When I reach the truck again, I evaluate how I feel. What my level of anxiety is and if I feel confident enough to get backin the truck and continue. Because I definitely don’t want to make Wes have to stop again.
“Good?” Wesley asks when I get situated back in the seat.
“I think.” I nod.
Wes reaches over and pats his hand on my knee. “You’re good. It’s just me.”
I give him a small smile and lay my head back in the seat, feeling tired. But that’s normal. After an anxiety attack like that, I’m exhausted.
“You can keep going,” I say as I reach down to my bag on the floor.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” I unzip the front and pull out the blister pack of Dramamine. I pop one out through the foil and tuck it in my cheek. It’s so bitter. Tastes nothing like grape if you ask me. They really need to stop making medicines taste so bad. As if food itself isn’t already difficult for me to stomach when I’m anxious.
Wesley starts down the road again and I twist off the lid to my water bottle and sip, letting it dissolve the powder and slip down my throat. The lingering bitterness has me reaching for a bite of a pretzel to get the taste out of my mouth.
Wes doesn’t even really pay attention, just focusing on the road. He knows what I need, and I appreciate that more than he’ll ever understand.
Wesley has to step on the brakes pretty hard when the traffic in front of us comes to an abrupt stop. My water bottle rolls off the seat and onto the floor by his feet.
We both reach for it at the same time, almost knocking heads. I’m afraid of it getting under the pedal.
He pushes my hand out of the way. “I’ve got it, babe.”
My heart hiccups and my eyes flick to him.
“What did you call me?” I laugh.
Redness creeps up his neck and settles in his cheeks. His Adam’s apple bobs and he hands the water bottle over to me without meeting my gaze.
“Sorry. It slipped,” he says.
“That’s neverslippedbefore…”
“I know. Sorry…I don’t know.” He laughs it off as if it isn’t a big deal and follows the traffic slowly down the road.
Our eyes catch for a second, and I see something in his that wasn’t there before. My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. My whole body is overheating rapidly. I turn the air up. I don’t know what to do. I feel so awkward, like I want to hide, and I’m not even the one who slipped up.
Wesley turns the music up and makes small talk about the traffic. Still acting like everything is completely fine. As much as I’m trying to do the same, I can’t. My mind is racing, replaying whatslippedout of his mouth over and over.
* * *
We pass a rest stop, which makes me think about my bladder. I have to go. I didn’t a minute ago…but now that I’m thinking about it, I do. I did just drink all that water when I had that anxiety attack.
“Wes, don’t get mad,” I mutter nervously.
“Why would I get mad?” he laughs.
“I have to pee…”
“Addison…” he grumbles, “wejustpassed a rest stop.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” I hold my breath.
“Good Lord.” He huffs but finishes it with a smile and easy laugh.
“That water went right through me.”
