“I just want to see you happy,” she says quietly. “We all do.”
I scoff and drain the rest of the glass. “Is this an intervention or something?”
“Maybe,” she replies.
“Look, I’m trying to be nicer. I really am. It’s just … I usually have a lot on my mind, and I get frustrated when the people I’m trying to protect work against me.”
She shakes her head and regards me, a mixture of pity and concern lining her expression. “Landry, don’t take this the wrong way, but have you thought about getting help?”
“What do you mean,help?”
“Therapy? You know, get some techniques for managing those feelings so they don’t eat away at you. It’s never too late for you to learn more about yourself. Maybe there’s more to it than just the ADHD stuff. And who knows, you might feel better once you get a diagnosis and figure out how to work with your brain instead of fighting it.”
“Oh, so there’s something wrong with me now?” I shoot her a wry smile.
She glares at me. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“And you don’t think I recognize there’s more than ADD going on up here?” I retort, gesturing to my head. “I’m a doctor, too.”
“Exactly! And you should know better than anyone that it’s not good to feel this way all the time!” She throws her hands up in exasperation before she softens her tone and adds, “Then again, doctors usually make the worst patients, don’t we?”
But she’s wrong, because I don’t feel this way all the time. I like my career. I like my patients, and I like helping people. I enjoy going to work most days, even if I haven’t managed to befriend all my coworkers. And I don’t wake up every morning intending to be a miserable grump.
In fact, lately … I don’t wake up miserable at all.
I think it’s this crap—these confrontational interactions with my family that I dread to the point of putting me in a bad mood. This is the source of that underlying anger and resentment I can’t seem to shake.
“Is that what you did, Lil? Your therapist help you work through all that guilt when you moved away and left us behind?” I mumble after a while. But I regret it as soon as I look up and see the way her eyes are watering. I shake my head. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”
She bites her lip and nods softly. “You know, I never had what you and Lo have. I didn’t have anyone to cling to when things first started getting bad at home. But I’ve always been grateful the two of you had one another, and I’d hate to see you ruin that bond because you’re too scared and stubborn to allow yourself to heal or move on or … whatever the hell it is you need to be happy.”
My chest feels like it’s being squeezed, and I involuntarily reach up to rub it. “I don’t think I knowhowto be happy,” I say after a while, my voice cracking.
“Then let someone help you figure it out.” She turns her head and gestures in Daisy’s direction.
Daisy’s eyes instantly meet mine, and they’re filled with concern. Then she offers me a sad smile, and I clear my throat and look away when my eyes begin to sting.
“You deserve it, Landry,” Lilley adds with a light sniffle.
I stand abruptly, because I can’t take any more. “I’m going to get a drink. Thanks for the session, Doc.”
But Daisy follows me to the bar, and I curse under my breath.
“Hey, is everything okay?” she asks, placing a gentle hand on my forearm.
“Fine,” I retort as I lift my arm to pick up a fresh glass of champagne. But I frown when I realize I actually felt better before I shirked the contact.
“Landry,” she begins.
“I said I’m fine,” I repeat before she can continue. I turn and spot my sister dancing with my dad, then I throw the glass back and down its contents. “Loving and supportive, right?” I mutter before I hand Daisy the empty champagne flute and march toward the dance floor.
The song comes to an end as I wait with my hands in my pockets. My dad lets Loren go and casts a wary glance my way before he walks off, and I force a smile when I offer a hand to her.
“Never thought I’d be the most popular girl at the dance, but here we are,” Loren says, grinning, and I soften my expression as she places her hand in mine.
“You’re certainly the prettiest, Lo-Lo,” I tell her, and she laughs. “Even if you are bratty enough to need two dresses.”
She cocks an eyebrow at me. “Who says that wasn’t just an excuse to go home and let my husband undress me before the reception?”
