Page 53 of Mr. Hotshot CEO

Today at the lab, I could hardly think of anything but being naked in bed with him.

It’s only Tuesday. We still have twelve more days together.

I don’t know how I’m going to survive this, but I’m determined to do it and get my five thousand dollars, which is why I head to Chris’s Coffee Shop after work to meet my sister.

“Hey.” Naomi sits down across from me, coffee in hand. She looks at me for a moment, then says, “You haven’t slept with him yet. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I groan. “Last night, after I met his family—”

“You met his family? What’s his dad like? I’m curious.”

“His father wasn’t there. Anyway, after that, Julian and I made dinner together, then we played Scrabble—”

“Which you won, naturally, since you always win at Scrabble.”

“No, he won. Because Julian is a freak of nature and he’s amazing at everything.”

Her mouth falls open. “You lost a game of Scrabble? For real?”

“Quit distracting me. Anyway, then we watched a movie.”Ocean’s Eleven—he managed to stay awake this time. “Afterward, there was some, um, kissing. A lot of kissing. And this wasn’t the first time.”

“Hmm. You say he’s amazing at everything, so it’s only natural to conclude—”

“Believe me, I think about it constantly.” I have a sip of my gingerbread latte, but that doesn’t hide the heat rushing to my cheeks.

“I know you have trouble separating sex from the other stuff, but itispossible. I’ve done it many times. You don’t have to develop feelings for every guy you sleep with.”

“You’re different from me. Plus, the last time you insisted it was ‘just sex,’ you ended up falling for the guy.”

“Yep, and now we’re together and it’s awesome. That could happen to you, too.”

I realize my mistake in talking to Naomi about this. She’s happily in love and that’s all she can see.

But my sister is my best friend. She’s the only one who always stuck by me. When I first had problems with depression in high school, my parents were in denial despite what the doctor told them. My mother eventually came around and understood that I really was sick, but now she just walks on eggshells and tries not to upset me.

My father is still in denial and thinks I’m just weak.

Dad and I don’t talk much anymore. I used to be my father’s girl, and when I was little, he would help me with my science kits and always encouraged my interests. He supported my desire to be a scientist and didn’t push me to be a doctor, unlike some of my friends’ parents. But after that episode when I was sixteen, nothing was quite the same. When I went on leave from university and moved back home, we mostly spoke through my mother.

“If you were actually sick,” he said, “the medications would work.”

Yet, no matter how many drugs I tried, nothing changed except the side effects.

Many years ago, my aunt told me that their father—my paternal grandfather—had killed himself back in Hong Kong. I was shocked. I knew he’d died before I was born, but I’d never known much about him. Sometimes I wonder if my father’s denial is because he fears I will end my life like his own father and can’t bear to think of it, but I’m not sure.

My friends didn’t stick by me, either. Not in high school, not in university, and that hurt. After I finally finished undergrad—a year late—and started grad school, I kept my issues to myself. When I didn’t feel good, I’d pretend everything was fine. I became good at faking it.

Naomi was always there, though, and I always told her the truth.

“Look,” she says, taking my hand, “if you get depressed again—”

“I’m not sure why you don’t think it’s inevitable. Once you’ve had three episodes of depression like I have, the chances of it happening again are very, very high.”

“Okay,whenit happens again, I bet it’ll be better than last time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, last time was better than the time before, wasn’t it?”