There was an instant attraction I felt. The whole dizzy, reckless, trembling rush was there. I could picture his face. The way he stared into my eyes.
This was crazy. One drink. One kiss. That was it and he was already taking up head space.
I dried off and got dressed for work. I slid my feet into a pair of Keds and tucked my patent ballet flats into my messenger bag. I smiled, feeling as if I had accomplished a small victory before I even left the apartment. I swore to myself today was not going to suck.
I searched the kitchen cabinets for a coffee cylinder and lid. I tested a few to make sure they didn’t leak. After I made a pot of coffee I poured it inside, sealing it tightly.
I already felt better as I descended the stairs to the street. It was a quick walk to the Metro and only one stop to Tenleytown. The jitters from yesterday were gone. The helpless feeling of being lost had evaporated.
I climbed onto the Metro, knowing I should stand close to the door.
As soon as the train slowed I exited and headed for the escalators. The noise didn’t seem quite as deafening in the tunnel. I held my ground and secured a place on the steps. Today I wasn’t going to be knocked to the side.
A few minutes later I was on campus and walking toward the clinic.
I paused in front of the double doors as soon as I heard my phone buzz.
I reached into the messenger bag. My stomach dropped.
“Mom?”
“Emily, thank God.” I could hear the crack in her voice as if she had been crying.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” I looked for a place to sit as people walked into the building.
“I can’t find Garrett.”
“Can’t find him? What do you mean? It’s early.”
“Have you heard from him?” she asked. “Did he call you this morning?”
I hadn’t spoken to my brother since I arrived in D.C. He was still angry I had left. He had threatened not to speak to me again.
“No. Mom, tell me what’s going on? Why isn’t he at the house?” I pressed.
She sighed. “We had an argument last night about his treatment. It ended when he locked himself in his room. When I knocked on the door this morning he wasn’t there.”
“Maybe he went out for a run,” I suggested.
My brother used to be an amazing runner. He’d won all-state in track when he was in high school. But now he used running as an escape from the constant therapy. It was his self-prescribed medication. This wasn’t the first time my mom hadn’t been able to find him.
“He isn’t out for a run,” she snapped.
“Did you call dad?”
She sighed. “He doesn’t know anything. He never helps. Worthless.”
I closed my eyes. The instinct was there. I could feel it tugging at me, urging me to do something. To jump back into the cycle that was my brother’s toxic pattern.
He’d take his medication for a month or two and then think he was better and stop without telling anyone. That’s when he started doing erratic things. Hanging out with his ex-girlfriend again. Blowing through my mom’s money.
I couldn’t stay and watch it happen over and over. I had been sucked into my brother’s problems our entire life. He needed more than weekly counseling and a doctor who doled out prescriptions every time one ran out.
But my mom refused to do anything more proactive. My dad didn’t give a shit anymore. And I was emotionally exhausted watching his illness tear my family in half.
I heard the bells chime from the clock tower. I had to get inside.
“Mom, I’ll call him later. When I get a break at lunch I’ll check online and see if he’s posted anything. Okay?”