Dr. Stud

She rolls her eyes. “I think you’ve been telling everybody that story for so long that you believe it now. You never would’ve left Willowdale if not for me. You love it here. You’re a country girl. This is where you belong.”

I shake my head, squinting. This can’t be good for her. I’m not even sure it’s good for me.

“You look good here, too,” she continues. “You’ve been telling that story about how you were born to be in the big city so long that I think you forgot. You only did that to save me, Joe. You did that for me.”

Here it comes again, those feelings I don’t want to feel. All that liquid emotion, sloshing around inside me, threatening to spill over the dam.

“I love Manhattan,” I shrug. “That’s where everything is happening.”

Didi smiles and takes a deep breath. “That’s true, but lots of things are happening here too,” she suggests, jerking her chin toward my abdomen. “I’m glad we’re back here while you do this. It feels right, doesn’t it?”

Does it? I ask myself. I have to admit, thinking about being pregnant in Manhattan didn’t sit right with me. But that wasn’t going to be an option, anyway. I probably could have made it work.

“Being a single mother in Willowdale is not going to be a walk in the park,” I observe. “This gallery better turn out to be a huge success, or I'm going to find myself begging for Dusty’s old job at the general store.”

“Maybe your dad will hire you to hang drywall or something,” she winks.

“I know you think you’re joking, but I totally could!” I huff defensively.

“Of course you could!” she laughs. “You can do anything, Joe. Anything you want.”

“Okay, okay… Dial it down,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Sounds like those group therapy affirmation sessions are starting to take hold. Just save your strength for yourself, Didi. I am okay.”

She winks. “You are more than okay.”

I stand up, raising my hands defensively. “Seriously. Lighten up on the Saint Didi act, okay? We still got a lot of road to cover here.”

“Lunchtime!” the orderly sings out, rolling a cart into Didi’s room.

“Excellent!” Didi sighs, clapping her fingers excitedly under her chin. “I just love the food here!”

“Okay, well, I guess I better get back to work… I’m leaving you a list of things to do when you get out of here, just so you know.”

The orderly slides the tray onto Didi’s table and she pokes at the covered containers on the tray, clearly enthralled.

“Okay, Joe,” she answers distractedly. “Just let me know.”

“I’m serious, Didi,” I say. “You’re going to get credit for this show, so you’re going to do the work. So hurry up and get rehabbed or whatever, so you can come do chores.”

With a mouth full of ham sandwich, she wrinkles her nose at me affectionately and gives me a thumbs up. I’m glad to see her eating, to be honest, as I wave and back out of the room.

Truthfully, it is a lot of work, and I have mixed feelings about it. On one hand, if I do everything, I know it will be done right. No chance of Didi forgetting a shipment, screwing up a press release, or missing a deadline for one of the event contractors.

On the other hand, I’m pretty sure that is what the drug and alcohol counselors call enabling. And I realize I have been doing it for our whole lives.

As I walk down the hallway, I have to wonder, have I made her worse? I always told myself that I was saving her more heartache by cleaning up after her, giving her space to heal herself. Besides, who am I to tell her how to run her life?

But on the other hand, sparing her the consequences of her own actions might have made it easier for her to let things slide.

And how much of my identity has been formed around mothering my best friend? I chuckle to myself ironically. Seems pretty funny that I never considered having a child of my own, when I’ve been so involved in fostering Didi.

Or maybe I’m being too hard to myself? Or maybe I am not being hard enough? Or maybe I am exaggerating my own self-importance by thinking that her addiction has anything to do with me at all?

“Maude?”

But something that she said made a lot of sense. The idea digs at me. Why did we go to New York? Wasn’t it my idea? Or was it just the escape plan that I formulated for her? And back then, was I telling the truth about it being my dream or not?