Page 6 of When In Doubt

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my mind not to fall into the trap it wants to. Not when I’m halfway across the country, finally rebuilding myself.

I press my fingers into my palm one by one, counting off in my head. One, two, three, four. Four, three, two, one. I let the rhythm ground me. I’m not going there. It’s over.

Pressing my back to the door, I survey the scene. There’s yarn everywhere. I’m going to be finding stray balls in corners and under shelves for days. My throat tightens at the sight of my ordered space in such disarray.

I don’t make a habit of closing early, but nobody needs to see this. It looks like we just had an extremely localized earthquake in here.

I scoop up a basket from behind the desk and start plucking skeins from every corner of the room. Maybe if I get it all fixed, I’ll be able to forget that any of that ever happened. Seriously, what was with that guy? He talked to me like I’m some child, as if I have no idea what I’m doing.

I’m sick of people treating me like I’m out of my depth. And I especially hate that there’s a small, insecure part of me that’s ready to accept he’s right.

What would you do without me?

No.

Stop it.

I huff, willing the memories away as I drop to my haunches to reach under the shelves. I cringe as sticky cobwebs coat my fingers. The previously bright-red mohair comes out looking like it’s just been dragged through a haunted house. I peek under the unit and glimpse the nightmare that’s back there. Holy shit. I dust every day, what is going on?

I press my back to the wall and start picking dust bunnies out of the fibers. The repetitive action goes some way toward helping me regulate myself, and I feel my heart rate start to come down.

I’m here, I’m safe.

Once the store finally resembles what it’s supposed to, I slump behind the desk, head pressed to the cold wood.

What am I doing?

Maybe everyone was right. Maybe I’m not cut out for this. When I told my mom I was moving, she wasn’t even upset, she just smiled the smile she gave me when I was seven and I said I wanted to be an astronaut. I know she loves me, and she’s just trying to protect me in her own way. But she’s never believed in me the way I wanted her to. Needed her to.

Oh, fuck this. It’s time I wrote off this horrible day in a string of horrible days. I need to be at home, tucked under a weighted blanket, where hopefully I can be released from this roiling anxiety.

I’ve just gotten out of the shower when my phone chimes from the dresser. My stomach instinctively plummets. Tapping the screen, I see the message.

MOM

Let me know a good time to call

I love you! Drink water!

And try to eat more than just pasta, you need more nutrients in your diet

FREYA

I eat fine.

I’m just busy with work, I’ll call soon.

Love you too.

I take a screenshot and forward it to Luci, my best friend back in Connecticut. She’s probably sick of hearing about this, but I guess that’s what she signed up for when we signed an extremely serious contract at fifteen to stay “besties for life”.

FREYA

Does she still think I’m eating nothing but dino nuggets?

LUCI

WTF DEBBIE