CHAPTER EIGHT
Life goes on over the next few weeks, as it’s known to do. The official start of spring arrives in a flurry of blossoms and lush green grass. Everything feels fresh and new. Everything except for me. I’m just tired, wandering around in a fog, feeling lost.
Even though Iknowtaking a break from Human Touch Companions was a good idea, I miss it. And it’s not the only thing I miss; I have this perpetual feeling of missing something or something missingfromme. When I was little, my mom, who is Acadian and was born and raised in a largely French-speaking town in New Brunswick, wanted me to be bilingual like her, so she taught me French from an early age. I remember her teaching me the phrase ‘tu me manques’; the concept is the same as ‘I miss you’, but the literal translation is ‘you are missing from me’. I didn’t get it at the time, but I understand it now with painful clarity.
Long before I started working for HTC, something else my mother taught me was the fact mental health is as important as physical health. Working with families, especially the types of families she had as clients, Mom dealt with mental illness nearly every day. Along with empathy and compassion, she also taught me to recognize the warning signs, and she made sure I was aware things like depression and anxiety aren’t the same for any two people.
In my first year of college, I became good friends with a girl named Alice. She was sweet and quiet, and we didn’t hang out all that much outside of class except to study and occasionally go for coffee. In our second year, she became quieter than usual and more withdrawn. I’d go visit her at the house where she was staying only to discover she was napping. She would miss classes, bail on study sessions, and cancel plans to meet up.
I suspected something was wrong, and I asked my mom how I should approach Alice.
“The same way you approach anyone about anything, Sunshine Girl,” she’d said. “With love and kindness and understanding. No judgment. For some people, acknowledging a problem is painful, and accepting help is difficult.”
When I finally worked up the courage to talk to Alice, I was met with denial. She was dealing with a lot, she said—school was more difficult this year, she was arguing with her mom, she found out the guy she liked had a girlfriend. I let it go, telling her if she ever wanted to talk I was always available.
Eventually, she did want to talk. She knew there was something wrong, she just didn’t know what to do about it. I went with her to the college’s health center to make an appointment to see a doctor. Then I accompanied her to her first three therapy sessions, sitting in the waiting room and watching repeats ofFriendson the tiny wall-mounted television. With continued sessions, medication, and support from friends, Alice started to feel better.
I haven’t thought of Alice in a long time. She moved away after college and we lost touch until a few years ago when I found her on Facebook. She doesn’t post often, but she looks happy in the rare pictures she posts of her and her husband.
I thinkI’mAlice now, though. In denial.
When I first started feeling this way—despondent, and as if everything took more effort than usual—I assumed it was situational depression. Who wouldn’t be depressed if their mother, who was also their best friend, declined as quickly and drastically as mine did? I missed talking to her, laughing with her, and seeing her regularly. I grieved the time we wouldn’t have together—time this disease had taken from her. Fromus.
Now I’m afraid it’s more than that. I’ve gone from feeling everything to feeling nothing. I keep waiting for the numbness to pass, but it hasn’t.
And yet, I keep going as if everything is fine. I struggle out of bed every morning when what I’d rather do is stay hidden under the covers. I go to work, I put a smile on my face, and I carry on with the things I’ve always done, like hanging out with friends and going to book club. I maintain my sunny disposition because that’s what I’ve always been known for, and that’s one of the things my mom loved best about me. I was her Sunshine Girl.
I don’t feel like that Sunshine Girl anymore, though.
Today is a beautiful day, and I’ve been sitting at my desk for half an hour giving myself a pep talk to get out and do something. I just submitted another paid article to a travel site, and I keep telling myself I should go enjoy the day. Despite having no luck with extra funding for my mom, I’ve created a budget for the next several months that should work. If I’m super careful with my own expenses and if I can continue selling travel articles, plus eventually get back to work for HTC, I should be able to keep my mom at Birch Hill through the year. Beyond that…well, I’ll figure that out when the time comes. Hopefully some of the funding I’ve applied for will come through.
My attention shifts to the cup of tea beside me, and I glare at the liquid. For the last few weeks I’ve tried every kind of tea I could get my hands on, and every time I have it with milk it tastes disgusting. I don’t know what kind of magic Kieran performed to make his tea drinkable, but apparently I’m not meant to know the secret. That hasn’t stopped me from trying, though.
With a sigh, I heave myself out of my desk chair. I need to get outside in the sunshine, even though I don’t know where to go or what to do. I don’t want to be the kind of person who calls up a friend at the last minute because they’re bored or restless. I can’t afford to spend much money, and window-shopping is no fun when you’ve carefully budgeted almost every cent for the next several months.
I’m contemplating crawling into bed—it’s early spring, after all, there’ll be plenty of nice days ahead—when my phone rings. I grab it from the desk, hesitating when I see it’s an unknown number. After the third ring, I answer it; it’s not like I have anything else to do.
“Meredith?” asks a voice I vaguely recognize. I confirm it’s me, and the person says, “Hi! I’m so glad I got the right number. It’s Fiona Murphy. We met a couple years ago when you did that tour with On the Go Adventures?”
It takes me a minute to place the name, and then Fiona’s face pops into my mind with perfect clarity—auburn hair, sparkling brown eyes, dazzling smile, and more confidence than I could ever dream of possessing. On the Go Adventures hired me a few years ago to test out a new UK tour and write an extensive article-slash-review for their website and various promo material. Fiona was the guide, and we ended up spending a good chunk of our free time together once we discovered our love of travel wasn’t the only thing we had in common.
“Of course,” I say, smiling for what feels like the first time in days. “It’s good to hear from you, Fiona. How are you?”
“I’m great, thanks. Still working for On the Go and living in London. That’s where I’m calling from now, actually. I just got back from a two-week trip to Ireland.”
Ireland. Of course. Because I need more reminders of Kieran when he’s all I think about anyway.
I ask her for details, feeling more envious by the second. Before Mom got sick, my life wasn’t all that different from Fiona’s. I was a solo traveler, working and writing for the local travel agency, plus doing freelance work and taking sponsored trips. I loved my life and the freedom to come and go as I pleased. It’s just another thing I’m currently missing.
“Anyway, listen Meredith,” Fiona says after we’ve updated each other on our lives, “I’m calling to see if you’d like to apply for a position as a guide with On the Go. There are a few spots open, and they wanted the more seasoned guides to recommend people they thought would be a good fit. You were one of the first people I thought of.”
My heart soars at the same time as my stomach drops. This isn’t the first time Fiona has asked me to apply for a guide job at On the Go; the first time was just a few months after we met. I was happy doing my freelance gig at the time, so I thanked her and turned her down. Now, though…now I’d give anything to be able to drop everything, hop on a plane to London, stride into On the Go’s headquarters, and apply for the job.
But I can’t. I may not be able to see my mom, but she’s only an hour away if she ever needed me. And while I know the guides make decent money, I’d have to go through six weeks of intensive training first, during which time I wouldn’t have much income. Not to mention I’d have to figure out something to do with my house while I was gone, possibly screwing things up for Celia in the process. Plus I’d have to quit my job working for Hugh and Ivy. There are just too many variables and responsibilities here to leave.
My heart feels like it’s still lodged somewhere in my esophagus as I swallow hard. “I-I…y-you…” I cringe at my own stammering, but Fiona laughs, probably assuming I’m too stunned for words. “You have no idea how much it means that you’d think of me, Fee. I can’t do it, though. There’s just too much going on here right now for me to leave.”
Fiona groans. “I was worried you’d say that. I had to at least try. Are you absolutely sure there’s nothing I can say to convince you? I’ve been told I can offer to fly you over here for free if that helps.”
