Page 20 of None Of Your Business

Great.

Finished with my toast, Maya squirms to get down. I stand to follow her into the living room before anyone else at the table can say another word.

“Convenient timing,” Josh calls after me.

“Isn’t it.”

I find Maya by the bookshelf, already pulling something off the bottom.

In the kitchen, I hear Josh telling Sophie some detail he’s invented.

I should go back and correct him, but I don’t.

Instead, my mind supplies Rowan sitting on that fire hydrant. Copper hair everywhere. Bare feet on cold pavement.

Do you know how bendy I am, Shrink Wrap?

Christ.

I really should’ve left her on the fire hydrant.

Five

Rowan

I had a tantrum this morning. I’m not proud of it. I’m actually pretty ashamed. But the creative block is so bad that I threw paint at a blank canvas, then cried while scrubbing it off the floor.

Somewhere between washing paint off places it should never be and eating cereal out of the box because every bowl I own is dirty, I dug Dr. Mercer’s pamphlet out of my bag and called Westbrook.

I don’t know what I expected. A six-month waiting list, ideally. Something that would let me tell Mercer I tried without actually having to follow through.

Instead, the receptionist said, “We actually have space in our chronic illness group this evening.”

I stared at the wall. “This evening?”

“Would you like me to reserve a spot?”

No.

“Sure.”

Ten minutes later, a confirmation text came through.

WESTBROOK MEDICAL AND RESEARCH CENTER GROUP THERAPY—6:00 PM. ROOM 4.

Which is how, several hours later, I find myself on the sidewalk outside the Westbrook Center. I stand there, deciding whether showing up physically satisfies the obligation. Does it count as attending if I stare at the entrance for an hour and then hit the bakery down the block?

Except I’m not painting anything, and if I don’t at least try, I could end up with another failed show.

I’m six minutes late by the time I get inside, which isn’t ideal for my first attempt at emotional maturity.

Do not pass out right now.

Anxiety crawls higher, tightening around my ribs and climbing into my throat.

And just like that, I’m fifteen again.

It’s a different building, yet the feeling is the same.