Page 35 of Bi-Partisan

God, if that doesn’t hit me at my core. “It sounds like what you’re dealing with is anxiety.”

“Really?”

“You basically just summarized how I feel on a daily basis—constantly bracing for whatever often unrealistic worst-case scenario my brain has come up with,” I say, surprisingly without any hesitation even though I almost never go into the details of how loud my brain can be. “You’re right. It’s exhausting.”

“But you said you have an anxiety disorder. I don’t have that. This is the first time I’ve ever felt like this. I didn’t just suddenly develop an anxiety disorder, did I?” he asks, his voice pleading.

“No, probably not,” I say, and I hear him let out an audible sigh. “Anxiety on its own is a normal reaction to life changes and stressors. It’s one of our internal warning systems that alerts us to danger or other threats, and when there’s a reason for it, like a job interview or something, it’s perfectly normal.”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve experienced pre-test anxiety, and the day of the election two years ago I was like a cat on a hot tin roof. But it’s been weeks—no, months. I’ve been feeling like this for months now. You can’t tell me that’s normal,” he snaps.

Although I know he probably doesn’t mean to yell, I can’t help recoiling a little.

He seems to sense it, too, because he immediately apologizes. “Shit, I’m sorry, darlin’. God, you’ve been nothing but kind and helpful to me, yet here I am biting your head off for it.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I wasn’t trying to minimize what you’re feeling. I understand how you’re feeling right now, believe me, and it’s exhausting and makes you think you’re right about to completely snap. When I said it’s normal, I didn’t mean it in the sense that it’s totally fine, but in the sense that I don’t think it’s like mine. I have generalized anxiety disorder, which yes, means that I experience a lot of anxiety. But what makes it a disorder is that it’s often for no real reason, and Jamie, you have understandable reasons to be anxious right now. The photos, coming out, your re-election—those are big stressors, so having situational anxiety, even long term, isn’t unexpected.”

For a long moment, I don’t hear anything on the other end, and I wonder if maybe our call got disconnected. But then I hear him take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. When he speaks again, he’s back to sounding defeated. “Yeah, I guess you have a point.”

For a brief moment, I can’t help regretting not deciding to go down to North Carolina with him even though he made it clear he didn’t expect me to go. But if I was there, I could do a better job of comforting him. I could maybe soothe his anxiety better by talking in person, or even just by holding his hand like a good fake boyfriend would do.

But I’m not there, so I have to rely on my words. “It doesn’t make you weak or any less capable,” I say with emphasis. “It just means you need to take care of yourself.”

“Now you sound like Mina. She says I suck at taking care of myself,” he says with just a hint of fond annoyance.

“Yes, well, based on the number of times you’ve texted me from your office at ungodly hours of the night, I think I’d have to agree.”

He huffs, but it sounds good natured, so I smile.

“Are you feeling any better?” I ask.

“Yeah, I think I am. I should probably get back in there. But thank you. This helped,” he says.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help, even if it was just a little.”

“You helped a lot, Adrian,” he says seriously.

“Go let yourself celebrate this win,” I tell him. “You deserve it.”

He hums. “G’night.”

“Good night,” I echo before hanging up.

Chapter 12

Adrian

Song: Monster Lead Me Home – Sara Hartman

I scribble my signature on the last chart in my stack, then drop it in the completed pile with a satisfying thwop. I’ve been here since 7:30 a.m., getting here half an hour earlier than I normally would so I could prepare myself for the almost dozen drop off appointments we had scheduled for today. Usually, we try to spread them out, but our lab technician Michael was out sick yesterday, so those appointments got pushed to today. I don’t mind too much, though. After the anxiety-inducing evening I had waiting for primary results of a state that I don’t even vote in, it’s been nice to only have to interact with animals and Michael, who also generally prefers minimal human contact.

However, I could use some coffee. I only slept for about six hours since Casey and Sophie didn’t leave my apartment until close to midnight. I check the time and notice I have about forty minutes until my next patient is scheduled to arrive, which means I don’t have to suffer through the awful coffee the break room coffee maker brews. So before anyone can steal my attention, I grab my stack of charts and head to the front desk to drop them off with the receptionist.

I go to open the door leading from the back area to the front and stop short as I hear Sophie and what sounds like Casey’s laughter. Sure enough, as I push through the door, I see Casey leaning against the front counter, petting Felix, the clinic cat, and talking to Sophie. They’re both drinking some sort of frappe monstrosity that is likely more sugar than caffeine despite it only being late March and still relatively cold out.

At the sound of the door swishing closed, Sophie spins in her chair. “Oh good, you’re here. I was just about to come and get you,” she says before taking a sip of her glorified milkshake.

“Hey, I brought coffee.” Casey gestures to the (thankfully) hot to-go cup sitting on the counter next to where Felix sprawls out demanding attention. Well, at least now I don’t have to go out.

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