“You need some sleep. Whatever tax return you have to do can wait until the morning.”
“No, it can’t,” my voice shakes. “This needed to be doneyesterday. You don’t understand the kind of pressure I’m under.” Tears threaten the corners of my eyes.No. No. No. Please, no.“The tax deadline is today.” I choke back a sob.
“Oh, honey! I’m so sorry! Everything is going to be okay. There’s nothing you haven’t made it through yet. You’re incredible. Not only are you my little miracle child, but you are smart andsucha hard worker. You’ll get it done.”
My heart squeezes at her words, and my lungs decide it will be fun to stop taking in oxygen again. I whimper as I try to get myself back under control. Mom’s face contorts in horror. “What’s going on? Whose ass do I need to kick? I’m getting on the next flight to San Francisco right n?—”
“No! I’m just having a bad day… okay, a bad week.” She pins me with a glare, but I don’t dare let up again and tell her the truth. It’s been a bad few months.
I bite my lower lip, trying to keep it from quivering. As much as I want to be comforted by my mom right now, I know I don’t have the time for it, and I know telling her the truth about how I’ve been feeling lately won’t get me the results I want. She’d give up the world to make sure I’m happy. She already has before, and I will never let her do it again.
“I really need to go, Mom. I have work to do.”
“Oh, no you don’t! I’m your mother. You’re not fooling me. Have you been like this all night? All busy season?”
“No. Like I said, I really have to?—”
“Olivia Parker! Don’t you dare lie to me. I can see your face. I can hear your voice. You’re mydaughter. I know you’re not okay. You had another episode, didn’t you?”
Even when I was younger, my mom refused to put any other kind of label on the panic attacks. I know it scares her when this happens. I know it makes her feel out of control, like she did something wrong when she was raising me. Sometimes it makes me feel like I failed her. She finally got her chance to have a kid, and she had me, this messy ball of anxiety that constantly makes her worry despite my best efforts to hide my troubles from her.
“When was the last time you had an episode?”
I shake my head, unwilling to answer. If she finds out, she is going to move back to California. I’m sure of it.
Her brows furrow and a deep crease appears on her forehead. I feel my resolve caving quickly as her anger smooths to concern. Her wide amber eyes have this little sparkle that gets me every time.
“It’s been going on for the last couple months. It’s just?—”
“Months?” she explodes. “This job is obviously too much for you. This is not healthy. We need to do something about this.”
“Wearen’t going to do anything about this. I’m twenty-four years old. I can take care of myself.” I glance at the clock, watching precious seconds pass by. “Ihaveto go. I can’t argue with you about this right now.”
“No. We are talking about this now. The deadline is today. Something needs to change. It’s not healthy for you to be in this state for nearly six months out of the year.” She pauses, thinking. “Maybe your dad and I need to come back. You obviously need a better support system. We could be there for you and help you better manage your anxiety.”
“Absolutely not. You and Dad are so happy in Roots. I can’t let you do that.”
“I need to keep an eye on you though. I always worry about you, but now that I know you’re having episodes again, I’m going to worry twice as much.”
I sigh, burying my head into my hands. “You’re not coming back.”
“Yes, Iam,” she insists.
“I can’t—” I’m saved by the sound of barking on Mom’s end of the phone.
“Rhett’s here. Ugh, I need to go. We are going to discuss this more.”
“I don’t doubt it. Love you, Mom.”
“I love you with my whole heart, Ol.”
I stick my phone in my back pocket, swipe below my eyes one more time, and then slowly open the door, peeking out to see if anyone has noticed what just happened.
Feeling confident I wasn’t caught, I slither out of the little room, taking several deep breaths as I move back to my desk. I make it a full three steps before I feel an arm tugging at me. I look up to find my career coach, who is also the senior manager on my return, looking down at me with pity in her eyes.
“Are you okay?”
My lip instantly quivers.Why is it so emotional when someone asks if you’re okay?
