Page 86 of Dropping the Ball

“I hate you.”

I lean my head against the wall and give her knee another light squeeze. “I don’t think you do.” Maybe this would be easier if she did. Maybe I would be less hungry for her. For the smiles I win from her. For the way she lets me in enough to pull me deeper before she shuts me out again.

“Why do you call me Katie sometimes and Kaitlyn other times?” she asks after a couple of minutes.

I open my eyes. “I do?”

She nods.

“Not sure. I do know I will always think of high school you as Kaitlyn. Do you have a preference?”

“I prefer if you refer to me as Ms. Armstrong.”

“Brat.”

“Only when I don’t get what I want.”

I smile. “I don’t think that’s true. I think you just described your sister.”

“The one who gave you forty thousand dollars to do that sculpture? Your benefactor? That brat?”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

She flashes a grin. “You’re not wrong. She can be a brat. But somehow she makes you not mind.”

“Must be a sister thing.” This is the most “difficult” Kaitlyn has ever been, and I still don’t mind being trapped in this elevator with her.

“I’m sorry about my meltdown.” She gestures to our accommodations. “This isn’t your fault.”

“It’s okay. I understand it better now. But for what it’s worth, if you tell your family about the auction, I’ll bet all they see is how hard the job is if you can’t pull it off. Not that you failed.”

“Not the Armstrong MO, but points for assuming healthy family dynamics. Do you want to take a turn? You can have a meltdown if you want.”

“I don’t melt down. Want a confession inst—?”

“Yes.”

“Ha. Don’t get excited. It’s nothing interesting.”

“Confess. I’m tired of sitting outside of my turtle shell by myself.”

I sort of regret opening this door, but she’s right; can’t make her sit in here with only her confession between us. “My confession is that sometimes I’m too comfortable with meltdowns.”

She purses her lips like she’s thinking. “Because of your mom?”

“Yeah. I don’t have bipolar, but in a way, when you’re the kid of someone who has it, you can kind of get . . . addicted to the mania? Maybe addicted isn’t the right word.” I pick at a piece of lint on my joggers. I may have some of this stuff figured out now, but I don’t have much practice explaining it. “More like if that’s what feels normal to you from someone else, you start looking for it. Remember when I mentioned my college girlfriend?”

“The one I hate?”

I shoot her a glance. “You’re very hateful in general today.”

“Not sorry.”

“This one sounds like jealousy.”

“Wishful thinking.”

“Uh huh.” She’s jealous, and I like it. “If you are, don’t be. We were together two years, and it should have ended after six months. She wasn’t bipolar, but definitely abig feelings, big expression of those feelingstype. I thought that was how it was supposed to be when you love someone. Huge fights. Drama. Shows the feelings are deep. But my roommate was a psych major, and he made me listen to a podcast about codependency. Turns out thinking something is only real if it’s constant drama is codependent.”

---