Page 73 of Hot and Bothered
“She won’t get out of bed,” Christie said urgently. “I tried everything. She won’t even respond to me. She was fine yesterday. I think this is the start of a really bad one.”
“It’s okay,” Evan said. “I’m here. I’ll see what I can do.”
Evan went up the stairs, and his sister followed. Neither of them stopped to explain what was going on. I found myself alone in the front hall, unsure of what to do. I looked around and saw the living room and kitchen. Things were a little untidy, especially with all the dishes in the sink.
At least that was one thing I could do.
I did the dishes, took out the garbage, swept the floors, and did a bit of a clean up to put random junk away. I was about to start on the living room when Evan came back down. I rushed to him.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said shortly.
“Is your mom going to be all right?” I asked, trying again from a different angle.
“She will be,” he said. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
He headed out the front door.
“What about Christie?” I asked, following him out to the car.
“She’ll be fine, too,” he said. “She just worries when Mom gets like this.”
“Gets like what?” I hated how cryptic he was being.
Evan slipped into the driver’s seat and started the car. I quickly hopped in, half afraid he would peel out of the driveway without me. He seemed determined to get out of here as fast as he could.
“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?” I asked.
“It’s not any of your business.”
I flinched, taken aback. He grimaced with regret.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m not upset with you. I’m upset about this whole situation.”
“Will you please tell me what’s going on?” I asked.
“There’s a reason I don’t really talk about my family,” he said. “There’s a reason I never bring girls home. I don’t want to scare people away.”
“Nothing you can say will scare me away.”
“My mother has bipolar disorder,” he said bluntly. ”She’s always had her ups and downs, but it got worse after our father left us, after she discovered he had a whole other family he’d kept secret from us. It sent her into a downward spiral, and she hasn’t really recovered from that.”
I let out a small sound, trying not to let on how shocked I was. That hadn’t even been on my radar of possible explanations.
“When she’s on her meds, she’s usually fine,” he said. “But she hates them. She says they make her brain fuzzy, that she doesn’t like the way they make her feel. So she’ll stop taking them and not tell anyone. She’ll be fine for a while, and no one can tell she’s getting worse because she’s good at hiding the symptoms. But then it’ll get too bad to hide and she’ll have episodes like this. She won’t, or can’t, get out of bed. She gets practically catatonic. Or she’ll have a manic high and go days without sleep and have delusions. Or she’ll get angry or anxious and lash out with screaming fits. It’s always a gamble with her.”
“I’m sorry, “I said. “That sounds really frightening to deal with.”
“It can be,” he confessed quietly. “My sister and I are both used to it now. It’s like a never ending cycle.” Evan gripped the steering wheel so tight the leather creaked under his hands. “I keep telling Christie she should just move out. That she could come live with me, that she doesn’t need to be in a situation like that. But she always thinks Mom’s going to get better. She always has hope that this time the meds will stick and she’ll be okay. And then something like this will happen and it starts all over again.”
I put a hand on his knee and squeezed.
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know how to comfort him.
“Thanks,” he murmured, adjusting the mirror to avoid looking at me.
Evan went quiet for the rest of the drive home, and when we arrived at the apartment he started packing a bag while checking his phone every five minutes, probably waiting to hear from Christie. I assumed he was planning on going back and spending the night there.
