Page 16 of Losing Sleep
Instead, my mind raced, refusing to shut down and allow me the rest I needed. At least we weren’t driving to the cabin in the dark. However, we still had several hours to drive tomorrow, and who knew when the car would be ready to go?
What if we got trapped here all day?
My thoughts continued to spiral, counting everything that had already gone wrong and the many things that still could go wrong between now and the end of this trip.
I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling, wishing not for the first time I had just stayed home. Though if I had, I would have missed out on root beer milk and Dot’s peanut butter cookies. While those bright spots didn’t fully make up for the disaster our trip was proving, they did calm the circling thoughts of frustration I was battling.
The bathroom door opened, and Grey stepped out, wearing blue flannel bottoms and a faded grey t-shirt. I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep, and felt the bed shift as Grey climbed under the covers. A moment later, I heard the click of the lamp switch, and the room was plunged into darkness, Grey’s breathing the only sound.
I lay there, pretending to sleep for a moment, before opening my eyes and rolling onto my side to face Grey. Light from the moon seeping in through the curtains provided the only illumination. While I couldn’t see Grey over the pillow wall, knowing I wasn’t the only one navigating all our trip setbacks brought a sense of unexpected calm. Something I was extremely grateful for since the tight bedroom quarters meant yoga was out of the question.
“Hey, Grey,” I whispered, not wanting to wake him but hoping he wasn’t asleep yet.
“Hey, Audrey,” he whispered back, the bed shifting as if he’d rolled over to face me too.
The dark provided a sense of anonymity that encouraged me to speak. The house outside the bedroom door was quiet, telling me Hank and Dot had likely gone to bed too. Or maybe that was the thick walls deceiving me.
“How are you so calm about the tire situation?” The words slipped out before I could second-guess myself. It wasn’t even my car, and the what-ifs had been multiplying in my head since the moment we’d pulled over with a flat tire.
“Because I’m here with a beautiful, smart woman who keeps me on my toes and makes this adventure memorable.” His voice rumbled into the quiet of the bedroom, and I wished I could see he face and read his expression.
“Be serious!” I said, considering throwing a pillow at him but not wanting to sacrifice even a piece of our pillow wall.
“Who said I wasn’t serious?” Humor laced his tone. Then Grey paused, taking a moment to further consider my question.
“What other option is there? I could be angry and raging about how frustrating and unfair everything is, but that won’t fix my car. Sometimes these things just happen. You can plan and prep for every worst-case scenario and yet, your car still breaks down. Your brother still badgers you to move to Oregon despite you having repeatedly told him no. You’re still an hour late picking up your carpool buddy.” He paused, and the silence felt heavy with anticipation. Finally, he spoke, his whisper feeling louder than a shout as the words registered. "Your mom still has a health scare and begs you to take her to the doctor even though you’re 99% sure it’s all in her head and the result of her anxiety.”
I released a breath. “That’s why you were late today?” My voice was whisper-soft as guilt settled in my stomach. I’d beenso frustrated with Grey and his delays. I had no idea there was more to them than a guy who struggled with time management.
“It happens almost every time I go out of town. It didn’t used to be this bad, but since my brother, Mason, moved out of state…she’s gotten worse.”
There was an ache in his voice that spoke to my heart. I wanted to comfort him, to provide some reassurance that he wasn’t alone in navigating the challenges of anxiety, and yet, what did I know about comforting an anxious parent? My mom was spontaneous and without fear. I was the worrier in my family. I could only imagine what it was like worrying about the worrier.
Not knowing what else to do, I reached over the pillow wall, wanting to offer comfort but unsure if he would welcome it. His fingers brushed mine and I grabbed his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze and holding on. “That must be difficult.”
“She refuses to see a therapist, so there’s not a whole lot I can do. Just try to help her calm down and pray the people waiting on me understand. I haven’t been on vacation in over a year. Not since Mason moved.”
I flinched at his words, recognizing I’d been less than patient with his delay earlier. I currently felt about the size of an ant as I thought about how I could have been more patient and understanding. Instead, I’d lashed out at Grey and judged him for something completely out of his control.
We lay in silence for a moment, his hand in mine, as I thought about his description of his mom. Was that what my future held if I continued to let doubt and anxiety rule my life?
“Is there anything that helps her?” My voice came out raspy and breathless. I was desperate for something positive to hold onto.
I felt the bed bounce, as if Grey had shrugged. “Just time. If I can sit with her, listen to her fears, hold her hand, she usually calms down. It’s part of why Mason moved. He couldn’t handleit, the pressure of always being on call. Even now, he’s mad I’m here. Mom keeps calling him, but there’s only so much he can do from Oregon. But she won’t call me while I’m driving, afraid I’ll get into a wreck or something. I’ve texted her at all our stops, but that doesn’t stop her from worrying.”
Grey’s expression as he’d read the texts on his phone earlier in our trip made more sense. He’d said the message was from his brother, a statement that had meant more than I could have guessed.
Questions filled my mind, none of which I felt comfortable asking.
Quiet settled around us, and yet, I felt desperate to keep the conversation going, to continue getting to know this side of Grey. The vulnerable, genuine side. Yet, I worried about saying the wrong thing, pushing this moment from tentatively comfortable to unbearably awkward.
After a moment, I settled on sharing what little I knew about coping. “I probably understand where your mom’s coming from more than most. That’s part of why I do yoga. I need something to control my anxiety.”
“Makes sense.”
I fell quiet, still holding Grey’s hand, worried anything I said would be wrong, but knowing I needed to say something. The quiet between us felt loaded, filled with unspoken words.
“I’m sorry I was short with you earlier. I had no idea.” The words were halting at first and then spilled out in a rush, as if racing to escape before I could change my mind. I held my breath, waiting for Grey’s reaction. The words felt inadequate but spoke volumes about how I felt. I was sorry for the situation, but more than that I was sorry for how I’d reacted and behaved when he’d first picked me up. I knew better than anyone how situations outside of one’s control could change life’s trajectory.
