“Want to go walk, Lily? Trace obviously isn’t going to go with us today.”
The dog perks up and runs for her leash. It rained earlier today, so it’s humid and sticky. Who cares? I’m going for a walk. These walks lately have been just Lily and me. It’s been a relief while also a source of frustration. I have too much time to think about what’s going on. Needing to talk to someone, I call my mom.
“Oh, my daughter must have something to rant about if she’s calling me before I can call her.”
I laugh. “You know me so well.”
“Yes, I do. What’s going on?”
“Trace is up to something,” I blurt out. “He’s supposedly working late, he’s working through his lunches, and we haven’t gone out but once since he bailed on me when we were supposed to go to the concert. It’s stressing me out.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”
“I don’t believe that,” I quickly reply. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t be sneaky. It feels like he’s keeping something from me.”
“Have you asked him about it?”
“No, because he should be the one telling me! I shouldn’t have to ask. If he doesn’t want me to know, he’s just going to lie anyway. I’d rather not ask than to ask and he give me a bullshit answer.”
“Do you think he would do that?”
“Maybe. All I know is whatever he’s doing is giving me serious anxiety. I’m nauseous all the time and I’m throwing up every morning. If I have to up my meds because of whatever he’s up to, I’m going to be even more pissed than I already am. And do you know what’s messed up? I feel bad for being pissed, but he shouldn’t be keeping anything from me. I thought he would’ve known better considering what happened before.”
“What does your therapist say?”
“She wants me to confront him, but she thinks he’s cheating on me. Freaking Rebecca.”
“What are you talking about?”
Right. I never told her about that. “A while back, I met Rebecca for lunch and she said she saw Trace out to lunch with some woman. It got kinda nasty and I left. I didn’t believe her then and I don’t now. Doesn’t mean that the stupid thought hasn’t run through my head, but he’s being sneaky, Mom! Something is going on and I need to know what it is. I need him to tell me.”
Mom is quiet for a bit. “I don’t know what to tell you since you don’t want to bring it up to him.”
I sigh. Well, she’s no help.
“Brittany, I’ve got another call coming in. Let me take it and I can call you back.”
“No, that’s okay. Love you.”
“Love you too. Everything will be fine, I bet.”
“Hope so.”
We hang up and Lily and I turn around to head home. Trace is on the phone, pulling into the driveway when we’re almost to the door. I keep walking. I want a bath. Trace gets off work at five o’clock. He should’ve been home around 5:30, six at the latest. It’s eight o’clock. If he tells me he’s been at work, I’m going to scream. I’m better off going to take my bath and not giving him a chance to talk to me just yet.
I’m settled into my bath when the doorknob jiggles. “Britt?”
Yes, I locked the door. “What?” I ask.
“Everything okay?”
No. “I didn’t have a good day, so I wanted to relax. Do you need something?”
“No. I just wanted to see you.”
“I’ll be out later.”
Silence.
“Okay. Enjoy your bath.”
I sink further into the water. Tears fall from the corners of my eyes. My biggest fear is that I ask him what’s going on and he questions my trust in him. But this is getting out of control. I count while I breathe, hoping that helps calm me down. Slowly inhale, hold for three, and slowly exhale. Repeat until I feel better.
“Britt.”
I startle awake to find Trace squatting next to the tub. He must’ve taken the doorknob off again.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I must’ve been more tired than I thought, I guess.” I shiver from the now-cold water. Trace pulls a towel off the towel rack, standing as I do and wraps it around me when I step out. “Are you okay?” I ask, noticing he looks a bit stressed. His hair is out of sorts. He got a haircut today, I realize.
“I don’t like having to remove the doorknob to come find you in here.” He wraps his arms around me, tugging me against him. “You didn’t have to lock the door.”
“I wanted some time to myself.”
“Still didn’t have to lock the door. Want to watch a movie with me before we go to bed?”
I shake my head. “I’m tired, so I think I’m going to go early.”
Trace places a finger under my chin to lift my head, so I’m looking at him. “Do you feel bad?”
“Kinda.”
He rests the back of his hand against my forehead and then my cheeks. “You don’t feel warm.”
“I don’t think I have a fever,” I agree.
“Want anything before you go to bed?”
“Will you grab me something to drink and come to bed with me?” Despite all that’s going on, Trace is pretty normal behaving when he’s home. That’s what I want. Normal. I want Trace to hold me in his arms while I fall asleep.
“Yeah. I’ll do that.” He kisses my forehead before walking away.
I get ready for bed and am thankful to see he brought me a glass of water. I drink some of it while he changes and take my pills. We climb into bed. Trace pulls me against him, and I take a deep breath. This is my boyfriend. He rubs my back in those long soothing motions. Soon, I’m asleep once more.
I swear I wake up every time I turn in my sleep. It feels like all I’ve done is toss and turn. Sick of it, I get out of bed. Good news is it’s only an hour before I normally wake up. Bad news is I’m freaking tired and feel sick. Again.
Just as I make it to the bathroom, my stomach is super queasy and vomit is pushing its way up my throat. I’ll be happy when this isn’t part of my anxiety. I never want to throw up again.
“Britt? Damn, you okay?” he asks as he pulls my hair away from my face.
“No, I’m not okay,” I snap. This is all his fault.
“You might’ve caught a bug. Maybe you should go to the doctor.”
Throwing up interrupts my answer. Taking deep breaths, I say, “Why? If it’s a virus, there’s not a lot they can do.” Not to mention that it’s not a virus. It’s anxiety.
“Call in sick. Stay home and relax.”
“I’ll be fine. Oh, god.” Here it comes again. Last night’s dinner gushes out of my mouth rapidly and back to back, making it hard to breathe. When is this going to end?
A few minutes later, apparently. When I slowly stand, Trace curses under his breath.
“What?” I ask.
He positions me in front of the mirror. There are dozens of little red dots on my eyelids and around my eyes. “It’s probably popped blood vessels from all the pressure around your eyes when you’re throwing up.”
Great. Good thing I own some concealer, or I might actually consider not going into work. With a sigh, I brush my teeth. Trace stands behind me with worried eyes. Good. Maybe he’ll tell me what the hell he’s up to and end this. Then again, he thinks I’m sick.
“I want you to stay home from work and rest.”
I rinse my mouth. “I’ll be fine.”
“Britt, you’re white as a sheet. You have to feel like shit. Why do you want to go in to work anyway?”
“Because I know how I feel and I’ll be fine.”
He frowns. I walk out of the bathroom and climb back into bed. Trace follows after me. He dozes off, but I stay awake, feeling too bad to sleep. Maybe I am sick. When Trace wakes up to see I haven’t gotten any sleep, he hands my phone to me.
“Call it in.”
I narrow my eyes, not enjoying how he’s giving me orders, but I call in sick because I feel like shit. Once Trace has gotten ready for work, he leaves and retur
ns moments later with a bottle of water and a pack of saltine crackers. He leans over to give me a kiss on the forehead.
“I’ll come check on you at lunch.”
Oh, so I have to be sick for him to have lunch with me? Go figure. “Thanks,” I mumble anyway.
He gives me another kiss on the forehead and tells me to feel better before leaving. I’ve never taken a day off work. It feels weird. I feel bad about it once noon comes around and I feel just fine, just like I knew I would. Trace comes home with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and ginger ale.
“How are you feeling?” he asks as he hands me my lunch.
“Fine. I feel like I should go into work.”
Trace shakes his head. “Might as well enjoy the rest of your day off. Besides, you don’t want to go in and feel bad again.”
Maybe he has a point.
“Thanks for the soup; it’s good.”
“Welcome.”
We’re quiet while we eat and watch the midday news. I wish we were talking instead. I guess it’s good news that my gut isn’t screaming that something wrong or bad is going on, but it’s still bothering me tremendously that something is going on that I don’t know about.
Hopefully, he’ll tell me soon.
When I wake up hearing Brittany vomiting the next morning, she insists on going to work. That’s when I realize she probably wasn’t ever sick. She’s having panic attacks again. But she isn’t saying that. It has to be because of me. She’s pulled away from me and I need to correct that.
I come straight home after work to cook dinner. The look of surprise is still on Brittany’s face when she walks in the door to find food prepared and ready on the table.
“Hey. How was your day?” I ask as we sit down at the table.
“Work was good. My psychiatrist increased my dosage when I went to see him today. He’s hoping it’ll help balance me back out. He doesn’t want it to get worse and stir up my depression.”
“Any idea of what’s stressing you out?”
She shrugs. “No. Everything’s been normal.”
That’s a lie and we both know it. I let it go, though. After dinner, Brittany doesn’t feel like joining Lily and me on our walk, so I go alone. She’s napping in my recliner when I return. Lily jumps up to lie with her, startling her awake.
“Let me lie with you.”
She gets up to let me sit down before settling onto my lap. I recline us back.
“Are you getting excited about the trip to Italy?” she asks.
“Yeah.” The trip will be the first week of November, and since it’s already September, it’s not too far away. “Are you?”
“Yeah. It’ll be nice to get away before the holidays.”
It will be good timing. We don’t say much more as we relax and watch TV. Brittany falls back to sleep, not waking even when her phone rings with a call from her mother. I hold her and hope that between me taking my lunch to come bring her food yesterday and spending tonight with her, it eases her mind. But it might not, especially when I’m going right back to what I’ve been doing soon.
The next day, I’m running a little late, but I still beat Brittany home. I’m cooking dinner when the front door slams. Brittany doesn’t even glance my way. She looks pissed. She yanks open the refrigerator door, grabs a Sun Drop, and slams the door.
“What’s wrong?” I ask before she can walk out of the door.
She whirls to around to face me. “If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.”
Uh-oh. “You’re mad at me?”
“Yes!” she shouts. “God, you’re a complete idiot lately.”
“What did I do?”
“I asked you this morning to meet me for lunch. You said you would. Guess who had lunch by herself?” she yells.
Shit. I completely forgot she asked me. I slept in and was running late this morning. She asked while I was busy looking for a matching pair of socks. “Sorry, Britt. We had a meeting at lunch at the office.”
“Whatever. I don’t care. I’m going out with Melissa for dinner.”
“I’m cooking,” I point out.
“Don’t give a damn.” She heads toward the bedroom, and a few minutes later, she walks right out of the door, slamming it closed.
Fucking hell. If things keep up, I’m going to ruin our relationship. I’m not doing a very good job balancing things. It wasn’t until this week that I realized I wasn’t. Brittany’s frustration with me is starting to show, not that I can blame her. I wonder how much longer it’ll be until she explodes or confronts me.
Since she’s gone for the night, I finish dinner, eat, walk Lily, and leave. Might as well take advantage of her being gone and pissed at me.
When I make it back to the house, Brittany is still gone. Is it bad to hope that Melissa calms her down and convinces her not to be mad at me anymore? I wish there was a way to keep doing what I’m doing without messing with her insecurities, pissing her off, and making this worse between us. There doesn’t seem to be a way to do that since I can’t take time off of work to do it. I just didn’t realize at first what I was getting myself into and now, I’m too far in to stop if even I wanted to.
Brittany comes home around nine. She seems worse than when she left.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Just fine,” she answers. Yet she’s squeezing the hell out of her wrist. She seems antsy. What in the hell happened while she was gone with Melissa?
“Dinner with Melissa was fun?”
“Yeah.”
She still hasn’t looked at me.
Abruptly, she stands with her purse. “I need a hot shower; it’s been a long day.” Brittany rushes to our bedroom.
Now she’s the one acting weird and suspicious.
Wait.
Does she think I’m acting suspiciously? What reasons has her mind come up with for my behavior? Is she thinking the worst of me or giving me the benefit of the doubt? I can’t ask because if I bring up the topic, she’s going to want answers. Answers I can’t give her. I can’t tell her what’s going on. I just can’t. It would ruin everything.
Now is not the time to ease either of our consciences. All I can do is hope we both hang in there for the time being.
“Just so you know,” Melissa starts, “I hate periods. Usually, mine are pretty tame, but this one is giving me a run for my money. I’m bloated with bad headaches and cramps. Plus, my boobs hurt! So over it. Tell me yours are just as bad, so I don’t have a reason to hate you.”
I laugh. “This is not good dinner conversation, just so you know.” I think about my last period and realize it’s been a while. Oh, god. I’ve missed my period. With everything going on with Trace, I haven’t even thought about it. It didn’t occur to me that I missed it. Maybe it’s just stress.
“Are you okay? You’re pale.”
“Yeah, I just don’t feel well. If it makes you feel better, my periods are terrible and my boobs hurt, too.” The latter is the truth. They’ve been more sore than usual. Sometimes with my period, they hurt anyway, so maybe that’s a good sign.
But pregnant women have achy boobs, too, right?
Dear lord.
What if my vomiting isn’t just my anxiety?
What if it’s morning sickness? When does that usually start? Damn it! Why don’t I know this?
I need to find out. Then I’ll freak out if needed.
I try to stay focused during dinner, but it’s hard. Especially when I go to the bathroom and wonder if I’m going more than usual. Dinner with Melissa ends at seven. She heads home to her “wonderful husband” while I go to the drug store. Is this really happening?
I’m sitting in my car in front of the drug store, trying to get the courage to go inside and buy a pregnancy test. How accurate are those things anyway? Maybe I should wait and go see my doctor. Let her tell me.
No, I can’t wait that long.
Which means I need to go inside, buy a test, and go home to take it.
All without Trace
knowing.
There’s no way I’m saying a word to him until I know for sure. What is this going to do to us? Especially since he’s up to god knows what. The minutes pass, stretching out farther and farther until I’ve been here for an hour and a half. I should get home soon. It’s now or repeating the process all over again tomorrow.
With a deep breath, I rush into the store, assess all the boxes, randomly grab one, and rush to the cashier. I stuff it in my purse. I feel like there’s an elephant sitting on my chest as I drive home. What if I’m pregnant? What do I know about kids? Nothing!
It’s a bit hilarious that I feel disappointed that Trace is home. I was kind of hoping he’d leave and be sneaky as usual, so I could take it without him here. I may just have to wait until tomorrow. Let’s just hope I can act normal in the meantime. I walk in, see him in his recliner and take a seat on the couch.
The pregnancy test is burning a hole through my purse. Trace sometimes goes into my purse, but he usually only does it to get a panic pill for me. He shouldn’t do it now. Oh gosh. What if my pills are bad for the baby? If there’s a baby? I can’t come off my meds.
“Everything okay?” Trace asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Just fine,” I lie without glancing his way. I might just have a complete meltdown if I do.
I can feel his gaze on me, though.
“Dinner with Melissa was fun?” He’s fishing for clues, but he’s not going to find one here.
“Yeah.” There’s no way I can sit here with him and be okay. I rush to stand, feeling lightheaded for a moment. “I need a hot shower; it’s been a long day.” Not a complete lie. I’ll shower while I wait for the test results. I walk as calmly as possible to our bedroom, locking the bathroom door behind me. What’s the point? If Trace is worried, he’ll take the doorknob off and come in anyway.
I fumble with the box and with shaky hands, do what I need to do to take the test. As soon as it’s done, I hop into the shower. There’s no rush because I’m not sure I want to know anything just yet. This is going to change things dramatically. If I am. How can I even bring something like this up to Trace when I’m too freaking scared to ask him what he’s up to?
When it feels like I’ve been in the shower for too long, I step out, dry off, and get dressed. Then, I look at the test.
Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2) Page 21