By Your Side(53)

“How is Jeff?”

I blinked, looking away from his intense stare. “What?”

“That’s where you were, right? At the hospital.”

I nodded. “Jeff’s mom texted me last second and I had to go. He was asking for me.”

Dax’s shoulders went tense, but he said, “That’s good.”

I tried to figure out why Dax might not like that news. Why was he saying the opposite of what he was feeling? “He’s still in pain, I guess. And will probably have to do physical therapy. So it will be a while before he goes home.”

“Are you spelling out how much longer you need me around?”

“I . . . no. We’re friends, right? You can . . .”

He gave a breathy laugh, stopping me short. “It was a joke.”

“Oh right.” I leaned back against the bench. “But anyway, I was going to stay away from the hospital tomorrow, because it’s Dallin’s day.”

“Dallin . . . the guy who blamed Jeff’s accident on you.”

“Right. I wanted to give him his time, but Jeff asked me to come. Made me promise. So I feel like I have to.”

He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, and seemed to think. After a minute he said, “So you’re trying to deal with anxiety by acting like you don’t have it.”

“What?”

“You know the hospital will stress you out tomorrow, especially with Dallin there.”

“Yes.”

“But instead of staying home for your own mental health, you’re going to go there because someone else is expecting it.”

“I can’t stop living life.”

“It’s not something you want to do. You’re worrying about someone else’s emotions instead of your own.”

“Either I’d be sitting at home worrying about Jeff wondering why I wasn’t there or I’d be at the hospital worrying about Dallin being mad at me for being there.”

“Because you haven’t told them. If you told them you had an anxiety disorder, they wouldn’t wonder when you didn’t show up for things or had to leave things early. And you wouldn’t worry about them. They’d understand. They’d feel better and you’d feel better.” He held up his hands and shook his head, like he was mad at himself for something. “You know what? Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

I let out a frustrated breath. “No. You’re right. I’ll tell them.”

“Now you’re just saying that because you think I’m mad.”

“Are you?”

“It doesn’t matter, Autumn.” He put his hands on my cheeks. His hands were freezing. “Figure out what you think.” His eyes went back and forth between mine. My temperature seemed to rise a couple degrees. “Figure out what you want,” he said again, softer.

And then he was standing and walking away, and I just sat there and let him, not even offering him a ride. Maybe we both needed some space anyway. So we could follow the rules.

I pulled my knees up onto the bench with me, his words swirling in my mind. What he’d said made sense. I thought back to all the times even in the last couple of months when I went places to please others despite what I knew it would do to me—basketball games and parties and maybe even hospitals. It’s not like I wanted to stop doing those things altogether, but I needed to read my own emotions better, not leave things after I freaked out but before. Stay healthy. But I didn’t need to tell my friends about my anxiety in order to do that. I just needed to be better about standing up for myself. About not doing things I didn’t want to do.

I slid my legs down to the floor and went to stand up when I saw Dax’s book still sitting on the bench. He was long gone. I’d just give it to him at school the next day. I opened it up, curious, and sure enough the letter was still there. I read over the address again. Salt Lake. His mom lived that close and he hadn’t seen her in years?

I pulled up the map app on my phone and entered her address into it. Fifty minutes away. I clicked the screen off and studied the envelope again. The return address was an unfamiliar one. Of course not his current address, but not the previous one either. I wondered how many times he’d had to move. How many families he’d had to live with.

The porch light was on and glowing a warm yellow as I headed up my front walkway. It looked so inviting. My home. I opened the door to the sounds of my family in the kitchen, laughing, dishes clinking. I shut the door behind me and went to join them. I stopped short, watching as my mom and brother stood around the island, picking at the leftover lasagna on the counter while my dad did the dishes.

“Let’s make cookies,” my brother said.

“You’ll just eat all the cookie dough,” my mom responded.

“And?”

“I want to eat all the cookie dough too,” I said.

They all looked up. My brother spoke first. “It’s about time you’re home. Get in here and spend some quality time with me.”

“So demanding.” I set Dax’s book on the counter and went to join them at the island. I pulled a fork out of the utensil drawer and dug into the leftover lasagna.

“How about a plate?” my mom said.

“There’s salad too. It’s in the fridge.” Before I’d finished my bite of food, my dad was holding a gallon Ziploc of salad and my mom had a plate in her hand.