Page 33 of Playing Dirty
"You wouldn't dare!" She giggles, yanking her legs out ofreach. "Besides, a little reckless fun would be good for your soul."
I shoot her a skeptical look. "I’m not sure I should be taking lifestyle pointers from you, considering you haveentirelytoo much fun."
"You're referencing the ill-fated matching tattoo debate, I'm aware," she says, looking unperturbed. "But hey. At least I'mliving."
I laugh and slide our grilled cheeses onto plates, passing hers over. "Eh, I hate work complications anyway. It’s not worth it."
She shrugs, already biting in. "Life is short and he’s hot. Nowthatyou can quote me on."
We eat hunched over the kitchen counter, the savory scent of melted cheese filling the small space, and I find the tension of the long week finally starting to dissipate.
After a moment, Sabrina looks over at me, head tilted. "How are you, though? Likeactually."
I glance up mid-bite. "What?"
"I'm just checking in. You've been wound up tight lately."
"I'm fine, Sab. Just busy. The launch, the gala, the ridiculous auction nonsense."
"Mhm." She watches me closely. "And your anxiety?"
"Managed. Mostly. The Lexapro is doing its job, and I haven't had a real spiral in ages. It's just, you know, the usual low hum."
Which is thankfully true. I've been lucky that it's been manageable for a long while now, but generalized anxiety has been a constant companion for most of my life, and regular therapy combined with a low dose of Lexapro have kept it largely in check.
Though in my worst moments, it can still tip into the spiral version, the one where I can't sleep for three nights running and convince myself I'm about to be fired, dumped, and diagnosed with something rare all in the same week.
"When was the last time you saw Dr. Bowen?" Sabrina asks, her eyebrows raised in an expectant look.
"A while ago. Maybe nine months?" I shrug. "I'd kind of plateaued. She said I could check in whenever I felt the need, and I just haven't felt the need."
"But you'd tell me if you did?" She peers at me over her crusts, her expression serious.
I smile. "I'd tell you."
"Okay." She watches me for a second longer, the skepticism fading. "And Mom and Dad? I know your relationship with them is complicated, and Mom mentioned you were helping with a lot. I told her to give you a break, but I feel like she didn't listen."
I exhale a slow breath through my nose. "They've just been leaning on me a bit more than usual, which is fine. You know I love them. It's just a lot sometimes. Ugh. I sound so selfish."
"That's not being selfish, Margot," she says firmly.
"It feels selfish." I mumble the words into my grilled cheese.
The truth is, I don't mind helping my parents when I can. But it's a lot, more than they seem to realize, and the second I let myself want even a little space, the guilt over eventhinkingit swallows me whole.
"It isn't. You don't have to be the person responsible for everything, all the time. They're adults, Margot. Fully capable adults who just happen to enjoy leaning on you far too much, and it's a bit unfair. You can't carry the whole family on your back forever, or you'll snap in half eventually."
"I just don't want to be the daughter who lets her parents down," I say quietly. "And family is supposed to help each other."
"I fully agree, but you're allowed to have boundaries," she says, leaning forward to catch my eye. "If they were truly helpless I'd understand, but I think they lean on you on purpose, because you're so reliable. And you're allowed to say no sometimes."
I rub my face. "When exactly did you get so wise?"
"I’ve always been a very wise woman, Margot. The rhinestones just tend to throw people off."
I laugh and I look down at my plate so she can't see my face which is threatening to get a bit misty. "Thanks, Sab. Ride or dies, right?"
"Always." She grins, her mouth now full of grilled cheese. "Even if your fashion sense mostly screams 'grieving Victorian duchess,' which is a lot for my own stylish sensibilities."
