Page 20 of Love and Other Mental Health Concerns
“Did you just say ‘fat rack’ to me?” Now I start laughing, because who is this girl?
“Marcy is a nice person, whom I respect and don’t want to talk about anymore.” I insist. Annie eyes me warily, she knows I am full of shit but that’s fine. I am trying to figure out how to get out of this scenario when I am mercifully saved by the call light coming from Annie’s patient.
“I am perceptive Nick, and personally, if there is something sparking between you two, then I will be supportive as long as Marcy is into it. She deserves a guy that gives her the world though, takes care of her instead of her feeling like she has to go through life on her own. It’s been hard enough letting her dads and I into her bubble. If you get a spot in there, whether it is for a night or a lifetime, don’t fuck it up. Treat her like a queen. That’s all I will say on the matter.” She stares at me, waiting for acknowledgement of her statement.
I nod in agreement, and she seems satisfied with this wordless admission. Annie is clearly a gift. I love the way she is standing up for her friend; Marcy is lucky to have this troublemaker in her corner. I feel put in my place, but in the best sense possible. I hope to have more friends like this someday. “Come on, let’s go see what Susan needs.” She says. I nod again and follow her, not wanting to give anything more away about how I am feeling.
Feeling.There’s a word my therapist wishes I spent more time pondering.
What I am feeling is the strangest bit of relief from hearing Annie say she would be supportive of Marcy and I spending time together. I didn’t realize I would care about someone else’s approval when it comes to her, but apparently, old habits really do die hard.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Marcy
It has been one week and three runs with Nick since our accidental dinner meeting. After our first run together, we agreed to meet for the next one, and then the next one. Nick’s “weak” cardio is clearly a ploy, but he doesn’t seem at all annoyed to keep pace with me. Our conversation flows, and I even left my headphones at home for our third excursion. There is the occasional flirty comment or lingering glance, but for the most part it feels like we are just getting to know each other. It’s fun, which I now realize is something I don’t allow myself enough of.
It’s a Sunday morning and I am on my way to brunch with Stan, Gary, and Annie. No doubt in my mind that I am about to walk into another inquisition about my love life, or lack thereof. I have kept my one-on-one time with Nick to myself, wanting to figure out my own feelings before getting input from anyone else.
I bound down the stairs in my softest purple sweatpants and Ace of Base T-shirt I found at the local consignment shop. My hair is up in a messy bun; standard brunch attire when you live above the restaurant. Despite my proximity, I still manage to be the last to arrive. I walk up to the booth my family has commandeered and slide in without so much as a glance in my direction. They are all huddled around Gary’s phone withperplexed looks on their faces. “Well, good morning to you guys too…”
“Marcy, we have terrifying news. I am beside myself, but it seems someone was trying to break into the restaurant last night.” Stan is sweating, fanning himself with his hand, his leg bouncing underneath the table.
“What? Are you serious? Wouldn’t I have heard something?” I’m confused. I could have sworn there was an alarm system installed at the restaurant a couple years ago, and I am not a heavy sleeper.
Gary cuts in, “What Stan meant to say is that we saw a couple notifications on my phone this morning about some movement on the back parking lot camera. We are about to look and see if we caught any footage. You didn’t hear an alarm go off because no one tried to break into the shop.” He gives Stan a look with a firm “you need to calm down” warning.
“Oh Gary, don’t give me that look. We have never had this happen before, and the world is such a scary place these days. I may never sleep again.” He’s still sweating, still fanning.
“Guys, let’s get the videos loaded and then freak out. How long is this going to take? Is this dial up internet?” Annie asks as she shoots me a grin across the table. She always shares in my amusement of Stan and Gary’s banter, and their consistent inability to use technology.
“Yeah, and did you guys silence the alarm on your phone? Why did you get the notifications in the morning?” Now Annie and I are really laughing.
“Oh shush you two!” Stan is flustered and it makes us laugh harder.
“Here, it’s playing.” Gary finally says, taking a breath.
We crowd around the tiny phone (note to self, these gentlemen need new tech) and see that there is a disturbance around midnight last night. A large figure is assessing, not therestaurant, but my car. “Wait, did my car get stolen? I didn’t check!”
“Why would you have randomly checked if your car got stolen last night? You sound like Stan.” And then we both lose it to the giggles again. When I look back at the screen, I regain a little of my composure.
“Did that guy just get under my car?” Sure enough, the large mystery man is laying under my car, flashlight in hand, large tool bag next to him. He sits back up, and that’s when Annie and I both gasp.
Annie beats me to it. “Nick? Is that Nick under your car? Nick is fixing your car?” We all watch as he disassembles and replaces whatever pieces under my car were broken. He sets off the cameras several times between 12 am and 5 am. “Marcy!” Annie squeals and probably bruises my arms with her excited grabs.
“I’m seeing it.” I stop her. My rings are flying.
“What is happening?” Stan asks, looking at Gary for guidance.
“I’ll tell you what’s happening,” Annie starts. “That’s Nick Anderson, the Adonis from work that Miss Marcy is struggling to give the time of day. There he is, middle of the night, fixing her car because clearly, he isn’t interested in her at all.” The sarcasm just dripping from her mouth.
Stan and Gary are wearing full smiles, Gary with a hand under his chin now just staring at me. Stan is making awkward blinking eyes at me, so he’s either having a seizure or trying to tell me something. “I don’t need that,” I say to them.
“Don’t need what?” Stan asks. “Companionship? Fun? Pleasure?”
“Stan, please don’t ever saypleasureto me like that again.” It turns out I only like that word coming from one person’s mouth.
“It’s natural dear, not gross.”
