I nod. “I think it went well.”
A small pause and then Eloise bursts out laughing, falling over onto her back on the floor.
Once the laughter subsides, Eloise wipes her eyes. “Do you think we did the right thing?”
“Having regrets already?”
She snorts. “Always.”
“No regrets. Yes, she’s our mother. Yes, she raised us but that doesn’t give her the right to our sanity or happiness for all eternity.”
She nods. “You’re right. I’m glad we’re at least in this together.”
I smile. “Me too.”
By the time Eloise leaves, it’s the middle of the night. I shut the door behind her, promising to call her tomorrow. Ha.
I get into bed and listen to Hugo’s muffled sobs and contemplate everything.
What would make me happiest? How can I live as my truest self? Everything else is irrelevant. Which sounds selfish, but it’s not. I can’t help anyone else until I help myself.
I can’t make my bosses like me.
I can’t fix Hugo.
I can’t live an entire relationship with Alex in the same twenty-four hours.
I can’t force time to push on.
I had no idea what was happening with Eloise, and I can’t fix her life for her now that I do.
And so. I have to let it go. Really let it go. Not like I did with Alex when we played hooky, a temporary reprieve from reality.
If I’m going to live the same day over and over with no control over the forward movement of time or anything else, then I’m damn well making sure it’s the best day I can have.
I kept thinking if I held on tight, manipulated the things that happened around me, maneuvered the people around me, if I controlled everything, it would make me happy, but it doesn’t work that way.
Look at Eloise. Or Mark. Or anyone, really. You can seem like you have everything, be perfect on the outside, and still be miserable on the inside. Perception is everything and nothing at all.
It’s time to let go of what my parents want, what other people think I want, and figure out what I want. I can wear the expectations of everyone around me like a costume, like keeping it wrapped around me will give me happiness, but the opposite is true.
It’s time to surrender. To let go of everything, including thinking I can do something to change this day. Instead of trying to control it, I should just enjoy it.
Chapter Twenty
Okay, so I don’t turn into some kind of super calm yogi overnight who has no problems or nerves whatsoever. Letting go and enjoying the day doesn’t mean anxiety is gone forever.
It also doesn’t mean the day moves forward.
I stopped keeping track, but this Monday has been repeating for months. Five months? Six? Somewhere around there. It’s a relatively small blip of time, but it may as well be an eternity.
But even though it feels like I’m living in a time without end, I am happier most days. Lighter. Freer.
Everyone has some anxiety. And it’s not all a bad thing. Like feeling jittery before a performance or a job interview. Getting shaky talking to a crowd, or butterflies before a first kiss. That’s normal. That’s healthy. That’s your body understanding that you’re doing something important.
When the acidic taste of panic rises in my throat for no good reason, I do my best. I know it won’t last forever. I allow myself to feel it, recognize it for what it is, understand that it isn’t the helpful kind of anxiety, and do my best to push through it. Just my best. Not perfection. It helps. I tell my brain the truth. There are no tigers hiding here. I’m not going to die. My body is overreacting to something that’s not even real.
The difference is, I’m choosing not to dwell. I’m choosing not to let it take hold of me and limit my life. It’s okay to feel it and then move on. I still get nervous and anxious, but it’s not as much, and I’m getting better at fighting my way through it.
My days settle into something normal. As normal as it can be when you’ve been living the same day over and over (and over) again.
I still spend time with Hugo. Sometimes I hang out with Presley. And sometimes I go to Alex’s show to support him. We still have the best conversations. Sometimes he asks me out and I get his kisses, sometimes I don’t, and that’s okay.
Sometimes when Eloise shows up, I bring her with me to drinks with the queens and she loves them as much as I do.
And most importantly, I stop overthinking and focus on what I can actually do to help Hugo.
I can’t get him to not cry, and that’s not on me. Maybe stopping the crying completely shouldn’t have been the goal in the first place.
Instead, when the crying starts, I stop thinking of Hugo as a problem to be solved, get out of bed, and go over and knock.
The door swings open. He’s in the red dress, no wig, black lines of watery mascara trailing down his cheeks. My heart aches for him.
“Can I offer you solutions or comfort? Or do you want me to leave you alone?”
He blinks and then considers for a moment before responding. “Will you sit with me?”
“Of course.”
I follow him to the couch, his large frame dwarfing the love seat. I drop down next to him and wait.
It’s quiet, maybe a little awkward, but it’s okay. The silence isn’t making me too twitchy. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent a lot of time with Hugo, or maybe it’s because I know he’s upset and he asked me to sit with him, and I’m doing what he wants.
He’s still crying, his tears now silent.
After a minute, he leans into me, our shoulders touching.
And we sit, together.
I can’t fix him. But I can be here for him. That’s the only thing I have to offer, and so I give
