Page 6 of The Christmas Letters
“Tess,” she answers.
“That’s a nice name. Are you from Charleston?”
She scoffs. “I know what you’re trying to do, Drew. And it isn’t going to work. You can’t small talk me out of a panic attack.”
She takes several shallow breaths, and alarm bells sound in my brain. The last thing I need is a woman I can’t help panicking herself into passing out. “Got it. No small talk. Can you take a couple of deep breaths for me?”
“Right. Breathing. I can breathe,” Tess says.
I listen as she takes a slow deep breath, then another, and another. “How are you feeling?” I finally ask.
“Better, I think?”
“Good. Keep going. Focus on your breathing. That always helps me.”
“When you’re trapped in bathroom stalls?”
I grin. “I had panic attacks when I was a kid,” I say. “My grandma used to remind me that oxygen was my friend, and I shouldn’t shut it out when it’s only going to help me.”
Tess breathes out a shaky laugh. “Seems like it would be hard to forget something so simple and yet…normal breathing really is the first thing to go, isn’t it?”
“How’s your pulse?” I ask. “Does it feel like it’s racing?”
“No. I mean, it isn’t normal, but it’s getting better.” The longer she talks, the calmer she sounds.
“It shouldn’t be too much longer,” I say.
“Why did you have panic attacks as a kid?”
The question surprises me. It’s personal. Too personal, really. And yet, if talking is what it takes to keep Tess safe, I’ll talk. This is my job. And right now, I’m all she has.
I glance at the door. Only Ben is close enough to hear our conversation, and he already knows everything there is to know about me.
“I lost my parents when I was a kid,” I finally answer. “A sailing accident. For three years after, I…struggled.”
Struggled is an understatement. I was afraid to swim in the ocean, I refused to walk on the beach, and I couldn’t eventhinkabout getting on a boat. As an only child, I was pretty close to both of my parents. I was the center of their world, and they were the center of mine.
“That’s…” Tess pauses for a long moment. “I’m really sorry. That makes freaking out because I’m locked in a bathroom stall feel really stupid.”
“It’s not stupid. You’ve been in there a while.”
“It feels like it’s been days instead of hours, but I know that’s just me being dramatic. How did you stop them?” she asks. “The panic attacks?”
I turn so my back is against the door, folding my arms across my chest and turning my face away from the hallway. It’s a small space, so if anyone tries, they’ll still hear me. But this at least makes it feel like I’m only having a conversation with Tess. “Lots of controlled breathing and some good therapy. And then, eventually, I just grew out of them. But you’ll never find me on a sailboat. Even today.”
“What about surfing? Do you surf?”
“A little. But I’m not very good.”
Ben snorts from the door, and I shoot him a look. Ben does surf, and he never misses an opportunity to remind me how much better he is than I am.
“I’m more of a land sports kind of guy.”
“I learned to surf in Bali,” Tess says. “Isn’t that funny? I grew up at the beach and never touched a surfboard. I had to travel halfway across the world to realize it was something I love to do.”
“Bali, huh? That sounds nice. Vacation? Or were you living there?”
“Vacation. Well, sort of. It’s a long story. But then on my way home, I stopped in Paris to see my aunt and stayed with her for a while. I’ve only been back in Charleston a few months.”
