Page 110 of Mr. Hotshot CEO

“Come here.”

I sit beside him on the couch. He places his hand on my shoulder, which is the most affection he’s shown me since I was sixteen. When I shed a few tears, I can tell he’s uncomfortable, but he stays, sitting beside me.

It will never be perfect between us, and it’s sad that he wouldn’t change until he heard it from Jeremy.

Still, it’s something.

* * *

“Are you okay?” Bethanyasks as we head to the banh mi restaurant together.

Usually we have lunch on Friday, but she had to cancel because her son needed to go to the doctor, so we’re doing Monday instead.

“Julian and I broke up,” I say.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry.”

I don’t tell her that it was my doing, that I feel like I can’t be in any relationship at all. But do I say, “I have some problems with clinical depression.”

I tell her a bit about my history with mental illness. I haven’t told anyone—other than Julian—in a long time. I don’t want everyone in my life to know about it, but I want Bethany, my closest friend at work, to know.

I’m not going to lean on her much, and I’m not going to talk to her about my problems on a regular basis—those conversations usually just makes me feel like shit anyway. But it’s easier now that she knows the truth and is still standing here next to me.

She gives me a quick hug when we’re in line at the banh mi restaurant.

“What are you getting today?” she asks.

It’s a joke we have, since I always get the same thing.

“Hmm.” I pretend to think real hard. “Maybe the chicken. Or the beef. But I hear the grilled pork is really good. Or maybe I’ll do something completely different and order the pork belly...”

I don’t need much from most people, and I’m aware of how difficult it is to be around me when I’m unwell. I just need Bethany to still be my once-a-week lunch friend. I need to know my father isn’t going to deny that I’m sick.

The little things add up.

* * *

Wednesday evening,I’m at Naomi’s apartment, and we’re sharing a bottle of wine as we plan our trip to New York. I’m excited for our trip, but it’s tinged with sadness because I can’t stop thinking of Julian. He’s the reason we’re able to go.

When I saw Naomi last Thursday, I told her what happened, but she didn’t make me talk about it much. Today, however, is a different story.

She puts aside her laptop and fiddles with her wine glass. “I think you’re wrong when you say you can’t have a relationship.”

I stiffen. “It’s not safe for me.”

“You can’t only do things that are safe.”

“Obviously I have to take some risks in life, but this one isn’t worth it. I’lldieif we get too close and then he breaks up with me.”

“You will not die,” she says, taking my hand. “I will look after you, I promise.”

“But there’s no treatment for my depression. It doesn’t respond to anything.”

“You can be kept safe in a crisis situation.” She pauses. “It wouldn’t have been a good idea to start dating soon after Dane, I agree, but it’s been ten years since you had a relationship, not counting the past few weeks. I think you’re punishing yourself. This isn’t only about your fear that it won’t work out and will turn out like last time. I believe you’re also letting your depression tell you that you don’t deserve a relationship.”

I shake my head. “No. It’s not like that.”

“I hate to say this, because I know you don’t like the phrase, but when you tell me you can’t be in a relationship, I think, ‘It’s just your depression talking.’ You’re letting your negative self-talk get the better of you. You deserve to have someone who cares for you like that. Youcanhave a relationship, and maybe you’ll never break up.”