time it has nothing to do with my blood pressure. The nurse and Hannah help me back into the wheelchair to take me to an actual room. As I’m wheeled out of the cubicle, my eyes lock with Zachary’s.