Page 172 of Spicy Ever After
Team Longing gains the advantage.
I haven’t talked to Beck. Not since I texted him in the wee hours Sunday morning after the knock-down-drag-out epic battle with my parents and before overwhelm knocked me out.
I know I could have called him, and he would have come to get me. I know he would have taken me home to the farm.
And I suspect that it could have been a turning point for us. Where I told my parents to fuck themselves and shacked up with my boyfriend.
God, I came so close to doing just that.
But how would that be fair to Beck? If I had nowhere else to turn, would he feel obligated?
I couldn’t live with that.
I’d love to move in with Beck one day. Live with him. Go to bed every night tucked up against him. Wake up every morning—with or without coffee and a hot bath at the ready—to be with him.
But when that happens, I want it to be a choice, not an escape route.
Besides, we’re not ready for that.
I love Beck. I’m totally fucking in love with him.
But this is too new.
And I know it’s too new because I can’t bring myself to tell him where I am or why I’m here.
Summit House.
Like their polished welcome video said, Summit House is a residential mental health program, specializing in a multifaceted approach to support young adults struggling with emotional dysregulation and interpersonal issues. Our clients come to us with a variety of debilitating diagnoses and leave with the tools to find long-term success in life.
I just can’t tell Beck I’ve checked into a residential mental health program.
I can’t even say it out loud in a room by myself.
Much less give him the whole story. “Oh, I’ve checked into a residential mental health program to prove to my parents that I can live on my own. In a townhouse they are providing. Because I can’t support myself with an actual job or career. And they don’t think I’m responsible enough or competent enough to be in a sexual relationship with you, so they can’t trust me with my own place. Because they think you’d extort me. Or we’d shag all the time. Which actually sounds pretty great. Still want to be my boyfriend?”
And even if I weren’t a terrible liar, I couldn’t lie to him either. “Oh, um… yeah. I can’t make it to lunch today—or for the next month because I’m…. a-at a… a… sewing camp! Yeah, that’s it. A sewing camp… learning… learning some… er…really complicated stitches…”
“Can you relate to that, Hattie?”
Gwen’s softly spoken question yanks me out of my sewing camp fabrication with the efficiency of a seam ripper.
I blink at her. “I-I… Relate to what?”
She tilts her head to the side, eyeing me closely. “What Jordan was just saying about it getting progressively harder to start a new job each time he tries… Did you hear that, Hattie?”
“I, um, I—” I glance desperately at Jordan who’s doing a damn good turtle impression. Was I just zoning out while he was sharing something difficult? That’s kind of shitty of me.
I replay Gwen’s words in my head and realize I can relate. I can totally relate. Even if I wasn’t paying attention.
“I know exactly what you mean,” I tell Jordan. He jumps a little in his seat. I take it as acknowledgement. “Honestly, starting a job might be worse than losing a job. At least, when you lose it, the hard stuff is over.”
The collective laughter surprises me. Everyone’s smiling now.
“Hattie, can you tell us what things have been hard for you when it comes to the workplace?”
I know it’s not mature, but I roll my eyes. “How much time do you have?”
More laughter.
