“Did you know about the Rockettes stuff?”
“Nope.” I shook my head and fought off queasy feelings. “That was a bombshell that I’m sure she loved dropping on me.”
“Does it bother you?”
I hadn’t had the time to process it yet and I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to. “Not that she had to quit, because it wasn’t my fault. But if I’d known about it before it might’ve helped contextualize our relationship.”
“It sure does explain a ton. Can I make an armchair diagnosis?”
I glanced over at him. “Are you qualified?”
He smiled. “I mean, I got my PhD from Reddit University, so not exactly. But based on my research I’d say your mom is a textbook narcissist.”
“Yeah, thanks to my therapist I came to that conclusion as well. It helps to have a framework for her behavior, but it doesn’t make living with it any easier.”
Ben glanced at me again, his eyes soft in the fading light. “I’m sorry.”
He watched me for so long that I worried we might drift into a snowbank and get stuck together forever.
Which wouldn’t be the worst thing.
“Consider yourself lucky that you had normal parents,” I said, trying to make light of my trauma. “Wait, youdidhave normal parents, right? That wasn’t all for show?”
A single nod as he finally refocused on the road. “My parents were great.Aregreat. Zero complaints.”
I wasn’t going to let him sidestep my attempt to get him to open up.
“That must’ve been a huge help as you transitioned to regular civilian life,” I said. “Having them in your corner.”
I studied his profile and caught the frowning jaw flex.
“What?” I asked.
He answered with a long sigh. “It’s complicated. There’s just a lot you don’t know about that period of my life. Talking about it makes me look...”
I held my breath as he searched for the right word.
“Weak.”
“Ben, no,” I began, but I stopped myself just as quickly, because I didn’t want to sound like I didn’t believe his pain. “I mean, I get it. You’re an incredibly strong person who was facing down an unimaginable challenge. Of course you faltered a little.”
“Faltered,” he repeated as he coughed out a laugh. “Oh, it wassomuch more than that. You probably think I just had a little too much fun, right? The gold medal playboy and his drinking problem.” He opened his mouth to keep going then shut it abruptly.
“What?”
Ben looked over again and the pain in his expression made himalmost unrecognizable to me. “Quinn, I couldn’t get out of bed. Formonths.”
It was my turn to flap my mouth open and closed like a fish on dry land.
“Disgusting, right?” Ben asked with another harsh laugh.
“No,” I replied immediately. My hand snaked over to his shoulder reflexively and squeezed it. “Understandable.”
“But it’snot,” he insisted. “I had everything. A great team and coach, amazing parents, financial security, and more gold medals than any human needs. Instead of celebrating it, I curled up in my apartment and tried to sleep and drink my days away.” He shook his head. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was? But I was powerless against the black dog.”
“I’m sorry? The what?”
“The black dog. Depression. I think the phrase started with Churchill. It’s easier to call it that rather than what it actually was. No one wants to say, “I have depression.”
