Page 73 of Catch Me
She rolls her eyes. “Tens of thousands of dollars in debt with no degree,” she counters.
I don’t bother reminding her that she and my dad are the ones who forced me to make a choice between finishing my fashion degree or completing my business degree, which was the only one they would pay for.
“When are you coming home to Michigan? I may still be able to get you a position at the bank.Ifyou’re willing to start off as an intern and work your way up.”
I shake my head, ignoring the tears that well up in my eyes.
“I will not be returning to Michigan, and especially not to work at the bank.”
My mother’s uncle was the co-founder of First Michigan Bank, where she now works as the VP.
My father is the dean of one of Michigan’s top law schools.
To say my parents are high achievers is an understatement. And they expected nothing less of their children.
“I’m sorry I’m an embarrassment to you—” I say, but my mother cuts me off.
“You’re embarrassing yourself as well,” she responds curtly. “You’re out of your depths here. This is not where you belong, and if you keep on like this you know where it’s going to get you. You don’t have the temperament for Hollywood.”
The temperament.
She’s referring to my panic disorder. It’s her way of calling me weak-minded.
My heart rate starts to kick up, and the telltale signs of a panic attack begin to rise.
“Y-You should l-leave,” I tell her while my breathing starts to increase.
No, no, no!
The last thing I need is to have a panic attack in front of her.
“Ivy, your father and I won’t be around to keep rescuing you. What happens when you have one of yourepisodesat this job and your employer finds out what’s really wrong with you? Wha?—”
“I-I’m going to work now.” I barely get the words out, but I do. And then I brush past my mother, leaving her in my wake as I exit the building. I somehow spot the town car with Spencer inside.
Without thinking too much, I slip in the backseat.
“Ms. Sterling, since you didn’t have your breakfast, would you like to stop to-?” Spencer starts to ask, but his face drops when he peers in the rearview mirror and sees me.
I’m nearly doubled over in the backseat.
“Are you o?—”
“I-I’m fine. Just drive,” I manage to say through the closing in of my vocal cords. “P-Please,” I request when he hesitates.
I press the button to raise the partition, leaving me along with my panic.
My heart beats so fast that I fear it’s going to explode out of my chest. The fear only serves to quicken the spiraling thoughts in my mind. I clench my fists, my nails digging into the palms of my hands.
I try to remind myself that this will pass, but the only thing I can think is that I’m on the verge of dying. That’s how it feels inside of my body. Everything is an emergency.
Until it’s not.
Eventually, the panic attack tapers off. My brain fog starts to clear along with my vision, at the same time my heart rate slows down.
But the tears streaming down my face take longer to stop. All I can see is my mother’s face.
Once again, just when it starts to feel like my life is my own, that what I actually want is within my grasp, she shows up to remind me of how weak I am.
