“When I got to Montreal and started school with you, I developed a little routine,” I start. My heart is pounding, and my ears are ringing. “I’d go home, head to my room, grab my laptop my parents got me as a consolation prize for moving, and head straight to MSN.”
“Oh my God. MSN. That was another era, wasn’t it?” Sophie chuckles.
I try to chuckle along to lighten my mood. It doesn’t really work. “Yeah, it really was. So, I’d wait for Logan to log on too. And for the first two weeks, we didn’t miss a single day. We’d chat, send each other funny cat videos on YouTube, all that stuff. You and I weren’t quite friends just yet, so that really made the transition easier.”
“Yeah, I remember,” she interjects. “You were kind of weird at first. A bit closed off. I didn’t want to scare you off by being too forward.” She chuckles again.
“This was nothing like hanging out in real life, and I missed him so much,” I continue. There’s a weight on my chest, and it’s starting to burn. “But it was better than nothing at all. Despite that, we didn’t speak a single word about that last night at his house. I didn’t dare to bring it up, and neither did he. And every time I’d even think about it, I’d feel gross. My heart would sink.” Back then, I didn’t understand what the hell had come over me that night. It was like someone else, another Avery entirely, had taken over my body and started hungering over Logan like I’d never done before. And thinking about the incident did weird things to my body—more things I didn’t understand.
“And that was the issue, or at least part of it, because we didn’t talk about it, I had no idea how he felt about it. He didn’t seem upset about it, but it was hard to say. You can never tell when you’re texting. And so every evening during those two weeks, I’d wait with anticipation until he logged on … but I felt more and more anxious about it every day.” I pause to take a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” Sophie checks in.
I place a hand on my chest and shut my eyes. “I will be.” I need to finish my story. I open my eyes again. “I felt this huge unspoken thing between us, and the weight of it was suffocating me. Plus, there were those other feelings. I think—” I look out towards the waves. “Back then, everything was so new. The anxiety was new, the move was new … so I couldn’t decipher all that stuff from each other. But I think …” I turn my head to look back at Sophie and swallow. “I think it was love.”
There. I’ve said it. Sophie’s eyes go wide, but she doesn’t say anything yet. The truth is, I can now look back at myself all those years ago and understand what I was going through. And I recognize these feelings I’m feeling now.
I love Logan.
And not for the first time.
My eyes start to burn. “And back then, I just wished so hard that I could go back to how it was before. I wished I could see him in person and just hold him and ask him what he thought. How he felt about everything. So chatting with him on MSN was both my favourite and least favourite thing in the world … all at once.
“And one day, he logged on and started chatting. But I just found myself staring at the message. Unable to move. It was like I was frozen in place and watching myself from outside my body.” The light trembling in my body has evolved to full-on tremors, and the tears start falling down my cheeks. “The minutes ticked by, and Logan kept asking if I was there and waiting for a reply, but I couldn’t. I had a panic attack right then and there.”
I don’t tell Sophie that this was also the first time my dad walked in on one of my panic attacks. I don’t tell her about the way he held me against his chest and stroked my hair more gently than he’d ever done. How, after I’d calmed down, he told me it wasn’t my fault but rather his. How I’d inherited the panic attacks—our family curse—from him. How he promised he would do his best to teach me how to get through them.
My dad kept his word, at least, for the most part. He showed me a few breathing techniques and taught me the basics of meditation. But it didn’t completely fix it. Nothing really does. You can manage anxiety and panic attacks, but you can’t cure them. And Dad wasn’t there as often as he said he’d be.
“And I felt so ashamed, Sophie.” My voice is shaking, but Sophie tries to steady me by touching me lightly on the shoulder. “I know now that I shouldn’t be ashamed of my panic attacks, but back then, it was so new. I felt so broken. And every time I wanted to start chatting with Logan …” My voice trails off.
“You had another panic attack,” Sophie finishes for me. Her voice is softer than ever. She stays quiet, waiting for me to continue what I have to say.
But my silence confirms it. She nailed it right on the head.
“Did you ever …” Her question is unspoken, but we both know what she means to ask.
“No. I never spoke to him again.” The words hurt coming out. I shut my eyes as if trying to keep the shame out like I’d keep the sun out. But I don’t try to keep the tears from falling.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
“At some point, he convinced his mom to call our house number, despite the long-distance fees. Mom picked up and looked so happy to tell me it was Logan on the other end. But that sent me into an immediate panic. Mom said I’d call him back later. I never did. He gave up after that.”
We’re both silent for a while, letting the story hang in the air. I can almost feel the pain I inflicted on Logan back then in my own body now; it prickles my skin like a thousand needles.
It wasn’t fair. I was so selfish not to try more. And by the time I’d gotten a better grasp on how to somewhat control these panic attacks, it was too late. Too much time had passed. I couldn’t bring myself to call or send him another message after all those years.
How could I? How could I open up that wound again? I just assumed he’d moved on, made new friends, and forgotten all about me.
But I never forgot about him. When I made my Instagram account, I checked almost every week if he was on there. It took years for him to pop up. From time to time, I checked up on him to see what he was up to.
Because I love him.
And evidently, he must have done the same; otherwise, how would he have known my favourite song? Does this mean he feels the same way I feel?
“Avery.” Sophie gives my shoulder a soft squeeze. “I think you did the best you could under your circumstances. I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to have anxiety or panic attacks … I really can’t. And for that, I’m thankful every day.” She sighs. “And sure, from Logan’s perspective, it must have really, really sucked.” Those words jab in my chest. God, how I wish I could have acted differently. “But he knew about your panic attacks, right? Didn’t you tell me he used to help you through them?”
“Yeah.” My voice breaks into a sob. “He knew.”
