Aced (Blocked #2)

by Jennifer Lane

  He hesitated.

  “C’mon, Brax. Stay. You can sleep on Shitty.” He eyed the scratched, saggy cushions, then frowned when his gaze returned to the flower arrangement. How could I convince him? “What if I make you hot chocolate?”

  He turned. “With marshmallows?”

  “Yes.”

  “The itty bitty ones?”

  “Of course.” I hope I have them.

  He stood still for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” He folded his six-foot-three body onto the sofa.

  I exhaled. Wait—why had I convinced him to stay when I hadn’t invited him in the first place? My brother was infuriating. By the time I carried two steaming mugs into the family room, I noticed my coffee table was bare.

  “Where are my flowers?”

  He pointed to my bedroom. “In there. Couldn’t see the TV with that damn pink jungle in my face.”

  “But the TV’s not on.” I set down his mug and curled onto the sofa.

  He shrugged. “Couldn’t find the remote.”

  “Because I don’t have one.”

  “What the fuck, Maddie? Who doesn’t have a remote?”

  “Who has time for TV?” I blew on my cocoa.

  He shook his head as he picked up his mug. “No wonder you’re so uninformed.” He lapped up some mini marshmallows. “So you didn’t see the picture of our house on the news? Hear them talking about our family?”

  I winced. “I saw.”

  “You heard what they said about…” His cheek twitched as he looked down.

  At that point I realized the actual reason for my brother’s visit: he needed to talk to the only person who could understand. I also realized why he’d almost bailed before he had the chance. I felt the same ambivalence.

  “About Mom,” I said.

  He froze as he stared at his cocoa. After a slow sip, he sighed. “My advisor took me into her office yesterday, said she heard about Mom leaving me at a young age.” His upper lip squeezed toward his nose. “So embarrassing. I didn’t want this to be a thing at grad school—for people to see me as the poor black boy from a broken home. I don’t want their pity.”

  “I know.” My heart felt heavy. “I’m sorry.”

  “My advisor said it made my academic achievements all the more impressive. Asked if there was anything she could do.”

  “What’d you tell her?”

  “Nothing. Just wanted to get the hell out of there. She’s never been so gooey and sweet before.”

  Today’s practice came to my mind. Nina and I had practiced quick-sets against Lucia’s block for countless repetitions. Nina’s first few sets were on the money, and I’d slammed them through the block, but then her timing struggles had forced me to hit into the net.

  “Sorry,” she’d told me, and the look of sincerity in her eyes had floored me. “I’ll get it right this time.” That had to be related to that news piece about my mother.

  A ghost from twenty years ago still haunted Braxton and me. “You were six when Mom left. What was she like?”

  Braxton looked away, and I clenched my fists. He’d evaded my childhood questions about Mom so often I’d stopped asking, but tonight I didn’t want to give up. “Please. I was only two, and I don’t really remember her.”

  He finally said, “She was so tall.”

  I nodded. I’d seen a photo of my parents on their wedding day, and my mother had stood only an inch shorter than our six-foot-two father.

  “And pretty.”

  I knew that too, from the photo. I took a sip of hot chocolate.

  He looked at me. “You have her mouth.”

  I skimmed my finger across my lip.

  “She could be a lot of fun.” He gazed at the blank TV, like he was watching a grainy home movie. “She took us to Cedar Point sometimes.”

  “I didn’t know that.” I’d visited the amusement park with my physics class in high school—I thought for the first time.

  “You were just a baby in a stroller.” With sudden energy, he sat up. “One time she got us ice cream with, with those rainbow sprinkles. My favorite. She fed you some from her bowl, but I got my own cone—my big boy cone. When I tripped, my whole cone flew into your stroller. Ice cream got all over you.” He smiled as I’d never seen him before. “Your hair, your dress…You were licking it off your fingers—you loved it, and I didn’t even care I’d lost my ice cream because you were giggling like a little monkey…” His grin faded. “But when Mom tried to clean you up, she started crying.” He set his mug down.

  My throat tightened. “Did she cry a lot?”

  “Some days.” He looked at me again. “Do you remember that?”

  “I don’t know.” I would’ve been too young to recall. But a gnawing sadness spread through me as I remembered the whimpering sound of her sobs, and the sheer size of a colossal bedroom door. I would peer through the crack at the bottom of the door into a dark room, the carpet a thick forest blocking my view. “Did she…did she lock herself in her room sometimes?”

  “You can’t remember that. You were too young.”

  “Maybe.” But I do remember.

  “Dad said not to disturb her.” He stared at the TV again. “He said she was having a bad day. She had them often.” He swallowed visibly. “When Dad was at class, you would cry, but Mom still wouldn’t come out. I learned how to change your diaper.”

  A five- or six-year-old changing a baby’s diaper? No wonder he seemed angry. “Thanks for doing that.”

  “Of course I did it. Who else would?” His eyes flared. “Dad didn’t do anything about Mom. He just let her hole herself off from the world. He’s so fucking impotent.”

  Whoa.

  “I don’t know what he saw in her,” Braxton spat. “Should’ve married someone else.”

  The fury of his words had pressed me into the corner of the sofa, and I straightened as I took a deep breath. “How did Dad and Mom meet?”

  “Nana’s never told you?”

  I shook my head.

  Braxton twisted one of his dreads between his fingers. “When our grandma on Mom’s side was dying of cancer, Mom stayed with her at The Cleveland Clinic. Nana was her nurse.”

  “What kind of cancer?”

  He scowled at me. “What difference does that make?”

  “We have our maternal grandmother’s genes, dummy. We’re more at risk for that cancer, and probably other cancers too.”

  “Not sure. You’ll have to ask Nana.”

  Yeah, like I wanted to do that.

  “Anyway,” my brother continued, “Dad came to visit Nana at the hospital one day, and that’s when he met Mom. Love at first sight and all that bullshit.”

  Braxton seemed so jaded. He’d had a girlfriend in high school, but he hadn’t dated anyone since. Just like Dad had never remarried.

  “They were so different,” Braxton said. I couldn’t believe he was still talking. “Dad was headed to grad school, and Mom didn’t even finish high school. She had to drop out to take care of her mom when she got sick. And she was so poor. Her dad had taken off after she was born, and she basically grew up in the ghetto, surrounded by drugs and guns.”

  Oh, Mom. I’d heard hints about her coming from poverty, but hadn’t known she’d lived in such squalor. What horrors had she witnessed? The heaviness in my chest made it hard to breathe.

  “Jeez, Maddie.” He got to his feet and pressed hands to his back as he stretched. “You have to get a better couch.”

  Just like that, I knew the conversation about Mom had ended. I struggled for a calming breath as I faked a smile. “With whose money?”

  “How about that rich boyfriend of yours? His family’s loaded.”

  Braxton recognizing Alejandro as my boyfriend seemed like progress. But Alejandro would not be buying me a new sofa. I didn’t deserve all of his largesse.

  “I’m gonna reheat the rest of my lasagna. Want me to heat up yours, too?”

  I nodded.

  “Maddie…” He looked down at me
as he picked up our empty mugs. “I know I can’t stop you from dating that tea party tool. But I don’t trust him. Be careful, okay?” He frowned. “Don’t make rash decisions just because you think you’re depressed.”

  He took our mugs into the kitchen, leaving me reeling. Don’t you dare give me false hopes about my future, Alex.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “WHO’S CONSIDERING PSYCHIATRY for a career?”

  Dr. Moore’s question hung in the air as my classmates and I looked around at each other. Heck no, I thought. No way I’ll sit in an office talking to troubled patients all day. I wanted blood. I wanted action. Apparently my classmates felt the same because no hands went up. I glanced at my buddy Dave, who tilted his neck and crossed his eyes like a crazy person. I shook my head, but couldn’t hide my faint smile. Sometimes my med school classmates were more immature than undergrads.

  “Aw, c’mon, pussies,” Dr. Moore said as he paced the front of the classroom. A few chuckles rang out. “You scared?” His longish gray hair swept behind him in a chaotic swirl, and his sinewy body never stopped moving. “This is why we have a shortage of psychiatrists in America—you guys don’t understand the beauty and power of easing emotional anguish. But I’ll teach you, starting today. And by the end of this module, I guarantee at least one of you will choose psychiatry.”

  Brad shifted in the seat next to me. “Confident bastard, isn’t he?” he muttered.

  “More like certifiable,” I said.

  Dr. Moore flipped to the next slide on the projector, and I advanced to that slide on my laptop. It was a cartoon of Mickey Mouse on the therapy couch. “What lies at the root of your problems is that you inhabit a fantasy world,” the doctor told him. More chuckles.

  On the other side of me, Dave sighed. I followed his gaze to my classmate Josie, who tossed her hair over her shoulder as she laughed. Dave was infatuated with Josie but hadn’t asked her out; Mickey wasn’t the only one living in a fantasy world. I touched my phone in my pocket, longing to text Maddie.

  “What happened in nineteen-eighty-seven that rocked the psychiatry world?”

  Dr. Moore’s question brought me back to the lecture. Josie raised her hand. “Prozac hit the market,” she said.

  Chingar. I knew that. Focus.

  “Fluoxetine was indeed the first SSRI introduced to America that year.” Dr. Moore’s eyes glowed. “We lit up the five-HT receptors, and suddenly the severely depressed had hope, without all the nasty side effects of the old tricyclics.”

  Brad shifted and grumbled under his breath.

  “Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors,” Dr. Moore continued. “No matter what your specialty, these babies will be powerful weapons in your prescriptive arsenal. Not only for depressed patients, but also for those with anxiety, addictions, chronic pain, PTSD…”

  I wondered if Maddie was taking an SSRI for depression. Would she tell me if she was?

  “We’ll get into the newer meds soon, but fluoxetine is still around. In fact, it’s the medication for adolescent patients. We need more research studying the effectiveness of SSRIs for teens; at this point, fluoxetine is the only FDA-approved medication for teenage depression.”

  “What about the black box warning?” I asked.

  Dr. Moore’s toothy grin looked maniacal. “You read my mind, Alejandro. Be scared. Be very scared.” He flipped to his next slide, titled Depression and Adolescents and Black Box Warnings, Oh My! with an image of The Scream by Edvard Munch.

  “Now,” he said, “you may have heard the media freak out about antidepressants causing teenagers to commit suicide. Here are the facts. It’s true there’s a risk of increased suicidal urges for a small percentage of teens starting a trial of SSRIs. But since suicidal ideation is symptom of depression, and fluoxetine helps reduce depression, the benefits of the medication far outweigh its risks. Just make sure to tell parents to monitor their kids for suicidal urges when you prescribe antidepressants.”

  “Sounds dangerous,” another female classmate said. She always seemed worried—maybe she needed an SSRI.

  Dr. Moore nodded. “No doubt about it, these psychotropic meds are potentially dangerous. They can be lifesavers, but they all may have side effects. That’s why we’ll teach you some treatments in addition to medication. One is psychotherapy. Psychiatrists rarely do talk therapy these days, so you need to refer your patients to competent therapists. Also, there’s a treatment for mental disorders that’s as effective as medication, with longer-lasting recovery and no side effects. Anyone know what that is?”

  I smiled as I pictured the speed bag I’d punched over and over this morning.

  “Exercise,” Josie said.

  “Ding, ding!” Dr. Moore raised his arm and hit an imaginary bell. “We’ve already covered how exercise improves physical health, but it’s great for mental health, too. Now, how do we get our screen-addicted patients to exercise? That’s the tough one. The Exercise is Medicine website gives some good ideas…”

  I couldn’t imagine how people lived without exercise. It was my absolute go-to for stress. In fact, my workouts had taken on an even more intense vibe the past few days, probably due to missing Maddie. My body thrummed with nervous energy every time I thought about her. Sublimation, Dane had called it. Whatever it was, I had it bad.

  On the car ride back to my condo, I glanced at my watch and realized Maddie would likely be between class and practice.

  ¿Cómo estás, Arroyos?

  Having a GOOD day.

  “You’re talking to Maddie,” Brad said from the seat next to me.

  I looked up. “How’d you know?”

  “You’ve got that happy, horny look about you.”

  Like you looked after meeting with your supervisor? I almost asked, but decided to drop it. Brad could do what he wanted. He could do who he wanted. All I wanted was Maddie.

  Great to hear. Why so good?

  Got a 92 on my exam. Set the curve!

  Not a surprise. You’re beautiful AND inteligente.

  It took her a few moments to respond. Had I embarrassed her?

  Thanks to you, Hotajandro.

  Lord, I got hard every time she called me that. I swallowed.

  Nah, that was all you.

  How was class?

  Psychiatry’s not bad, actually. Did you know talk therapy changes brain chemistry just like medication?

  Awesome. I need some of that.

  When she didn’t elaborate, I decided to change the topic.

  Hey, how was your brother’s visit?

  A whole minute ticked by. I texted:

  Maybe you’re busy?

  Got 5 min before I have to leave for practice.

  Just not sure how to answer.

  Hmm. I typed another message.

  Give it to me straight. Braxton doesn’t like me?

  Well, he did call you my boyfriend.

  I grinned.

  But he thinks I’m making a mistake.

  He’s mad your dad cut food stamps.

  My dad and Congress had decreased funding to quite a few programs—we had to address the debt somehow. I was about to type that when I remembered she couldn’t care less about politics. I didn’t want to bore her or sound defensive. But what if her brother wouldn’t let her see me?

  Did he order you not to date me?

  Ha ha HA! I’d like to see him try.

  Nobody would mistake her for a shrinking violet. Another text came in.

  Don’t tell me you forbade Lucia to date Dane.

  Uh oh. Minefield ahead. I would’ve done just that had I known Lucia was with Dane in the beginning. But I hadn’t found out until my parents did, right before the debate. My father had done the forbidding for me. Not that it had worked. How to respond?

  Our families are different.

  Stop evading the question.

  Did you tell Rez to stay away from Dane?

  No. But I wanted to.

  So Brax doesn’t like his sister’s boyfriend,
r />   just like you don’t like Dane. Ironic, isn’t it?

  I groaned. I could imagine Dane laughing. Why did Maddie have to have a big brother?

  The irony isn’t lost on me, sweetheart.

  SMH. You boys need to learn

  to give your sisters RESPECT. )

  At least she’d added the smiley face—hopefully she wasn’t too mad. My phone dinged with her next text.

  Time to head to practice.

  You home from class yet?

  No. Bad traffic as usual.

  I paused, unsure if I should type the words I wanted to say. But my fingers decided for me.

  I miss you, Maddie.

  Another long wait for her reply made me think she’d had to leave. Then my phone buzzed.

  Estoy loca por ti.

  Arousal zipped through me. How did she do that? She made me feel like I’d just cured cancer. I’m crazy for you.

  Brad chuckled.

  “Cállate,” I said, hoping he’d learned enough Spanish to know I told him to shut up.

  Brad sat taller as he reached into the pocket of his jacket for his phone. “Yes, sir,” he said when he answered. After a beat, he handed his phone to me. “Hold for the president.”

  My eyes widened. “Hello?”

  “Alejandro.”

  I clutched the armrest. “Hello, Dad. Everything okay?”

  “Your mother told me you aced your last exam.”

  He was calling about my insignificant test? “It went well, yes. How do you have time to call me?”

  “I’ll always make time for mi familia. I wish I could see you more often.”

  “Me too. How’s Mateo?”

  “Better.”

  “Better?” My heart rate spiked.

  “His sugar was over five-hundred a couple days ago—”

  “¡Por dios, Dad!”

  “—but Karen got his numbers down. He didn’t even need to see the White House doc.”

  Karen was a Secret Service agent, and also a nurse practitioner, so my brother had medical care around the clock. Still, I didn’t like hearing such high glucose numbers. “You’re encouraging him to get the insulin pump, right?”