Driving Me Mad

by Lindsay Paige

  “What’s the rush?” I ask as he opens the passenger door of his car for me.

  “Time crunch.” He closes it and walks around.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as he shifts into reverse.

  “To a hockey game.”

  “Hockey? Why are we doing that? We have a hockey team?”

  Trace laughs. “What kind of North Carolinian are you, Britt? At the very least, everyone knows about the pro teams. You mean to tell me you’ve never even heard of the Carolina Rebels?”

  I stare at him, even though he’s focused on driving. “No, I haven’t. That would require paying attention to sports even a little bit, Trace. I don’t even watch the news! The closest I get to that is you with your Dateline.” He laughs and I repeat my question. “Why a hockey game? Do you know anything about hockey?”

  “Not really. A coworker had two tickets and he couldn’t go, so he asked if anyone wanted them. I figured it would be a good way to get away for a little bit. That’s why we’re leaving so early. We have to drive to Raleigh, and who knows what traffic will look like.”

  A laugh bubbles out of me. “So, we’re going to watch a sport we know nothing about?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Okay.” Why not, right? It’ll be cool to at least say I’ve done it.

  Trace reaches over and takes my hand in his, resting them both on the console between us. We don’t say much. Trace has his country music playing on the radio. Every now and then, he squeezes my hand and shoots me a smile. We make it to the arena in good time. Crowds don’t usually bother me, not really. I just don’t want to feel like a sardine. I need space to breathe and move my elbows.

  The one instance when the crowd seems to converge, Trace wraps an arm around my shoulders and tugs me into his side. I’ve never been more grateful for someone who gets me and knows me as well as he does. The sight of nachos and cheese with what looks like BBQ on top makes me pull him to the side.

  “Did you see that?” I ask.

  “See what?”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re how tall and you missed those BBQ nachos? We need to find those. I want to try it.” My stomach growls as I realize we haven’t had dinner yet.

  “All right. Let’s go find them.”

  I swear we walk half the arena before we find them. Sure enough, you can buy a plate of nachos and cheese with chunks of BBQ on top. There’s even an option to add coleslaw, but I’m not so sure about that. Trace buys us a plate, plus two drinks, and we make sure to add some of the vinegar mixture. Then, we finally head to our seats.

  “Who gives up tickets like this?” I ask as we settle in. We’re in the lower bowl, about midway up behind one of the nets where a goalie will be. I’m assuming these are good tickets.

  “A man with a sick wife.”

  “It’s kinda cold in here.”

  Trace nods toward the ice. “Well yeah.”

  “Shut up,” I laugh.

  We finally try the nachos and I think it may just be the best thing ever created. Whoever thought to combine the two is a genius. Luckily, I’m holding the plate, so I get to hog the food. Suddenly, players take the ice and people cheer. I flick my gaze to the jumbotron and my jaw drops as I see all the handsome faces.

  “Damn,” I mutter.

  “What?” Trace asks.

  “I need to be a hockey fan. Look at those guys.” I point to two who are among the few not wearing helmets. Both are hot as hell. Ramsey and Polinski. I need to remember those names, I think. You know, maybe there are shirtless photos online somewhere.

  Trace shakes his head with a small smile and steals what’s left of the nachos from me. I try to keep track of all the players, but it’s hard as they go about their warm-ups. A couple sits down next to me. The man looks at both of us and asks, “First game?”

  “Yeah,” Trace answers. “What gave us away?”

  “No shirts, jerseys, or team colors. We’ve been coming for years and can always spot the newbies,” his wife responds.

  We make small chit-chat and soon, the game starts. I’m lost about fifteen seconds in. These guys can fly. Who knew you could move that fast on skates? I try to keep up with where the puck is, but it’s not always easy. The man next to me volunteers himself as our hockey instructor, explaining everything that’s happening.

  I tune him out, but Trace seems to be listening. Considering I can’t seem to follow along, I don’t know if this is fun or not. Definitely interesting. Even more so when a pair of players starts fighting. It’s like a brawl and apparently, it’s a normal occurrence. Their punishment is simply sitting in a penalty box. Maybe if I could find my inner sports fan who watches only for the hotties on skates as foundation, I could see myself watching on occasion, or coming to a game here and there.

  After the second intermission, though, I start getting tired and fidgety. It has been nice to get away and do something new, but thoughts of the homework I planned to do tonight, of being around so many people, and traveling is wearing on me. I rest my head on Trace’s shoulder as the last period starts.

  “Okay, Britt?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We can head home early if you want.”

  “No, that’s okay.” I am enjoying myself for the most part.

  He lowers his voice and says, “Still hot and bothered by the players?”

  I laugh. “No. Turns out, I like my men with zero athletic ability.”

  He chuckles and kisses the top of my head. “Men?”

  “Man,” I correct myself.

  “That’s better.”

  “Trace?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad we came and got away for a bit.”

  “Me too.” He squeezes my hand and I feel just a little better. Sometimes, often, we have to force ourselves to either do the normal day-to-day things or to do something we don’t particularly want to do, but know it’ll be helpful. This is one of those things. Feel like it or not, just have to do it. Because, as I predicted, my feel-good moment leaves.

  It’s such a long trip home. I’m reminded of why I like it better when my parents come to me. Plus, I had to get up early to leave because I have an appointment with Dr. Gunner at one o’clock and my parents want time with me before then. Trace asked me yesterday if I had given more thought to a possible med change, and I told him I still wasn’t sure. I plan to ask my parents for their opinion over lunch.

  Thankfully, my parents are fixing a simple lunch at home. That’s about all I can handle at this point. Mom and Dad are in the kitchen, laughing as they prepare our meal, when I arrive.

  “Knock, knock,” I say as I walk into the room.

  Dad is the first to reach me. He pulls me into a tight hug and I breathe in the comforting scent of his aftershave. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.”

  “How was the drive?” Mom asks when she takes her turn to hug me.

  “Frustrating. I got caught in some rush hour traffic and had to deal with stupid drivers the entire time.”

  “Well, have a seat and relax. We fixed chicken Caesar salad.” I take a seat while Mom brings over the food and Dad brings the dishes. “How have you been doing, Brittany?”

  I shrug. “There are good days and bad days. Can I ask your opinion on something?”

  “Of course,” Dad answers.

  “I’ve been wondering if maybe I should ask Dr. Gunner about a med change. I haven’t been able to tell a difference since he increased my dosage. I’m just worried that if he does think it’s a good idea that I’ll have a load of bad experiences again just when I’m trying to get through my last semester.”

  “How bad and how often are the bad days?” Dad asks.

  “Almost every day and,” I pause, wondering if I want to confess, then deciding to, “bad enough that I missed a day of school this week. It only happened once, though.”

  Mom and Dad glance at one another. It has always amazed me how they can communicate without speaking. Mom is the one w
ho speaks. “I think it’s worth asking Dr. Gunner’s opinion. Do you still want me to go with you?”

  “Yeah.” Call me a baby, but if Mom can and offers to go with me to a potentially stressful doctor’s appointment, I don’t mind one bit.

  They begin to fill me in on what’s going on around here while we eat. I tell them more about school, and soon, it’s time to leave for my appointment. Mom drives, and I take the chance to text Trace.

  Me: Got here safely. On the way to appt.

  Trace: Good to hear. Let me know how it goes.

  Mom must be able to sense my anxiety because she doesn’t talk to me. That has always been her way of giving me space and allowing me to handle it myself. I feel like she thinks she’ll make it worse if she does anything else. Thankfully, Dr. Gunner has a short wait period once you arrive for the appointment, so I don’t have to deal with that. A nurse leads us to the back to take my weight. Trace will be happy to hear I’ve gained weight since the last time I was here. My blood pressure is a little high and my temperature is normal.

  Dr. Gunner stands with a smile when we enter the room. He’s probably in his early thirties, like Trace, and I like him a lot. He’s compassionate and obviously cares for his patients. I don’t know of many doctors who will take phone appointments or use their break to talk to me on the phone at an unscheduled time.

  We shake his hand and take a seat.

  “How was the drive?” he asks.

  “Stressful, but it’s good to be home.”

  “Good. How’s school? What are your plans after graduation? I mean, do you plan to move back home?”

  “School is okay. My grades are a little better, but it’s been a struggle. My roommate and I are planning to get an apartment together after graduation, so I’ll be staying there.”

  “Great.” He pulls my file in front of him, but he doesn’t glance at it. He doesn’t have to. “You’re seeing a counselor on campus, too, right?”

  Mom glances at me. I may have left this out. “Yeah.”

  “That’s good, but I would like to recommend you to someone off campus. Only because this is your last semester and if you need to continue seeing someone once you graduate, you’ll already be set. Does that sound good?” I nod. “Okay, so, we increased your meds two weeks ago now. Have you been able to tell a difference? How are the sleeping pills working?”

  I grab my wrist for comfort. “No difference at all. The sleeping pills sometimes work well, and sometimes, they don’t work at all. It’s like hit and miss.”

  Dr. Gunner takes a deep breath, and a bad feeling twists my guts. “I had a feeling you weren’t bringing me good news,” he begins. “And I don’t think you’re going to like my suggestion either.”

  “You want to change my meds, don’t you?” I ask, and he nods. “We were actually going to ask you about that.”

  He laughs. “I’m glad I won’t have to convince you, then. Here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to leave the sleeping pills the same. I don’t want to mess with those just yet. We’ll try you on this new medication. If you feel any negative effects within the first week, call me. I don’t want you to suffer for two weeks just to have it regulated. Otherwise, we’ll check in in two weeks.”

  “What are you putting her on?” Mom asks.

  I zone out in a slightly panicked haze as he explains the medication in detail. This is happening. Please, please, please let this medication work like it should with zero side effects. Once he’s done explaining, he walks us out front where I schedule a phone appointment in two weeks. On the ride back home, I text Trace the details. He doesn’t respond, so I assume he’s busy at work.

  “I’m going to take a little nap,” I tell Mom as we walk up the sidewalk to the house. “Can you update Dad?”

  “Of course. I’ll wake you in an hour. We planned to have a quiet weekend here.”

  I smile. “That sounds perfect. Thanks for going with me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I leave her for my old bedroom. My parents have left it alone. I’ve updated it here and there when I come home from college to visit. They wanted to leave it untouched to emphasize that I always have a place here. All of their plans to turn it into a small workout room or an office or a man cave for Dad never came about. Maybe they would have if it wasn’t for my issues. It was after I was diagnosed that they stopped mentioning it at all. This is their way of providing me even more stability and giving me a safe place to go if I need it. My parents are amazing. One day, I hope to show them how much I appreciate all they’ve done for me.

  That’s the last thought I have as I lie down for a nap.

  Mom woke me up in an hour as she promised. Trace still hasn’t texted me back, but I don’t worry about it. I join my parents in the living room.

  “I picked up your prescription,” Dad tells me.

  “Thanks.”

  A quiet day is exactly what we have. We watch TV until Mom drags us into the kitchen to begin making dinner. My parents love to cook. I have countless memories of us cooking most of our meals together. Maybe that can be something I continue once I have my own family. My phone buzzes on the counter, and I quickly pick it up.

  Trace: I’ve heard good things about that one, so maybe it’ll work out for you. Enjoy your weekend away, Britt. Text me if you need me.

  “Who are you texting?” Mom asks with a grin.

  “Probably that secret boyfriend of hers,” Dad answers.

  “He’s not a secret.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then tell us about him.” Mom raises an eyebrow and waits.

  “Um,” I falter, unsure what to say about Trace that wouldn’t give him away.

  “Start simple. How old is he?” Mom asks.

  “Thirty-one.” Mom and Dad exchange cautious glances at one another. “It’s not that big of a leap,” I defend.

  “How did you meet him?” Dad wants to know.

  “I’ve known him for a while.”

  “That doesn’t tell us how.” He folds his arms over his chest, and I sigh.

  “We just started dating, Dad. Can’t you wait until things are serious to learn our history?”

  He gets back to the skillet, quiet as he thinks. “Fine. You can be secretive about your boyfriend all you want. We will want all details once you’ve been dating him for three months. That’s me being generous.”

  Mom is quick to add, “We’re just worried about you, Brittany. You are being really quiet about him, and that’s new.”

  I hate making my parents worry, and that’s pretty much all I do. “I want to wait because our relationship is already hard. I want to make sure we look like we’ll last before any introductions or getting too used to talking about him with y’all.”

  “Why is it hard already?” Dad asks.

  “Well, I have my anxiety and depression, and he has depression. We’ve been experiencing them at the same time.”

  Another glance is exchanged between the two of them. Mom’s lips are pursed and Dad is frowning. It looks like I’m not the only one who wonders if we can work when we both have such issues. My parents don’t say this to me, though.

  “Are you happy?” Dad asks.

  “Very.”

  “That’s all we need to know right now, then.”

  They drop the subject, and we enjoy our meal with no more talk of Trace. Unfortunately, I realize they’ve given me a deadline. I have two months before I have to tell my parents who he is. Let’s hope that’s plenty of time for Trace to get used to the idea and be prepared to tell them.

  The weekend with my parents flies by. Mom made sure that our time was as relaxing as possible. We mostly stayed home, but she did take us out for massages yesterday. Right now, I’m driving back and I’m almost to Trace’s house. This weekend was just what I needed. My anxiety was low, and I got a break, just like my parents wanted.

  I park my car in his driveway and jog to the front door, excited to see him and make sure he’s all in one piece. He didn’t text me much wh
ile I was gone. Maybe because he felt like he was intruding or because he didn’t want to text me too much while I was with my parents. I’m not sure, but I missed him. I knock rapidly on his door in my excitement, and it swings open seconds later.

  He’s smiling. He looks well-rested. He seems happy to see me. All very good things. I throw my arms around him, smiling when he pulls me closer.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispers in my ear.

  “I missed you too.”

  Trace pulls me into the house, closing the door behind us. “How was it?”

  “Fantastic. I’m really glad I went. That’s my good news,” I say as we take a seat on the couch.

  He frowns. “Does that mean there is bad news?”

  “Sort of.” I angle toward him and begin to explain. “The subject of my boyfriend came up again. My parents think it’s unusual that I haven’t told them much, but they’re willing to wait in the dark for two more months. But then, if we’re still together, I have to tell them.”

  Pride hits me when Trace doesn’t panic. He seems to slowly take in the news. I watch him carefully, waiting for him to respond. “That’s not too bad. I’m good with that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. It still makes me nervous, but I have two months to get used to the idea.” He smiles. “Are you going to stay here for a bit or head back to campus?”

  “I planned to hang with you for a while.”

  “Good. You can watch Dateline with me.” Trace gets up to make popcorn and grab us a couple of Sun Drops.

  When he returns, I say, “Also, more good news is I’ve gained some of the weight back that I lost.”

  Trace grins. “I know; I can tell. That’s good.” He hands me the bowl of popcorn, grabs the remote, and finds the recording. “By the way, our romantic date will last the entire weekend. The plan is to leave once I get off work, so if you could be here and be ready, that’d be great. Oh, and pack a bathing suit.”

  I tilt my head. “You’re taking me away for the weekend?”

  “Yep.”

  “To a place where I’ll need a bikini?”

  “Yep.”

  “And you’re not telling me where?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not even if I said surprises give me anxiety?” That’s true. I don’t like entering the unknown.