Page 76 of Fair Ball

“Don’t.” I force myself to standing. “Please don’t start with that.”

“Don’t start with that?” She leaps up to go toe-to-toe with me. “Don’t you start pretending like it’s normal to collapse on the floor.”

“I didn’t collapse.”

“Semantics!”

I’m careful when I step around her to refill my glass with water. “Don’t yell at me.”

“I’m not yelling at you. I’m yelling about the situation.”

“Don’t be cute either.”

“I’m not being cute.” She hops up to sit on the counter next to the sink. “But you are being stubborn. Stop being a man about this.”

“Millie.” I set down the glass and curl my hands around the lip of the sink. “I’m really trying hard not to be angry with you.”

“Well, I’m angry with you right now.” She grips my bicep, squeezing hard enough that I look at her, and she points to where we were seated a minute ago. “I know what that feels like. I know what it’s like to think you’re going to die because you can’t breathe, and it’s not normal. That’s not what everyone feels like when they’re stressed. It’s anxiety. You have anxiety, and if you don’t deal with it, you really will have something worse happen to you.”

I pull my arm from her grip. “I’m fine.”

I have to be fine. There is no other option.

“You’re not fine.”

“You know, I really can’t deal with this right now,” I say and stride into my bedroom. “I’m going to the stadium. Stay here or not, I don’t care, but I’m done talking about this.”

She sniffs. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

Then I dress and pack my bag, leaving without a word from Millie, who’s on the balcony. Harold calls me a dickhead on the way out, just before I slam the door.

But after a few hours to cool off and my meeting with Yadi, I call her. She picks up after only one ring, and I tell her, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I am stressed, but it has nothing to do with you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for pushing you. But for the record, I would really like you to talk to someone about what’s going on. I don’t want anything happening to you.”

Now would be the perfect time to tell her I love her. That I love how she takes care of me, but this isn’t something she can fix.

Because I am unfixable.

Try as she might, there is nothing she can do about the family I was born into or the pressure I’m under.

Though I do adore her for trying. For seeing the best in me.

“Millie, I…”

“Mom! We’re going to be late!”

I check the time and realize that Noah has a game. “Go ahead,” I tell her. “I’ll text you later tonight.” At the jingle of keys on her end, I ask, “One quick thing… Are you wearing a bra?”

She snorts. “Of course not. Got my vest on.”

I hang up with a smile on my face.