Wanda pushes to her feet, pulling my mom along with her. “Come on, we’ll regroup in the morning.”
I should let them go, but I’ve held my tongue as long as I can. There’s something about delivering it sitting down that doesn’t feel as powerful, so I go ahead and stand, too. “I’m not giving up on Miami. But I’m also allowed to change my mind.”
Mom’s laugh is sarcastic, with a sharp snort of derision that, no surprise, hurts my feelings. “How do you think I ended up in small town Indiana?”
You moved thereis the answer that springs to my lips, but I’m trying to get closure on this conversation, not rip open old wounds.
“Because of Larry,” she says, pausing beneath the archway, her eyebrows raised sky-high. “I sense a pattern. What was the name of that handsome gentleman you were so starry-eyed over from the open house again? Noah?”
Chapter Thirty-Four
I pull the golf cart up to my grandma’s house and sit in the muggy silence of the driveway for a moment, trying to gather my racing, pinging thoughts.
Upon my arrival in Lakeview at the beginning of the summer, I sat in this same place, spiraling over the loss of my career, my sense of failure smothering me. That damsel was a defeated, slightly melodramatic version of me, but that was okay, because feeling your feelings is not for the faint of heart.
Unfortunately, if you ignore them long enough—and I’m speaking from experience here—they’ll hijack your nervous system.
I see it now, that it wasn’t my talents and abilities slipping away, but running nonstop for months on end. Whenever my brain or body signaled they could use a break, I’d shoved that aside in favor of overachieving. I couldn’t simply climb the ladder; I wanted to do it the fastest and most impressive. I didn’t simply send my boss articles and ideas during my free time, but while eating breakfast, bushing my teeth and putting on makeup, or during my walk to the coffee shop—which I somehow considered my self-care break of the day. Any praise I received created an obsession to help more, endear more, become more valuable to everyone but me.
I had done to myself what my mom did to me, until coworkersexpectedme to shoulder their tasks in addition to mine. Again and again, I would think:I can’t keep up this pace;I just have to make it another month;andfor the love of God, when’s it ever going to let up?
That led to panic attack after panic attack, which I hid in hallways and bathrooms and my apartment, intense enough I couldn’t conjure my coping skills or ground myself for what seemed like forever.
Then I’d crash out for five or six hours of sleep, rinse and repeat.
Perhaps if I admit to the Cronies they were right, the other conversation I need to have with them won’t be quite so tricky.
Burnout was unlike anything I had ever experienced, and a scary headspace I never wish to visit again. I’m not sure I realized how bad a toll it took on my mental health prior to 3:47 this afternoon, when Jan and I officially crossed the 85 percent occupancy threshold.
“We’re done,” she had said, uncorking a bottle of champagne she apparently kept in the office for special occasions and declaring we were taking the rest of the afternoon off.
Meanwhile I was thinking,oh good, I’m not a sham.
Which also meant I didn’t lie during my video interview when I informed Horizon’s Publicity Firm they’d be lucky to hire me.
First thing Monday morning, after a tense weekend that was slightly less rocky than the beginning, Mom had headed to the airport to return to Indiana while I’d headed into the office to process applications. After four days of calling, running credit checks, and filling out contracts for new residents, Jan and I reached our goal. By end of day tomorrow, we might even reach 90 percent.
That’ll set Jan up nicely. I’ll create a publicity plan through the end of the year for her to follow, too.
The curtains on the living room window shift, and Grandma Helen, quickly joined by Fifi, peek out the window at me.
Guess that’s my signal.I stand and pocket the keys with their obnoxious flamingo keychain, strangely sentimental over the golf cart that’s doubled as my chariot for the past three months. I brush my fingers over its decorative flowers, cataloguing every detail.
Okay, so there also might be some procrastinating going on, and it’s about more than this evening’s activity, what’ll be the last of the “Make Mia” challenges to fulfill my bargain. Although, let the record show, I’m 100 percent daunted by the regret Wanda’s chosen for me to live out with her this evening.
…
I thought about it a lot, and I’ve decided to break the newsafterI’ve survived skydiving. Because hey, if the parachute doesn’t open, I’ll never have to tell them I’m leaving, and what a not-extreme-at-all silver lining.
Wanda and I stand opposite each other, stepping into harnesses while Grandma Helen fusses between us. It depends on the minute whether she’s assisting or shaking her head and muttering under her breath what a ridiculous idea it is for the two of us to jump out of a perfectly good plane.
For the record, I wholeheartedly agree. I’m the type of person to have to prepare myself mentally anytime I’m about to board a flight, and I’m talking on a commercial airline. Not a little prop plane with a door that’s supposed to open mid-flight.
Don’t think about the risks, don’t think about the risks.In other words, do the opposite of what my brain does all day every day, and in case I wasn’t fighting my anxiety hard enough, here’s a waiver to sign. No big deal, just swearing we’re physically capable and covering the inherent risks, such as equipment failure, weather, decision-making of other participants, and collision.
Cool, cool, cool, I am not freaking out.
Buckles jangle as the instructor comes by to check and adjust our harnesses, yanking hard enough on a strap I stumble and nearly faceplant on the cement.
