Melissa (Daughters Series, #3)

by Leanne Davis

  “She’s hot. Whoa. How the hell did you land her?” asks Ron, someone I’ve known for a while. No, I haven’t mentioned her. I should have. I see that now.

  She is hot. But she’s also funny, sweet, euphoric, and kind of unsure; and she angers easily and gets intimidated by groups and crowds of people like this. These kinds of people. People like me.

  “Oh, wow. It’s like Beauty and the Nerd. Gives me renewed hope,” says Lincoln. He leans over and gives Ron a high–five. I roll my eyes, ignoring both of them.

  Renee’s gaze is on me. Heavily. “Hmmm… She doesn’t seem your type.”

  “Who needs to be your type with an ass like that?”

  You’d think the brainy crowd would be more refined, more evolved from the Neanderthal stage. But I’ve found that many of them—like me, to be honest—don’t date much or even go out. They are more like juvenile boys whacking off for the first time over a pretty girl.

  “She doesn’t even need to talk with a mouth like that. Better things to use it for,” Burt adds with a lascivious grin.

  “Things you guys don’t even know how to do.” Suzy interjects, rolling her eyes.

  “Shut up.” I stand up suddenly and all eyes widen as they drift up to me. “Get out.”

  Their mouths drop and Renee blushes. “Hey, Seth. I’m sorry. Let them leave and we’ll finish this. Okay?”

  I don’t care anymore. I’m nearly appalled by how they treat her.

  I ignore Renee and head down the stairs. I knock on the Hendricks’s’ front door. Jessie answers. “She went to Christina’s for the night. She didn’t tell you?”

  I shake my head and smile wanly. “Probably just forgot.”

  Jessie smiled. “Yes, she might have done that.”

  “I’ll catch her tomorrow.”

  I wait it out and don’t see her until after I get out of my classes the next day. I walk into her house, knowing her parents aren’t around. Her bedroom door is open and she is lying on her bed. I knock on the door jamb to let her know I’m there. She glances up at me with a pleasant expression. She’s not angry. I expect to find her angry.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to get a vibe for how she feels.

  She scoots into a sitting position, crossing her legs under her. The book she’s reading is about dogs. “Hey.”

  “How was Christina’s?”

  “Fine.”

  Usually, with only one opening, Melissa’s answers are twenty sentences, not just one word. I clear my throat. “So they were jerks.”

  “They were trying to study. Not to socialize with me.”

  Is she mad? I can’t get a read on her, which is unusual. Lately, I’m ultra–sure of how she feels about things. “Melissa, I guess…” I rub the back of my neck. “I guess… I never really mentioned you to anyone before. I didn’t mean to omit you in any way. I don’t talk about personal stuff with any of those people. Most of them I’ve only known for the few months I’ve been doing this program, so they’re not really friends, but more acquaintances.”

  “It’s fine, Seth.”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  She keeps her gaze down, flipping through the pages before her. “Well, you could have told everyone like you were bragging. Or told no one about me out of embarrassment as if you had to hide my existence. But you didn’t act either way for either reason.”

  “I think there is something more to your attitude.”

  “There isn’t.”

  I don’t believe her, but I let it drop and cross the room before flopping on the bed. She continues to stare at the book, as if she’s concentrating extra hard. I sigh and rest my head in her lap. She has to move her book away. She rolls her eyes but accommodates me. Her fingers drop onto my head and thread through my hair.

  “I could take pills.”

  That has nothing to do with our conversation. She does that often. She shifts the conversation without any warning, or she starts talking while she’s still mid–thought. At least to me, it sounds like mid–thought. It used to drive me crazy and I had to fight the urge to wring her neck. I ultimately avoided conversing with her altogether. I used to think she did it to annoy me on purpose and interrupt whatever I was saying. Now I know it’s not her fault or intention, but just how her brain works. I doubt she realizes she even does it or how often she does it. And the funny thing is that now that I care about her, it doesn’t bother me anymore in the least. I have to pause sometimes and search for a thread of logic before I respond. Now it makes me smile when I see her so earnest as she spins one hundred and eighty degrees in her conversation topics. Now my heart twists when it happens and I think How sweet.

  “I thought birth control was already covered.” Something bothers me. In all my euphoria over her, I fail to consider how her brain could forget them.

  “I get a shot. Every three months. My mom has it on her schedule so there is no forgetting it.”

  Thank God. I realize how lax I’ve been on that subject.

  “Then… what pills? You talking about methylphenidate?”

  “Depends. Is that Ritalin?”

  “Yes. Ritalin is a brand name. Methylphenidate is the actual chemical name.”

  “Right. Anyway, yes. The doctor said many patients respond well to it. He suggested that I try the extended release version so I get the right dosage at all times and don’t forget to take it. People with ADHD are low on dopamine and serotonin and it regulates that. Anyway, maybe it would help me. I mean, us.”

  My eyes pop open. She’s still rubbing my hair but her face is turned off to the side. “We don’t need help. We’re fine. But if you would like to do this, then I think you should.”

  “Seth, you didn’t tell them about me for a reason.”

  “You think it’s because of your ADHD?”

  “No, more like my symptoms are pretty hard to live with.”

  I sigh. “I can live with them just fine. I want you to be comfortable. I knew you were mad.”

  “No, really. I’m not. I was just thinking. Maybe it’s time I try medication.”

  “Maybe. It probably can’t hurt to see if it works.”

  “A lot of people discourage it. They say it’s all a made–up thing to excuse rambunctious behavior or—”

  “I read that stuff too. It was referring to the diagnosis in kids, especially boys who are detected much more often than girls. But you also read how often it’s missed in girls. It’s real, Missy. It’s part of the DSM–5 and every reputable medical professional deals with it and treats it. There is plenty of research and case studies to back it up. You don’t need to doubt it any longer. Just look how much of a difference things are for you so far.”

  “I never thought I’d consider taking drugs.”

  I don’t mean to laugh so I cover it up with a cough. Her gaze pops up to mine and she realizes what she said. Shaking her head, she finally laughs too. “I meant, a pharmaceutical drug.” Her voice fades off. “Anyway, I just never foresaw this kind of daily requirement for me.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Do you believe in it?”

  “What? Medication? Yeah. Yes. And I believe you have ADHD. So taking a medication that improves the lives of many cases is helpful, and could be life–changing. Yes, I think you should try it. But if you choose not to, I’m not going to argue about it.”

  “Maybe I should try it. There are degrees of ADHD; it’s analyzed on a spectrum, I was reading. I feel like… I might have it pretty bad.”

  “You might.” Putting my hand up behind her neck, I pull her face down and place her mouth on mine.

  “I don’t know if I’m ready to yet. It’s all so new and weird. Just thinking of myself like this, and having all these explanations that totally apply to me.” She starts listing some behavior modification exercises she’s already employing. I listen. I know most of them already. But I let her tell me because she needs the reassurance that she is doing something correctly.

  Eventually, w
e hear her parents coming home. I roll over and get on my feet. I put my hand out to pull her up with me. I never hang out in her room when they are home. Melissa rolls her eyes at that, calling it “old–fashioned” and “ridiculous.” But one thing I—we—have going for us is that her parents like me. They detested every other guy she’s ever been with. Seems they deserve a little respect from me.

  I still wonder if she’s okay that no one at school knew about her, but I let it go because she does.

  She stops me just as we reach the door. “I’m going to do it, Seth. I’m going to try the drugs.”

  I grab her and bring her next to my chest, kissing the top of her head. Then I lean her back so I can see her. “This is the first time I’m comfortable hearing you say that.”

  She answers by playfully punching me in the arm, but I notice the apprehension in her eyes, and the wariness of her smile. How brave she’s become. Braver than most people I know and quieter about her successes. She never complains about how hard it is for her. I tug her towards me, embracing her because I respect her and care for her. I want to be her champion. Every single thing about this is on her to do. And she meets every challenge and changes in ways most people don’t in a decade, let alone a matter of months.

  Melissa starts taking a generic form of Ritalin. She says it is like she was “looking out a dirty window all her life and suddenly it is all clean and clear.” She says she’s experiencing the whole world in startling detail and vivid colors. Her brain is finally unclouded.

  We spend all our time together and I can see a distinct difference while interacting with her. The medication and the support from Elizabeth, as well as her family and even me, make a profound difference in her. The more time I spend with her, the more I see how difficult many tasks are for her. Things that seem easy or routine to me are frustrating to witness with her. The hard tasks that seem unchallenging to me are nearly impossible for her. Time management is a major problem. But it’s all real. And until I was actually living with someone who experiences the world the way she does, I’m not sure I could grasp it, or understand it, or respect how far she’s come in handling it and keeping herself functioning the way she is “supposed” to.

  Time is, for her, an enemy. She isn’t trying to be flaky, annoying or late when she leaves her tasks unfinished. She truly has no concept of time. Or not in the manner that most people consider. She can’t accurately estimate how long a simple task might take, let alone plan her schedule for multiple tasks in a given day. She struggles to prioritize her to–do items if she has several things or steps that are required in order to complete a task, job or project. She might hyper–focus on one thing, becoming obsessive about it, and falter when she has to make herself move to the next step, or chore, or job.

  She feels time, rather than uses it as a factor in her daily life. She doesn’t process it like I do. I’m so punctual and organized, using my time to my best advantage. She continues seeing her counselor and tries to practice her suggestions. The exercises are practical, down–to–earth stuff that I never dreamed a counselor would suggest. I mistakenly thought theories and medication were all it took without functional help. However, it’s a collaboration. And Elizabeth makes sure Melissa understands there is no cure, so it’s on her to deal with her symptoms and how they affect her life. ADHD isn’t an excuse for her anymore. Now there are tools for her to use.

  Probably the most effective tool for Melissa is setting up a rigid schedule. It seems kind of basic and ordinary and simplistic. But it has an almost transformative effect on her ability to get through her day and accomplish more than one thing. It helps her stay on track and do what she is supposed to do. Best of all, it keeps her working. She functions well enough, and has a healthy attitude while training the dogs.

  Melissa needs a rigid structure and framework to keep herself from procrastinating or forgetting things. I have no problem remembering to organize my day in order to do what I need and what’s expected of me. She really can’t do it without all those tools. Her life up to now pretty much illustrates that. She’s got lots of big ideas and inspirations and her daydreams often distract her from doing what she’s supposed to do. One strategy for her to combat that is by writing her ideas down in her notes on her phone with the intent to come back to it later, but only after she finishes what she is currently doing.

  Lists become a godsend to her. She makes lists for everything: from what she’s doing each day, to the things she needs to buy, and the errands she needs to run. She reminds herself of every single small detail in her life. Even down to remembering to replenish her deodorant. She checks off the items as she completes them and then she updates it. Her scattered thoughts and fancies are captured in these lists and they give her a framework to capitalize on them by organizing them, and not allowing them to disrupt her ability to function in a typical day.

  She uses technology too. Her phone becomes her source of lists and reminders. So often I can’t even count how many times, her phone is dinging, chirping and singing with all kinds of different ring tones. From appointments to lunch engagements, she has them all listed and preset to ding! at her and remind her to check her list and see what she needs to accomplish. Almost every single time her phone dings, she has forgotten what she’s supposed to do or where she’s supposed to go. At first, when she started using all the alarms and planners, she blushed or mumbled an excuse when it happened in front of me, as if I didn’t know what she was going through and why. She finally grew more comfortable and exposed her true self to me. It took a huge leap of faith for her to let me see how much she forgot and would have been late for or totally organized all wrong if not for all the new systems. Before, all the small things joined together, and made her feel like a complete failure at daily life. Now she structures her day differently, and almost instantly ceases to be a scattered mess. Now she can function, accomplish, and finish her work.

  Because of her disorganization and impulsivity, she has terrible habits, which I can vouch for. Bad eating habits, irregular sleep patterns, no exercise habits, all of which contribute to the erratic moods we used to see and her depression. She is encouraged by Elizabeth and now by me to stick to her routine as much as possible. Regular sleep and healthy meals are planned, and she even has to set alarms to remind her to do that. How can she forget her lunch or dinner? I’m sure it happens occasionally, but all the time? Melissa never thinks about the passage of time. It might be four o’clock before she realizes it is past lunchtime. Getting well–balanced, regular meals and plenty of sleep and exercising, including the climbing wall and hiking with me, have a transformative effect on her. Chores that she often forgets to do or did at all times of the day are suddenly done with consistence and regularity. Tasks that used to overwhelm her so much that she could not complete them become manageable after she learns to break them down into smaller parts, completing one step before moving on to the next.

  For me, it is all a trip. I enjoy watching how she changes the way she approaches the world and interacts with people. There are plenty of benefits after she learns to use different strategies to harness her goals. She’s so energetic, spontaneous, and creative. Before, I called it impulsive and crazy, but now it is interesting and exciting. She keeps me from being bored any longer. Any time spent with Melissa cannot be considered typical, dull or ordinary. She has a spark about her, and a chemistry that makes me feel more alive just being around her and experiencing her. She often gets me out of my books and my head with her ideas of what to do or discuss, which is exciting or surprising or just a totally different way of expressing myself.

  We spend a lot of time with her family, including Max and Christina as well as Emily and Harrison. I ask her several times to go out with my friends from school and she declines, but insists that I go. I feel some guilt when I realize how relieved I am that she doesn’t want to go. I know she doesn’t fit in and they don’t get her so it would be awkward for her.

  Her family’s mostly supportive
and encouraging. Even Emily starts to come around as she witnesses the positive changes in Melissa. She’s nothing less than amazed at her ability to actually accomplish tasks now, including a job. The term executive function is new to them and learning how it could be impaired in some people is groundbreaking, most especially to Emily, who is totally skeptical at first. She assumes it is a new source of excuses but when she sees the real changes manifesting in Melissa, she starts to open her mind more and eventually accepts it.

  Now, the only ones who don’t know about us are my own family. I’m not sure why I avoid telling them. I asked Jessie early on not to say anything to my mom, letting her believe Melissa and I wanted it that way. When in truth, Melissa and I never discussed it.

  I let it go way too long. It was understandable at first why I didn’t tell them, considering the tight history of our families. But now? It seems just odd. Since Melissa doesn’t ask about their reactions, I simply neglect to mention them.

  One morning, I awake to hear the shuffling and scuffing of shoes. Confused, I roll away from Melissa, who’s tucked beside me, warm, naked, and still asleep. I have an inkling about who it is as I slip my sweats on and a t–shirt and open the bedroom door to my mom.

  I withhold the groan. No. I haven’t told my parents yet. In that moment, I realize that is a huge mistake. I don’t know why I didn’t tell them, or my study group, or any of my friends. I am not embarrassed or ashamed to be with Melissa. On the contrary, I’m thrilled to be the guy at her side.

  “Hey,” I greet Mom and my tone is subdued. “Why are you here?”

  My mom is tall with blonde hair and a great smile. She opens her arms, and I’m already stepping closer to hug her. She leans back, and like any mom, sweeps my hair off my forehead like I’m five years old. I duck my head out of her reach, rolling my eyes. “Having a child who doesn’t hardly call me and when you do, all I get are three–word replies? I came to make sure you were okay.”

  “So you flew in from across the country over night?”