by Megan Rose
“They just had an invitation and I really wanted to go. Anyway, we didn’t wind up going there after all, so I guess the answer would be no, I did not go to Juice with that group of people from the diner.” After her attempt at an apologetic smile, Connor shoved the bag of Chinese food into her arms.
“No, you went somewhere else with them, right? A party?” His arms were crossed and his foot was tapping on the floor impatiently. He looked like a dad who wanted to know where his daughter had been all night.
“Well, yeah. But I didn’t stay with them.” Her voice had gotten higher now and much faster.
“Right,” Connor said. He continued to stare at Lacey but she had nothing to say. She looked guilty. She was guilty. She looked down at his feet and waited for his reaction.
“Whatever, Lacey. There’s a new delivery guy, so you might not always be getting your food delivered by me anymore,” he said, not looking at her.
“No, Connor…” She looked up at him with her sad puppy eyes but he still wouldn’t meet her eye.
“Oh, here.” He shoved a smaller bag into Mark’s hands and looked around, embarrassed. “Yesterday I had Mr. Chu make an extra batch of doughnuts for you, to say thank you. You know, for the date and the kiss and everything.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just talked to the guys this morning, and Mr. Chu had already made the doughnuts for me so I couldn’t not take them. And I don’t like them, so there was really nothing else I could do except give them to you. So,” he looked Lacey square in the eye for the first time when he said, “have a nice life.” Then he turned right around, heading for the front door of the building.
“Wait, Connor! I haven’t paid you yet!” Lacey put the bag of food on the floor and turned around to go get her purse, but he said “I got it!” and waved to her without turning around.
“Connor…” But he had left. And he wasn’t coming back. And he was hurt. And it was all her fault.
✽✽✽
Mark saw Lacey’s eyes fill with tears and he closed the door, even though he wanted to chase down the little punk and make him apologize. She had finally been happy. She had finally smiled. And he ruined it. The guy had no clue how much he had hurt her, and now Mark had to watch her cry again and fail at every attempt to cheer her up. He was going to kill him.
But first he was going to take care of Lacey. He picked up the bag of food from the floor and put it on the coffee table, along with the smaller bag of Chinese doughnuts. Lacey was sitting on the couch with her head in her hands. She wasn’t sobbing, which was good, but she still looked distraught.
“Lacey, don’t worry about him. He’s just upset. You guys will make up. He brought you doughnuts, didn’t he?” Lacey looked up at him with a tearless face and a miserable expression.
“It’s all my fault,” she said. “I’m so stupid. Why did I ever even talk to them in the first place?” She dropped her head back in her hands and let out a big sigh. “And he still brought me a thank you present,” she said, her hands muffling her voice.
“So, he can’t be that mad at you!” Mark smiled a fake smile and sat next to her on the couch. “He said he wanted to thank you for the date and…wait. Did he say kiss?”
“What?” Lacey looked up at him, confused. “Oh, yeah. They were all making fun of him and he was completely paralyzed with fear and embarrassment, so I tried to make him look good. I don’t think it really worked, though.” She opened the bag of food and peered into it. “I didn’t know you were getting this.” She pulled a container out of the bag. “I would’ve asked for extra baby corn.” She continued unpacking the food. “Whatever. I don’t deserve extra baby corn anyway.”
Mark didn’t really know what she was saying, as he was preoccupied with the thought of Lacey kissing Connor. It shouldn’t matter to him. It was just a charity kiss. It didn’t mean anything. He shook his head. Mark was her friend; he shouldn’t be worrying about who she was kissing. She could do whatever she wanted.
“Mark?” Lacey tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up and blinked at her. “I said should we use plates or just eat from the cartons?”
“Oh.” He looked around, remembering what he was supposed to be doing. Cheering her up, getting her to the doctor, making her all better. “No, we don’t need plates, that’s okay. Just don’t hog the dumplings,” he said, grabbing the fried rice.
“Hey, I asked for dumplings. If you wanted some, you should’ve gotten your own.” She looked at him chidingly and stabbed a dumpling with her fork. “You know I have, like, 14 pairs of chopsticks in my kitchen drawer?” She picked up one of the pairs that had come with their food and looked at it. “Eventually I’ll learn how to use them.” She tapped the chopsticks on her chin, thinking. “Then I’ll use all of those chopsticks. I’ll just use them with regular food. That would be a cultural thing to do, right?” She looked over at Mark and he stared at her, fork halfway to his mouth. “No?”
He ate his forkful of food and said, “Why don’t you try to eat your food with a fork without spilling some on the floor, and then maybe you could try the chopsticks thing.” One corner of his mouth turned up and he grabbed the dumplings from her. She dropped the chopsticks on the floor.
“I resent that,” she said. “I’m a very neat eater. Chinese food is just messy. It’s the nature of the beast. It’s not my fault that dumplings are slippery and rice is fling-able and noodles are slimy.” As she spoke, she tried to pick a piece of onion out of the fried rice and accidentally flicked rice everywhere. “Well, you’re not so neat either.”
“No, I’m not. And it’s late. We have to go,” he said, wiping his mouth and standing up.
“Oh yeah. Okay, just let me get my purse and my shoes. If I leave the food sitting out here can I still have leftovers? Or is that thing Robert Irvine talks about with the bacteria really true?”
“You go get your purse and shoes, and I’ll put the food in your fridge.”
“Thank you!” She smiled and ran off to her room. Mark opened her fridge and observed the five-million Snapples, the bar of chocolate that had started to melt and hastily been stuck in the refrigerator to solidify, and the package of fruit he had bought two days ago in a desperate attempt to get some healthy food into Lacey, absolutely untouched.
All of the Chinese food was closed up and put in the fridge. Mark moved the fruit up to the front so maybe she would see it and eat something healthy for once. Or if he was the one getting food, he would remember it was there and make her eat it. He pulled out a Snapple for Lacey and one for himself and twisted the cap off.
Lacey came out of her room with her purse, shoes, and sunglasses as Mark read, “In the Middle Ages, chicken soup was considered an aphrodisiac.”
Lacey responded by grabbing her own Snapple from him and opening it, reading “The original Cinderella was Egyptian and wore fur slippers.” She chugged a quarter of the bottle and looked up happily. “See? Doesn’t Snapple just cheer you up?”
"Not really,” he said, examining the bottle. “I don’t know why you care so much about these little facts.”
“I don’t know why you don’t care so much. Okay, come on. We’ve got to go. I want to get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible.” Mark put on his sunglasses and grabbed his keys. They headed out to his truck.
Chapter 8
“So, I looked a little bit at your paperwork,” Dr. Sharman said, picking up a folder and flicking through it. “But I’m going to need to ask you a few questions as well. Now, why are you here? How did you notice something was wrong?”
Lacey looked at Mark pleadingly. Mark answered for her. “She, uh, went out partying with some people and then she was missing for a week.” Dr. Sharman raised his eyebrows at Lacey, who shrank down in her chair. “And then she came back and had a little bit of a…breakdown, I guess you could say.” Mark was speaking slowly and carefully so he didn’t say anything that was going to upset Lacey.
“Breakdown?” The doctor looked back and forth between bot
h of them, waiting for an explanation.
“I just got upset and I broke this thing and it was just…it was fine. I was fine.” She looked away like that was the end of their conversation. Mark waited for Dr. Sharman to grill her on where she’d been when she went missing, but he went a different route.
“Oh, you’re fine?” He smiled. “Then I think we’re all done here.” He snapped the folder closed and put it on his desk. “Very nice meeting you,” he said and stood up.
“Wait! No, I need…” She trailed off and studied the photograph of cats that hung to her right.
“You need what?” the doctor asked gently.
“Help.” She gulped. “I need help. I don’t want it, but I need it.”
“So, you’re not fine?” he asked.
Lacey looked down at the floor and started wringing her hands together. “No, I’m not fine,” she muttered.
"Okay, then!” He smiled so big Mark thought he might be mocking her. “Now, you don’t have to tell me where you went for those few days, but it might help if you did.” Lacey nodded, staring at the manila folder that the doctor had once again picked up. “For now, I’d just like to ask you some questions. Is that okay with everyone?” He looked only at Lacey.
“Oh…um, yeah. Sure, I guess.” She gulped again and Mark wondered if her mouth had suddenly gone dry like his had. He shouldn’t have been nervous. He didn’t even have to answer any questions. He was just there for moral support.
“Have you had any depressive symptoms lately?” Mark rolled his eyes. Duh, why else would they be here?
“Well, yeah,” Lacey squeaked.
“Like…?”
“I don’t know…just, you know, feeling depressed. That’s really the only good word for it that I can think of. Ask Mark, he knows more than I do.” She pointed at Mark and Dr. Sharman looked at him quizzically.
“Okay, Mark, what sort of symptoms has Lacey had that have you believing she has depression?” He had taken out a clipboard and was clipping a packet of papers to it. Then he began scribbling furiously while he asked Mark about Lacey. Once he finished speaking and writing, he looked up at Mark.
Mark never liked to answer questions. He didn’t like to be called on in class. He didn’t like when people asked him for advice, and he was always very brief at the doctor’s office. But this was for Lacey, and she wasn’t going to tell him the full story. He looked over at her. She was picking at her nails, covered in chipped black polish, while her hands shook the slightest bit and her toes wiggled uncontrollably in her flip flops. He guessed she wanted to be anywhere but there.
“Well, a lot of crying, you know…” He glanced over at Lacey to make sure he hadn’t said anything wrong, but she hadn’t looked up from her fingers. “And she was kind of just…lying around. Not like she was being lazy,” he said quickly. “She didn’t even know I was at her place until I told her today. She had just been staring at the TV, eating whatever I forced into her mouth, and crying. She slept a lot too.” Lacey was really digging at her fingernail now and he saw the cuticle start to bleed. He put his hand over hers to stop her from pulling a Black Swan and peeling an entire layer of skin off.
“Okay, thank you.” He looked back over at Lacey. “Now I have a few questions for you.” He smiled like he was going to ask her which flavor of ice cream she’d like. Lacey just nodded, looking up slightly for the first time, glancing at Mark. She caught his eye for a split second and all Mark saw was sadness. This all needed to end. He really couldn’t take seeing her so depressed.
“Oh, and her doctor prescribed her some Prozac. I think it’s helping, because she was pretty happy this morning.” Mark looked at Dr. Sharman, waiting for him to say something positive and encouraging, but instead he just said, “Of course she did,” sarcastically.
“Is that bad?” Lacey had finally found her full voice and was sitting upright in her chair. Her eyes were like saucers.
“Kind of,” he answered honestly. “It’s fine. It’s not the end of the world.” He jotted something down on his clipboard.
“Is it not good? Should I not be taking it?” Her worry was starting to turn into panic.
“Why don’t you let me ask the questions now?” He smiled another serene smile and Mark started to feel sick. This guy didn’t seem to understand what was going on.
“Okay, Lacey.” He held the clipboard out in front of him and flipped a page. “Are there some times that you speak really fast?”
Her eyebrows knitted together. “How did you know that? Why is that important?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He ticked something off on his clipboard and looked back up at her. The questions continued to come, and the answer to most of them was “yes.” Mark didn’t know what that meant.
The questions didn’t seem to have anything to do with depression. Did she have great self-confidence one day and none the next? Had she ever been over-excited or overactive? Was she sometimes irritable? Did she like being with people sometimes, but other times she wanted to be alone with her thoughts? Did she ever have any experiences with excessive crying or laughing? Had she had any issues with impulsivity? Did she sleep all day sometimes and stay up all night others? Did she have racing thoughts?
“Um…I guess. Yes,” Lacey answered to the last question. “I guess you could say ‘racing thoughts.’ I never thought of calling it that before, but that pretty much describes it. I thought that was normal.” She looked over at Mark for an answer. He shrugged.
“Okay,” the doctor said and checked something else off. “And finally, has your sex drive increased?”
Lacey’s face turned into a tomato, and she quickly became very fidgety in her seat. She looked down at her toes, which were wiggling so feverishly, they actually did seem to resemble little piggies. Mark looked away, pretending that he didn’t hear the question and squinted up at a poster that had tips for getting a good night’s sleep. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable and he really didn’t want to know all the details of her sex life either. He scratched the back of his neck and focused as much as he could on the poster so he wouldn’t hear what she said.
Don’t watch TV right before bed. Well, he did that every night and he slept fine. There were similar suggestions having to do with smartphones, e-readers, and the like. Relax and take deep breaths in and out. Concentrate on each of your muscles. That just sounded stupid. He had muscles, he knew what they felt like, and how was that supposed to help you fall asleep anyway?
“Alright,” Mark heard the doctor say. There was the sound of his pen scrawling and Lacey clearing her throat a few times. Doctor Sharman was very casually writing out notes, taking his time, glancing up at Lacey every once in a while (who was now jiggling her leg up and down).
Finally, the doctor put his clipboard on his desk and turned around to face Lacey directly. He folded his hands and put them in his lap. She echoed his movement and folded her hands too. Mark could tell she was buzzing with nervousness, and he saw her subtly mouth “Amen” to what must have been the end of a prayer. This was agony. Why was the doctor just looking at her? Was he doing this on purpose? Was it really bad and he didn’t want to tell them?
“Okay so,” Mark started, “I think this is when you tell us what’s wrong…right?” He crossed his legs and kneaded his hands nervously. “And then you’ll give her some pill to take and she’ll take it and be all better…right?” Mark could tell that a look of desperation had settled on his face and he noticed Lacey doing her best not to look at him.
“Something like that,” Dr. Sharman said. “What I’m going to do is keep you on the Prozac.” He nodded at her to make sure she knew what he was saying. Lacey stared off into space a little but nodded back. “And I’m adding in a mood stabilizer. And then we’ll go from there.”
“W-what does that mean?” Lacey glanced worriedly at Mark. “Go from there? And what’s a mood stabilizer? I don’t just have depression, do I?” Her eyes looked sad and at that moment Mark wanted to get up
and give her a hug.
“It’s nothing drastic.” He smiled at her look of panic. “A mood stabilizer is a medicine that’s typically used for mood disorders, namely bipolar disorder.” He smiled again. This guy was really starting to annoy Mark. What was he so happy about?
“Bipolar disorder? Is that what I have? Where you’re really happy one minute and then really mad the next? The kids in my 5th grade class used to say our teacher was bipolar because she could go from happy to mad in an instant. Everyone thought she was crazy.” Her face looked more worried than ever, and the jiggling of her leg got faster.
Dr. Sharman put his hand on her, halting the jiggling. “First of all, I don’t like to officially diagnose anyone after one meeting, but I will say you most likely have a mood disorder and it is very likely bipolar disorder.” There was that smile again. “You’re not crazy,” he said, suddenly angry. “You have a disorder. It’s just like having diabetes or a heart condition. The only difference is, this isn’t physical and there’s no way for anyone to materially see it.”
“Then how does anyone even know it exists?” Lacey screwed up her face, trying to take in everything he was telling her, but she jumped when the doctor gave a Santa-Claus-like laugh and looked over at Mark.
“Do you believe what I’m telling her?” he asked Mark, wiping tears from his eyes and heaving air into his lungs.
“Well…yeah.” Could he just get on with it and give her the cure, already?
The doctor looked back at Lacey. “Very smart scientists figured it out, and over five-million Americans have been diagnosed with it, so I think we can say it’s legitimate. Twenty-five also happens to be the average age of people when they’re first diagnosed. And you clearly fit that criterion perfectly.”
“Okay, so…I have mood swings. Just like if I’m on my period.” She pointed at Mark and said, “Don’t!” before he could say anything. Ha! So she admitted to having mood swings during her period. “Except it’s worse and I need medicine for it?”