Ben tried to respond, but I barreled over him, having held so much in for so long that I couldn’t seem to shut the floodgates now that they’d burst open. “Look, you want the whole truth, this is it. We spend so much time snowed in up here that I rarely see my friends during the winter. As for my family, my mother’s depression spikes after the holidays. She ignores everyone’s advice and self-medicates with pot instead of taking the pills Dad prescribes her. It’s really hard for me to be around her when she’s like this. That might be shitty for me to say, but it’s the truth.
“I stress out for the entire month of January when Jacob is in Somalia. It’s so dangerous over there, and he’s already had several close calls. When he gets home, he and my dad are flat-out at the practice with flu season. Sofia is flat-out at hers too. Mental illness is really common up here, and so is addiction, both of which seem to get worse this time of year. Megan and Stacey are in Boston, Charlie is back at college, and Anabel is busy with school and sports and friends. Most winters that leaves me with my dogs, Jack, Jane, Dave, and Willow. You know how outgoing I am, how social. Having you here has been just as much of a distraction from my own shit as I’ve been for you.”
Ben scrubbed his hands over his face. “Is that supposed to help? You telling me all of this now? Because it only makes me feel worse for not knowing any of it.”
“And that’s my fault,” I said. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. I should have known you could handle it.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry too. For not asking.”
“It’s okay. How could you have known?”
We fell quiet. I stared across the island at him, taking in his expression, noting the way he still seemed to be fighting some sort of battle with himself.
“But you still want me to go home,” I said.
He nodded.
My heart started to break. “Why?”
“Because I’m afraid that if you stay, I’ll use you as a crutch. That when I’m sad, instead of examining why and trying to find a way out of it for myself, I’ll cling to you, as I have been. When I feel like I’m fucking dying, I’ll turn to sex with you to remind myself I’m still alive. If I continuously use you as a coping mechanism, I’ll never give myself time to grieve or process.”
“That makes sense,” I forced myself to say.
“And I want you to go because I think you need time to process this. I think you’ve been so caught up in helping me that you might not have given yourself any time to really think this through.”
I turned on my heel and marched out of the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” he called after me.
“To get my e-reader!”
I grabbed it from his room and pulled up my library of e-books on the way back down. “Here,” I said, shoving it across the counter toward him.
“What is this?”
“This is four books on the study of the human brain, three on head injuries, two on effective strategies for combatting depression and anxiety, two filled with memory exercises, three self-help books for dealing with grief, one on dealing with loss, three more on coping with chronic illness, and I don’t know how many others that I just can’t remember right now,” I told him. “While you’ve been asleep, I’vebeen reading. I’ve been doing research. I’ve been strategizing ways to help you. Trust me, I’ve thought this through.”
He pushed my e-reader away. “Planning is all well and good, but it might do nothing to prepare you for the reality.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” he asked, voice rising. “They said my anger flashpoints are lower than they should be. It’s taking everything in me not to yell right now. What if it gets worse? What if I snap? What if I end up becoming violent?”
“I’ll start taking self-defense classes and keep taking them until I can kick your ass,” I said. It was a struggle not to match his elevated tone.
“I outweigh you by a hundred pounds, Ella!”
He was trying to scare me. Push me away. It wouldn’t work. I planted my fists on the countertop and leaned forward, feeling desperate now. “Then I’ll fight dirty.”
His expression was full of disbelief. “You’re too nice to fight dirty.”
“No, I’m not,” I told him. “You don’t know me well enough yet to say that. You haven’t seen me when I vent my anger. All I’ve ever been around you is happy, bubbly, Ella. Just because that’s a huge part of my personality, it doesn’t mean it’s the entirety. I get fucking sad, sometimes. I get so mad I end up crying, because if I don’t cry, I’ll scream. Certain times of the month, I can even be an overly sarcastic, borderline bitch. Because I get hormonal. And who’s to say our relationship will last long enough for me to find out what symptoms you end up manifesting?” I asked. “I’m telling you I want to be here for you. Now. That I want to be with you. Now. That I want to help you through this. That doesn’t mean I want to get married and have your babies. I’m twenty-three. I don’t even know if I want children. Literally anything could happen between us. We might be great for a solid two years and then not be able to get overour communication problems and break up. Or five years and fall out of love. There might be a nuclear apocalypse. Mother nature might finally say, ‘ENOUGH!’ and decide to murder all of us.”
He gripped the edge of the counter and leaned back, head down, breathing deeply. “Don’t you understand, Ella?” He looked up at me from behind a curtain of hair. “I can’t even think about any of that. I can’t imagine what could happen between us. In all your imaginary scenarios, you’re forgetting one thing. I might not even beme.” He straightened and pounded a fist against his chest. “This me. The me I am right now. I might be someone I don’t…” tears welled in his eyes, “…someone I don’t recognize.”
Oh, fuck.
I stood there and stared at him, so sad that I couldn’t even cry. So stunned that I had nothing to say in response. Because he was right. He was absolutely right. I’d been overly optimistic. In my planning, Ben’s symptoms were manageable. They manifested slowly enough that we had time to recognize them and react.
