I started rubbing circles in Taylor’s palm, hoping to bring him back to me. “Tell me what you need me to do.” I said softly, hoping he could hear me. He seemed to curl in on himself, which at first, I thought meant he was getting worse. But he pulled out his phone and handed it to me.
I opened it and looked around. Not sure what he wanted me to do. I checked his texts and saw the only contact other than me and his grandfather was called Tupp (Therapist) and then the mouse emoji. Whether this is what he meant or not I called this Tupp, hoping they could talk me through this.
“Taylor?” A woman with an incredibly high voice answered the phone.
“Sorry, I’m Lydia, his wife?”
“Oh dear, what’s the problem? I’m Dr. Tupp, his therapist.”
“His parents showed up and I got them to leave, but now he’s having a panic attack and I don’t know how to help.” I got it all out in one breath.
“Both his parents?” She sounded genuinely worried, as well as a little angry in a way that felt wrong for a therapist, which confirmed I was never letting them back into this house as long as I lived here.
“Yeah. What can I do?”
“Repeat after me dear,” she said, and I did.
“Taylor,” I began softly, “what do we do first?”
“We breathe,” he said unevenly though still rapid breaths. I began taking deep breaths in and out until he began to follow my pattern. Soon we were breathing in sync.
“What do you feel?”
“Your hand in mine. The hardwood under my feet. Cold from the door that was just open.”
“What do you hear?”
A small wobbly smile appeared. “Your voice.”
“What do you see?”
He opened his eyes, blinking a few times. “You.”
“That’s good,” I said, continuing to move my thumb over his palm. “Do you want to talk to Dr. Tupp?”
He nodded. I handed him the phone.
“Do you want me to leave?”
He looked unsure for a moment but finally nodded. I left him there and went to my room so I couldn’t hear their private conversation. I knew that Taylor had some kind of regular appointment somewhere. I had never asked what it was for. All along it was therapy. I wish his parents had never come. If Taylor wanted me to know about his therapy, he would eventually have told me. If I were forced to be so vulnerable in front of someone, I wouldn’t know how to handle it.
I decided I wasn’t going to push him to share anything with me. I would let him know he could be open with me, but I wanted him to tell me on his own schedule. I was mid preparing a speech when I heard a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I said and got up from my bed.
Taylor opened the door and stood at the threshold, not moving any closer. “We should take some photos to send to my grandfather.”
“What? Oh. Because of what I said. Yeah, we can do that sometime, it might be fun.”
“Good.” He looked at me for a moment. “I’ll talk to you later?” He turned and shut the door.
All the words I had planned to say died in my throat as I was left alone.
Chapter 11: Taylor
I struggled to get out of bed every morning for the next week. I still pushed myself to get up and managed to by focusing on my guilt at abandoning my responsibilities. I was on autopilot when I went to work. I did everything I was supposed to, but it didn’t feel like I was the one doing it; it was like I was at a distance, floating, watching my body work. I came home and made dinner, then went to bed again. I didn’t feel up to exercising or anything else. Mrs. Tupp told me I was very likely spiraling into a depressive episode but hearing those words didn’t pull me out of it. I had felt a weight on myself nearly my whole life. Only recently had I felt it get lifted further and further until it only bothered me sometimes. Now it was like it had been shoved back down on my shoulders and its weight was all I could feel.
Lydia made it better. During our nightly dinners she had plenty of time and reason to, but never asked what happened between me and my parents, between me and my mother. When they had visited, I had no idea what I was going to do, my brain stopped. But without having to even ask me what was wrong, she seemed to know what I needed and how best to keep my mother away from me. Lydia didn’t even let her get close enough to touch me. I would never be able to repay her for that. But I could tell she was worried about me, but after my illness, I promised that I didn’t want to do that to her again. I tried to get myself in the mood to give her the affection I know she craved. At the gardens I had wanted it too, but now I lacked the spark that drove me to take her there.
A few days after the incident, I pushed her against our countertops and kissed her hard and fast. She wanted this and I wanted to get it done quickly. I crashed into her lips and she seemed to be into it too. At least I thought, until she tapped my wrist. I stopped immediately. She gently put a hand on my chest and pushed me back slightly. She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual
