Page 76 of Mr. Hotshot CEO
“You said it happens every five years,” I say. “It’s not chronic. It goes away eventually, but not with the help of drugs or anything else?”
“Sometimes it lasts six months, sometimes well over a year. The one constant is that it goes away after I’ve given up on treatment, so that’s how I know none of those things have worked.” She reaches for her teacup. “It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re supposed to try a few drugs and find one that works. Maybe it won’t be the first drug, but you’re supposed to find something soon enough. But there are many people like me who have treatment-resistant depression. And if you suggest a little yoga or tai chi will fix it, I will stab you.”
“Fair enough.”
“Some people think those of us with depression just don’t appreciate the little things in life, which you know isn’t true for me. Sometimes I wonder if my depression is actually the reason I’m good at that. Every five years, I become incapable of enjoying gourmet ice cream on a hot summer’s day and other small pleasures, so when I’m able to enjoy them, it feels like such a gift. In fact, sometimes I think of myself as an innately happy person who suffers from depression.” She smiles at me weakly. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
We drink our tea in silence for a couple of minutes. There are many more things I want to ask, but I keep them to myself.
“Let’s watch a movie,” I say. “You pick.”
She picksWedding Crashersbecause she wants something that doesn’t require much thought. We eat warm apple crumble with vanilla ice cream as we watch the movie, and I’m pleased with myself for baking something so delicious. I went to a local grocer to buy produce today, and I enjoyed looking at the selection of fresh fruits and vegetables. I rarely go grocery shopping—Elena takes care of that for me—and the novelty of it, combined with the way I’ve been seeing the world through Courtney’s eyes lately, made it a pleasurable experience.
Or maybe my baking skills aren’t all that impressive. Maybe the crumble just tastes so good because everything tastes good these days.
Courtney laughs occasionally during the movie, but it’s a brittle laughter. She’s not quite herself. The thought of her hurting so much causes an unbearable ache inside me; I can’t stand to see her suffer. I need to fix this for her. I have resources and contacts that she does not.
I put it on my to-do list for tomorrow, along with planning our trip to Montreal. For some reason, I want to plan the trip myself rather than ask Priya for help. Plus, I have the time to do it.
I ask Courtney if she wants some wine, but she says no, it’s probably best if she doesn’t drink more tonight. So I make another pot of tea.
When the movie’s over, I gather her up in my arms and carry her to my bedroom. She puts on one of my T-shirts for bed, as she’s been doing the past few nights. I like seeing her in my clothes.
“It’s nice to have you around,” she says, running her hand over my face, like she’s exploring me. “It helps. It can’t solve everything, but it helps.”
Five minutes later, she’s asleep.
Chapter 21
Courtney
It’s a new day, andI’m walking to work. The sun is out, but it’s still cool, reminding me that it’ll soon be fall. Leaves changing color, pumpkin spice everything. I associate fall with falling into depression because my episodes of severe depression always start at this time of year.
For now, though, I’m mostly okay, though I feel vulnerable and exposed after last night.
I don’t like talking about my problems. Some people find it cathartic, but I never have. Plus, it reminds me of the time I told my parents when I was sixteen.
