Page 47 of A Surefire Love
“There will be enough pies flying as it is.” She winked.
A smile fought past his defenses. He could endure a disturbing amount of teasing when it came from her.
Nolan came up behind her. “I don’t remember signing up for a face full of whipped cream.” He put a hand on her shoulder and mimed squishing a pie into her pretty features.
Jealousy slithered through Anson’s chest, but he couldn’t touch her like that. He could barely keep his wits about him as it was.
With a playful shrug, Blaze slipped away. “At least I didn’t say dunk tank—and I could have. The dealership owns one.” She donned her coat and motioned the girls to follow her. “’Night, guys!”
Giggling and echoing the carefree farewell, Mercy and Hadley followed her out as they slid into their own coats.
Nolan chuckled and shook his head. “That one’s trouble.”
“Yes, she is.”
The following Tuesday afternoon,Blaze left work early for her doctor’s appointment. Instead of multiple appointmentsand assessments like Mercy had gone through, the doctor had her answer two pages of questions.
His frown deepened as he read her answers. He set the page aside and folded his hands loosely in his lap. “The trouble, Blaze, is that your assessment isn’t definitive.” His tone remained conversational, but his words slashed through her confidence.
She wasn’t even good enough at having a disorder?
“ADHD is a lifelong disorder, not something that crops up in adulthood. That, combined with your symptoms, leads me to suspect anxiety instead.”
Her mouth went dry. Was twenty minutes long enough to come to a conclusion, let alone such an unexpected one?
She’d always liked her doctor. He’d treated her iron deficiency, a UTI, and a nasty upper respiratory infection. She hadn’t felt misunderstood or rushed those times.
“I’ll write you a prescription for an antidepressant that’s often effective in treating anxiety and a referral for talk therapy.” He gave a perfunctory smile. “Between the two, I believe you’ll start to find some real relief.”
“Anxiety ….” Enough to require medication and therapy?
The doctor adjusted his glasses as he peered at his tablet. “Diet and exercise can also significantly impact your overall well-being. Exercise increases serotonin, reducing feelings of stress and anxiety. Meanwhile, changes to your diet, such as including more protein—”
“I changed my diet a few weeks ago to include lots of protein, fewer processed foods, and a lot less sugar.” Getting up in the morning had become slightly easier, and the jeans that used to bite into her stomach were no longer uncomfortable. Her office and the reports that awaited her there, however, were.
He straightened his lab coat’s lapel. “Your caffeine intake is higher than I like to see. Four to five cups of coffee per day could contribute to an inability to focus and anxiety.”
That word again. “I don’t have panic attacks or feel nervous all the time.”
“You reported worrying ‘often’ about your job performance, how people perceive you, and your parenting. Worry is a synonym for anxiety.”
She rubbed the growing tension in her shoulder. “I’m forgetful. I have trouble concentrating on tasks I need to do, like reports for work.”
“Anxiety can cause that, especially when triggered by stressors like a promotion. An anxiety diagnosis is good news. ADHD can be treated, but it’s incurable. Anxiety, on the other hand, sometimes goes away entirely with treatment. It may be a long road, but starting treatment can improve your quality of life immediately.”
“Okay.” She pressed her hands into the seat and scooted back. Immediate improvement sounded good. Mercy’s appetite had finally returned, and she’d cleaned BunBun’s area on first request last time, but the wait for change had been grueling.
The doctor handed her pages that recapped the appointment, his recommendations, and general information about anxiety. “What pharmacy would you like to use for the prescription?”
“Um …” The antidepressant was so unexpected. How had she been right about Mercy and wrong about herself? But who was she to disagree with an expert? “The pharmacy here’s fine.”
18
Attending Blaze’s Thursday shows wasn’t as fun as Mondays. Anson had switched to give Sydney space, but by the time he arrived, most of his friends were either on their way out or tired of talking over the music. They’d listen to him, but he couldn’t delve into the trouble he was having at church. He couldn’t discuss how, now over the shock of losing Sydney, he missed her friendship but not dating her. He certainly couldn’t explain why sitting alone at a table near the back and listening to Blaze sing more than justified showing up.
At Rooted last night, she’d been quiet and withdrawn. Now, her tone was dull as she bade the crowd good night. She turned from the mic a little too quickly and disappeared in back.
The push and pull he felt where she was concerned was enough to tear him in half. His head argued she was a loose cannon that had landed him in a river, volunteered him for a pie in the face, and scolded him for how he handled Mercy. His heart focused on her depth of spirit and the tenaciouscompassion she—for reasons he couldn’t explain—sometimes aimed at him.
