Page 58 of Do Not Disturb

“What are you doing home?” I ask him.

He frowns and wrings his hands together. He’s here for a reason. He didn’t just come up here to open the window. He may as well spit it out already.

“Don’t be mad,” he says, “but I called Dr. Heller yesterday.”

I look up at him sharply. Why would he call my neurologist without my permission? “Excuse me?”

“Look, you just seem…” He sinks down onto the bed so he can see eye to eye with me. “I’mworriedabout you, Rosie.”

“So whatbrilliantinsight did Dr. Heller have?”

He pushes on, ignoring my sarcasm. “She thought you should do a course of physical therapy.”

“Physical therapy?”

He nods eagerly. “I’ll take you to the appointments,” he says. “Will you go, Rosie?”

“What’s the point?” I say bitterly. “How am I supposed to walk better if I can barely move my legs?”

“Not for that,” he says. “Dr. Heller said it would help you get more independent, so I wouldn’t have to—”

I glare at him. “Oh, I get it now. You’re sick of helping me with every damn thing.”

I shouldn’t be surprised. Nick does alotfor me. He helps me in and out of bed—he even helps me into the shower and to get dressed in the morning. Even though I’m the chef in the family, he brings me all my meals now. He does everything for me. He never even complains. Not until now.

“Rosie, that’s not—”

“Just admit it, Nick. It’s not like anyone would blame you.”

He hangs his head. “Don’t do this. I’m just trying to help.”

I study his face. “Did Dr. Heller have any otherhelpfuladvice?”

After an interminable pause, he digs into his pocket and pulls out a little orange bottle of pills. I inhale sharply.

“What’s that?”

“They’re antidepressants,” he says. “Dr. Heller thought they might help.”

“Oh God.”

“Rosie…”

“I’m not taking those,” I say. “I don’t have depression. My situation is the problem.Anyonewould be depressed in my situation.”

“They still might help.” He tries to reach for my hand, but I pull away. “Please, Rosie. Just try it. For a few weeks. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep taking them. But maybe they’ll help.”

I look into his eyes. He still loves me, for some reason. He’s just trying to help.

“Fine.” I accept the bottle. “I’ll try them for a few weeks.”

But that night, I flush all the pills down the toilet.

_____

Whenever I hearfootsteps on the stairs, my heart leaps into my chest.

It’s almost always Nick. Who else would it be, visiting me in the middle of the day? That butterflies sensation reminds me of when we were first dating, of how excited I used to be to see him.