Page 77 of We Can Stay
Thinking about all of it makes me want to cry. Like?—
Standing, I move to the window where rain streams down the glass in lazy rivulets. Each drop races its neighbor to the bottom, and I find myself picking favorites, willing them to win this pointless competition. Anything to distract from why I’m here.
Today’s the day. The halfway point. When Dr. Barnes will check if these awful steroids are actually doing anything besides making me miserable.
And if they’re not working... I guess I’m fucked.
My chest tightens at the thought. I press my palm against the cool window, watching my breath fog the glass.
“Hey.” Sebastian’s voice pulls me back.
I turn, forcing my lips into something resembling a smile. “Hey.”
Thank God he’s here. The waiting room feels less like a cage with him in it. Since I haven’t told Hannah about the pericarditis, bringing her was never an option. And if we run into her again like last time...
No. Not thinking about that. I’m still hoping this whole thing resolves itself and becomes a secret I never have to share. Just another chapter I can close without anyone reading.
Sebastian unzips his backpack, pulling out a small bag from Knit Happens. “I stopped by and grabbed some crochet hooks and yarn. Hannah helped me pick them out.” He holds up a skein of soft blue wool. “Thought maybe you could teach me? Might help pass the time.”
Now? Here?
My skepticism must show because he adds, “I figured it might help you relax a bit.”
Do I really look that wound up? Probably. My shoulders are practically touching my ears, and I can’t stop fidgeting with the hem of my sweater.
I glance at the door leading to the exam rooms, then back at him. “Sure. Okay.”
We settle into adjacent chairs, and I walk him through the basics. How to hold the hook, how to maintain tension, how to form a simple chain stitch. His veterinarian hands should be perfect for this—precise, steady, used to delicate work. But somehow his stitches come out loose and uneven, like he’s deliberately doing it wrong.
“Let me try again,” he says when his chain falls apart for the third time.
I bite back a sigh. He’s trying to help, trying to keep me distracted, but all this forced activity is making my anxiety worse. My mind won’t stop racing ahead to what Dr. Barnes might say, what new medications she might suggest, how many more pills I’ll have to swallow just to function.
“You know what? You practice for a minute.” I reach for the stack of magazines on the side table. “I’m going to flip through these.”
“Actually, I brought crossword puzzles.” He dives back into his seemingly bottomless backpack. “We could work on one together?”
“No thanks.” The edge in my voice is sharper than intended, but I can’t help it. His constant need to keep me occupied feels suffocating. Asking him to come with me was obviously a mistake.
The exam room door opens. A nurse in purple scrubs steps out, clipboard in hand. “Felicity?”
I flinch at my full name—nobody calls me that except in medical settings—and shoot to my feet so fast the magazines slide off my lap. “That’s me. Yes. Hi.”
My legs feel disconnected from my body as I follow the nurse, Sebastian’s footsteps close behind. We go through the familiar routine. Step on the scale—five pounds heavier, just like I thought. Blood pressure cuff squeezing my arm. Questions about symptoms, medications, side effects. The needle prick for blood work that I barely feel through my numbness.
Then we’re left alone in one of those windowless exam rooms that always make me feel trapped. The walls are beige, the art generic, the smell antiseptic with an underlying note of fear—mine and everyone else’s who’s sat in this chair.
I wedge my hands between my knees to stop them from shaking. The paper on the exam table crinkles every time I shift.
Sebastian pulls out his phone. “Look at this video I found. Someone trained their cat to ride in a bike basket. Think we could teach Cat to do that?”
He leans over to show me the screen—a tabby cat wearing a tiny helmet, sitting primly in a wicker basket—but before I can respond, there’s a knock.
“Come in,” I manage, though my voice cracks.
The door opens, but instead of Dr. Barnes’s familiar face, a stranger walks in. She’s younger, with short dark hair and glasses that make her look severe.
“Felicity? I’m Dr. Jackson.”
