We’ve never actually used it before. Usually, we’ll just eat on the couch with something random playing on the TV. But Hayden sets the two plates down, then goes digging through another cupboard. He comes out with an armful of stuff—placemats, fancy cloth napkins, candles.
“Wow,” I murmur under my breath as Hayden decks out the table.
He slides the placemats under the plates and folds the napkins into neat triangles. He lights the candles, then turns off a couple overhead lights.
“Um, do you want some wine?” Hayden asks, almost nervously, wringing his hands.
I’m not a huge wine person, but if that’s what Hayden wants to drink, then I’m game. “Yeah, sure!”
Hayden grabs a bottle from the fridge. It’s been in there since I first got here, but it’s still new and sealed. Which makes me wonder if having wine for dinner was something he did on the regular before he started feeling unwell.
He pops the bottle, pours the wine into two fancy wine glasses and sets them next to each plate. Then he stands behind one chair and holds it out for me. My insides melt at this unexpected, yet incredibly romantic gesture. I thought we were just having dinner, but Hayden’s turned it into adinner.
I let him push my chair in for me, then wait for him to take the other seat. I reach my hand out and he slots his fingers in between my own. Our palms press together.
“This is amazing, babe,” I say, gazing directly into Hayden’s eyes.
They reflect the flickering flames from the candles as he gazes right back at me. “I want to… do something, you know? Like, not just lie around feeling sorry for myself.”
I cock an eyebrow at his self-deprecating comment, but Hayden continues before I can object.
“I know, I know. But like, I’m so tired of being tired. I don’t want to lose any more time to this depression thing. I want to live.” His voice gets thick and a little unsteady as he speaks.
“I get it. Just, like, don’t push yourself too hard, alright?” I don’t want him to crash because he tried to take on too much too quickly.
He nods with a shy smile that makes my heart swell with so much love, it feels like my chest is going to burst. “I hope you like the pasta.”
I stab my fork into the noodles and twirl it around to pick up one giant mouthful. The groan when it hits my tongue is completely involuntary. “Oh my god, this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.”
Hayden chuckles. “You always say that.”
“It’s true, though! This issogood. I can’t think of a single thing that tastes better right now.” I skewer a shrimp and pop it in my mouth. “Mmm, so good.”
A couple moments pass in silence as we’re both occupied with eating before Hayden speaks up again. “So…”
“Mmhmm?” I hum with my mouth still full.
“Dr. Tina mentioned something during my appointment.”
I swallow and set my fork down on my plate, refocusing my attention from the creamy, saucy linguine to Hayden. “Yeah?”
“She said… sometimes people with depression go on medication.” Hayden’s gaze is locked onto his plate where he’s pushing around a scallop.
I nod. “Yeah, Mom did that for a bit.” It didn’t magically cure her, but it helped manage her moods better. “Does Dr. Tina thinkyoushould go on medication?”
Hayden gives me a one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe. She said she needs to see me a few more times before suggesting it. But she wanted me to know it could be an option.”
“What do you think about it?”
Hayden drops his fork and reaches for his glass of wine. He takes a few big gulps before answering. “I don’t know.”
He stares at nothing for a few beats and I can see the wheels turning in his mind.
“I’m not against it, I guess, if it’ll help. It’s just… it’s weird, admitting I have this thing, this illness. Like, I’m not physically sick, but I am up here.” He taps his temple with one finger.
Mental health really is a weird thing. There’s no X-ray or scan you can do to diagnose it. It’s not something you cut out or zap or wrap up in bandages, but it hurts just as much as any physical illness. It’s this invisible thing and yet it’s so real.
Suddenly, Hayden cringes and shakes his head. “Anyway, sorry. You probably don’t want to hear this.” He picks up his fork and nudges at the food on his plate.
