I Wish You All the Best(51)

“What do you think?” She pulls out this bright white dress with red polka dots. I’d never be able to pull off something like that, but I sort of like the idea of being able to wear it. Maybe how it would feel brushing past my legs.

“Looks good,” I say.

“You look like you’re thinking,” she says.

“Huh?”

“Like your brain’s busy.” She chuckles. “Thomas says I have a look like that too. Maybe it runs in the family.”

“Maybe.”

She nudges me a little. “So, what’re you thinking?”

“Mrs. Liu’s doing an art show at school,” I say, the excuse coming easy. It’s not a total deflection; I have been thinking a lot about the show. I just don’t think Hannah would really understand how I’m feeling about everything else.

“Oh, did she ask you to submit one of your paintings?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to do it?”

I shrug. “Not sure yet.”

Hannah scoffs. “Come on, your stuff is amazing. Why wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know. Guess I’m just nervous.” I don’t know why. It’s just a student show. But there’s still this bundle of nerves I feel when I think about showing my stuff off to that many people.

I’m just overthinking it; I know I am. Hell, it is just a student show; I doubt there will be a lot of people there. But still.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Benji. You should submit something.” Hannah eyes the dress again before putting it back on the rack, and all I want to do is reach out and grab it. She moves closer to the stacked piles of jeans next. “So, are you excited to be out of school? Must be nice to be able to relax for a few days.”

“Yeah.”

She grabs a pair of black jeans at the bottom of the pile, checks the size, and then shows them to me for approval. I nod, and she throws them in my arms.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“You like Dr. Taylor, right?” The question takes me off guard.

“She’s fine.” Seems like an odd question since I’ve been going to Dr. Taylor for almost three months now. “Why?”

“Just wondering. I was talking with a friend, the one that referred me. She said that it can sometimes be hard to find a psychiatrist you can stick with, especially on the first try. Dr. Taylor was their fourth option.”

“I didn’t know you could switch like that.”

Hannah eyes me. “Do you want to?”

“No, no. She’s great.” Besides, I don’t think I can handle a new doctor. Start over, come out all over again, talk about Mom and Dad, and Hannah, and things I’ve already let out into the world. Even if that world only consists of two people.

“What about the medication?” she asks.

I shrug. “I think it’s working; I’m not really sure though.”

“Have you given any more thought to that support group?”

I freeze. “How do you know about that?”

“There was the pamphlet in your dresser. I promise I wasn’t snooping, just putting away some clothes and … well …”

“Oh. Not really.” Please tell me she wasn’t going through my things. That she was just putting away socks or shirts that she’d washed, and just opened the drawer by mistake.

“Can I ask a question?” She throws down the other pair of jeans she was eyeing.

“I thought that’s what you were doing?” I try to laugh, but I can feel my face heating up.

“Oh, ha-ha.” She cackles sarcastically. “But seriously, like, why don’t you want to go? Don’t you think it’d help?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you looked up their website or anything?”

“No.” I look around, we’re pretty much alone in this section of the store. “I just don’t want to come out to a bunch of strangers.” That’s part of it, but it’s also a local group, and I don’t think I could handle walking in there and seeing someone from school.

“What about trying it just once? The pamphlet said you don’t have to be out or anything. You don’t have to talk about why you’re there.”

“I just really don’t want to go.” Even if I don’t do the whole coming-out thing again, I’ll have a room full of people staring at me, wondering why I’m there. And do I really have the right to sit in on their private meetings if I’m not going to share anything?

“I just think it might help.”

“Well, I don’t think it will. Can we please drop it?”

“Okay,” she says defensively, and my heart sinks. She sounds so much like Dad right now. “Do you think you’ll ever come out to anyone else?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re only out to who? Me, Thomas, Dr. Taylor. Mom and Dad. Do you think you’ll ever come out to anyone else?”

“Why does that matter?” I don’t want to get angry, but I also don’t appreciate how she’s asking all this. Why is this so important to her?

“It was just a question,” she argues.

“Well, that’s up to me to decide, okay?”