Page 149 of Behind the Net

It’s quiet for a moment, and we just stare at each other. There’s a shift inside me, and when I reach for that endless patience, it isn’t there. Instead, I find betrayal and frustration.

Something needs to change, and until now, it’s been me. With my mom, I’m always the one who bends. I’ve been encouraging Pippa to stick up for herself, put herself first, do what’s best for her career and her life, but I haven’t been following my own advice.

“I moved here for you,” I tell her, but I’m saying it to myself, too.

She waves a hand. “You moved here because you missed Vancouver.”

“No.” I fold my arms over my chest. I can feel how hard my heart is beating. “I moved here for you because you started having panic attacks and you clearly couldn’t handle it yourself.”

She blinks like I’ve slapped her, and although my heart pinches to see her hurt like this, she needs to hear the truth. She’s been running from it for so long.

“You had a panic attack and got into a car accident, so I moved my entire life back here to take care of you.”

Her jaw tenses as she stares at the floor, and it’s like looking in a mirror. A knot unties in my chest as I tell the truth. Her fingers go to her bracelet, turning the beads. She won’t meet my eye.

“The nurse on the phone said you weren’t on medication.”

“I don’t need that stuff,” my mom mutters. “I tried it.” She’s referring to years ago, when her depression was at its worst. “It made me all loopy.”

“That was fifteen years ago.” My voice is rough. “There are new meds now and new research. Doctors who specialize in anxiety.” I pause, about to ask a question I think I know the answer to. “Did you find a new therapist like you said?”

She stares at the beads as she spins them. “It didn’t work out.”

“So that’s a no.” I blow a breath out.

I see it so clearly, all laid out in front of me. She’s going to keep getting worse, and I’ll chip away at my life until there’s nothing left because I don’t want to hurt her feelings. And in the meantime, I’ll tell myself I can’t have the woman I love because I don’t have time for her.

My heart hurts. I love Pippa, and I don’t want to give her up. I love my mom, and I don’t want to see her get worse.

“Why were you driving alone?” I ask softly.

A muscle ticks in her jaw, and her eyes stay on her bracelet. “I needed something from the store. It was just a quick trip.”

She could have seriously hurt herself, or someone else. If Daisy was in the car—

I can’t even think about that. I love that dog so much.

“You know you get panic attacks while driving, and yet you got behind the wheel. How is this any different from what Dad did?”

Her head snaps up because I’ve hit a nerve. Good.

“Jamie.” Her tone is sharp.

I’ve never spoken to her like this. We never talk about him.

I take a step forward, folding my arms over my chest. “You’re ignoring the problem, and it’s getting worse. You lied to me about finding a therapist.”

Her mouth flattens. “I looked.” Her voice is small. “I looked and then I just—” She freezes up, shaking her head. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

She throws her hands up, discomfort radiating off her in waves, but I don’t care. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

My pulse races. “You never want to talk about it.”

“This is not your problem. Let me deal with it.”

My head is about to explode.

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