But part of me feels as if doing anything like that would be a betrayal of Dylan, and another part can’t even remember how to socialize. Would it be a date? And even if it wasn’t, how am I supposed to act? What would we talk about? It’s been way too long since I’ve done anything social. Since I’ve had a friend.
“Beth?” Mike prompts, and I realize the silence has gone on too long.
“That’s really nice, Mike, but I think I’m just going to stay home tonight. But thank you for thinking of me.”
“No problem. I understand totally. That’s cool.” He trips over his words in his effort to assure me it’s all okay.
But it doesn’t feel okay as we say goodbye, promising to talk soon, and when I end the call, the silence in the apartment seems weirdly loud, like a ringing in my ears. I have a sudden urge to make a noise, to scream, but I don’t.
I half-wish I’d said yes to Mike, even as it feels impossible. Yet the whole evening empty in front of me feels impossible too. And another and another and another—nearly ninety evenings like this at least.
What will I do? How will I survive?
And then I think about how if I can’t go back to the beginning and reset, then I want to skip to the end. It would be so easy. I’d go to the doctor, I’d tell him how I’m not sleeping, how I’m depressed. He’d prescribe something—I’ve never taken anything before, so I don’t think I would be seen as a risk.
And then I’d sit on my bed and swallow all the pills with a mouthful of water. I’d curl up on my side and just drift away. It really would be that easy.
But of course I can’t do that, even though right now I want to, with that same gut-kick sense of urgency I had at Ally’s, when I almost ran out of the house. But I didn’t, and I’m not going to do this, either.
Because of Dylan.
Dylan. I need to remember why I’m here, who is important. Dylan. Everything I do is for him.
14
ALLY
“You ready, bud?”
I give Dylan what I hope is a cheerful smile as I unbuckle my seatbelt. It’s eight-twenty in the morning and we’re parked in the lot in front of the local elementary school that Emma and Josh used to attend. A line of long yellow school buses has pulled up in front, and children are trotting in with backpacks and lunchboxes, all under an azure sky, the scene framed by the scarlet leaves of the trees in the school yard. It’s a quintessential American moment, and yet I don’t yet know where we fit into it.
Two days ago, Susan and Monica both came over and went over Dylan’s action plan with Nick and me—I asked him to stay so he’d know what was going on, and thankfully, with some badly masked reluctance, he agreed.
He’d been surprised that we still had Dylan on Tuesday evening when he’d come home from work, but he’d tried to cover it, giving Dylan a cheerful smile and then sitting down and doing a puzzle with him before dinner. I appreciated the effort, even if things were a little strained between us still.
There was a lot to take in from Susan—a plan for Dylan to go to school, and a raft of appointments over the next few weeks—pediatrician, dentist, psychiatric assessment, and weekly sessions with a cognitive behavioral therapist.
Susan had been liaising with the school, so Dylan would have his own special education assistant to help him, at least at the beginning, but the truth is, I cannot imagine him going into school willingly, and staying there all day.
“What if school doesn’t work out?” I asked Susan and Monica, as we sat at the kitchen table with the papers spread out before us.
“Helping Dylan assimilate to a school environment is a crucial part of his action plan,” Susan said, which wasn’t actually an answer. “It’s important that we are all committed to it.”
“Is Beth committed to it?” Nick asked unexpectedly, and Susan nodded.
“She has agreed, yes.”
“Well, we’ll certainly do our best.” I lifted my gaze to the view of the backyard, where Josh was attempting to kick a ball with Dylan. Dylan wasn’t really playing, but it heartened me to see them together, and that Josh was at least trying.
Yesterday we’d spent nearly two hours at the pediatrician, getting all Dylan’s health forms