by D. B. James
Prattling off the rest of the information needed, I hang up and stare at mama; she’s beaming at me. Her smile lights up my whole bedroom as I hand her back her phone.
“I’m proud of you, Tenley,” she says. “In fact, I couldn’t be prouder.”
Nodding at her, because my voice seems to be caught in my throat, I stand and begin to gather my clothes for the day. Heading into the bathroom to take a warm shower, I make myself presentable enough to venture out in public. Two huge steps in one day. Maybe I should write them down, start keeping a journal of the small events I do each day, until I’m back to me. Not like I’d enjoy reading a journal stating when I washed my hair, but…
I’ve no doubt, Luellen will be pleased to see me. She hasn’t seen me in months. The last time I stepped through the doors of Bookmark It! and the bell rang to alert my arrival, she asked too many questions I didn’t have the answers to. She’ll still ask them today, but at least it won’t feel like such an ambush. I won’t be alone this time. Mama will be there as a buffer. She’ll undoubtedly want to know when to expect my newest novel, a question to which I still don’t have the answer to…and maybe never will.
Hopefully, this doctor I’m seeing tomorrow will help me find not only myself but my missing words. Sadly, my laptop sits in the corner collecting dust. Every time I walk by it, I feel it silently judging me. Begging me to flip the lid and start writing again. But the last words I’ve written were on the morning of Michael’s death. The manuscript hasn’t been opened since, for two whole years. My latest novel sits in an unfinished document. How can I finish writing a love story when the love of my life is gone? The remaining pages lay blank, like my days.
Funny how life truly can imitate art.
Less than an hour later, I find myself standing on the sidewalk in front of Bookmark It! with mama, staring at the front door. I’m not sure if I can strum up the braveness required to walk inside. Before this depression took over my life, I’d find solace between the pages of a book. Before I was an author, I was an avid reader. Everything in my life now is before.
Before.
Before.
Before.
Dammit, I need there to be an after. It’s not a question of my wanting there to be an after, I need there to be one. Screw it, I’m going in. This very second. Mustering up every ounce of courage I have, I stride toward the entrance. Pushing open the door, the familiar jingle of the bell covers me in an odd sort of calmness. Breathing in deeply, I take a moment and close my eyes.
This feels like home.
“Tenley, my goodness. How lovely it is to see you. Hello to you as well, Maria. You didn’t mention my sweet Tenley was coming with you when we spoke a while ago. What a lovely surprise,” Luellen, the storeowner and mama’s best friend, exclaims.
“She didn’t know for sure if I was coming with her, Lu. It’s nice to see you, too. Beautiful as always,” I compliment her because she’ll forever be beautiful to me.
Lu’s always been one of my favorite people. Having grown up around her, she’s family to me. Not quite old enough to be my aunt, she’s more like my older sister. Hair of fire engine red and hips plump as soccer balls, she’s been a fixture in my life for as long as I can recall. Her hair is the same today as it was when I was five. Her arms are covered in tattoos, something uncalled of in the Cleary family. It’s another reason why I love her. I’ve secretly always longed for a tattoo or two of my own. Although I’ve never been quite brave enough to actually get one. Michael had a few and admittedly it’s one of the features that first drew me to him.
“It’s a pleasant surprise indeed. How are you, sweet girl?” Lu asks.
“I’m…well.” Depressed as fuck, but nobody wants to hear the truth. “Thank you for asking. The store looks amazing, by the way. I love the new color on the walls, the deep lavender makes a bold statement.” Please don’t ask about my writing.
“Great, it’s exactly what I was going for. The old blue was too drab for me. Let me go grab your order, Maria. Take a glance around, ladies. I’ll be back in a flash,” Lu says as she’s walking away.
Well, it’s going better than expected. If she would’ve asked about my writing, I obviously wouldn’t have been able to give her a solid answer. You can only tell someone so many times you haven’t written a single word in over two years. Unless you count text messages. My laptop probably doesn’t even work anymore; it hasn’t been turned on in ages, it just sits collecting dust.
“You know, Luellen was saying last week how much she could use the extra help around here. Maybe you could take the position,” Mama says.
Wait, what? Back this train up and let me off.
“Talk about coming out of left field, Mama. I’m attempting to get back to myself, I don’t need a job. You know this, I’m an author. Not having written anything new in a while doesn’t change the fact I’m still an author. My books are still selling. I’m sure if you look, there’s more than one of my works sitting on display here among the shelves.”
“Tenley, I know you don’t need the job. I was merely mentioning it because I thought you may like it. It’d get you out of the house and give you something to do besides spend the day wasting away in bed.”
“If I promise to give it some thought, will you please drop it before Lu comes back? Haven’t I taken enough steps toward getting better for one day?” I plead.
At least I think I have, I mean it’s taken me a whole month to make a simple phone call.
Maybe calling a therapist and venturing out in public aren’t considered large steps to everyone, but to me, they’re huge. We live in a digital age, where with the push of a button I can have my groceries for the week delivered to my doorstep, all the while I would lie around doing nothing. Going to the beach on my birthday was a massive step for me. Admitting defeat and moving into my parents’ house was a monstrous one. The steps taken today? To me, they’re life changing.
Instead of answering my question mama stays silent, the silence in itself is answer enough. It’s not long before Lu comes out of the stock room with her hands full of books. From the looks of her arms bogged down by inventory, mama placed quite the order. Book collecting (hoarding, actually) runs in the family.
“Did you find anything else or are you all set with these for today?” Lu asks.
“I believe we’re all set with these, Luellen. Thank you again for ordering them for me. Would you like to come over for dinner one evening next week? You could let me know which night would be best for you, and us ladies could make a night of it. I’m sure Stewart wouldn’t mind. He can go out with the guys or find something else to occupy his time and leave us be. Doesn’t it sound like fun, Tenley?”
“Oh...yeah, it sounds nice,” I mumble.
“I’d love to. Wednesday would work out best for me, but I can let you know for certain by tomorrow, if it’s okay?”
While they continue to make plans, I browse the new release section, seeing several new releases from an author I love. Before my world exploded I stumbled upon a book of hers and desperately fell in love with her writing. Not bothering to read what they’re about, I grab every single Colleen Hoover book on display and carry them to the front. I’ll read them, someday. Hopefully. Maybe I’ll start to read one tonight, losing myself inside the fictional pages sounds like heaven to me.
Sitting in the waiting area of Dr. Beesley’s office, I’m sweating profusely. My palms are slippery as hell and I’m praying she doesn’t offer her hand when we meet. My nerves have surely gotten the better of me on this day. I’m not sure what to expect when I walk through the door into her office, let alone what actually talking to her will be like. The thought alone has my stomach tied up in knots.
Do I actually have to talk? Can I sit there and be mute?
“Tenley Grace?” a nicely dressed woman around my age asks from the open doorway leading back into the offices.
“Yes, I’m here…it’s me.” It’s blatantly obvious, I am the only one sitting in th
e waiting room. Hell, I’m the only person in the office besides the receptionist.
“Follow me, please,” she orders, gesturing with an arm for me to walk through the door.
Without answering, I get up and proceed to follow her back toward her office, assuming she’s Dr. Beesley. She opens another door leading into a brightly lit office, then motions for me to enter before her. The walls are painted a calming shade of pale yellow. There’s a teak wood desk in the corner, with an open laptop and paperwork strewn on top, two pale blue comfy arm chairs sitting in front of it. Off to the side is an off-white chaise lounge, two soft green side chairs, and several colorful throw pillows covering every available surface. The paintings on the wall are all ocean themed. The whole office feels...inviting. Calming. Welcoming.
“Please take a seat wherever you’ll be the most comfortable. I’m Dr. Miranda Beesley. You may call me Miranda, if you like. If calling me by my first name makes you uncomfortable you can call me Dr. Beesley. You’ll find I like to keep matters as casual as possible around here. Now, don’t take it the wrong way, I’m not here to be your friend, I’m here to be your doctor. I’m here to help. I only want you to be as comfortable as possible. I read over your paperwork before I called you back here. I see there’s several factors bringing you in today. Would you like to start with any one thing in particular?” she asks.
I’d like to start by leaving. Or staying silent. Instead, I take a seat on the chaise lounge, sitting my purse on the floor, closest to my right side. The side I can grab it fastest and flee, if need be. Her words have overwhelmed me. Her voice is soothing, her office is peaceful, but I’m tense. First meeting and all.
“Tenley. May I call you Tenley?” she asks.
“Sure, I guess it’d be okay,” I reply. Shit, I talked.
“If you don’t want to talk today, it’s okay. Believe me, it’s understandable and I’ve dealt with it before. I can do all the talking for us and go over a few guidelines with you. Touch base on what I’d like to accomplish during our sessions together—what I’d like to see happen with you while you’re under my care,” she explains.
“Alright,” I reply, having resulted to solitary word answers. “Um…sounds great, I guess. Easier than my opening up today and all.” There, maybe if I add in a few words I won’t seem entirely closed off. She said she’s used to patients not talking on the first day anyway.
“Okay, it’s what we’ll do for today. I would like to ask you a few questions first though, purely relating to medication and your frame of mind. How are you sleeping?”
“Honestly? I’m not. At least not without sleep aids. I’m stubborn though and don’t like to break down and take the pill until it’s absolutely necessary. Usually it’s near dawn when I finally swallow one.”
“Okay, right now until we get down to what’s bothering you, Tenley, I'd feel more comfortable knowing you're taking the sleeping aids as prescribed. I see from your paperwork your primary care physician has you on a low dose of Ambien. When you take those, normally how long does it take for the pill to take effect?”
“They truly don't, when I finally give in and take one. Once I see the dregs of orange making its way into the sky, proving I've met another morning, it's at least a solid hour after the sky changes and the sun’s risen before I feel sleepy. I will say this though, once I am asleep on them, I stay sleeping for at least six hours.”
“Hm. Okay then. It's great the pill works once it finally kicks in, but I'm going to change your dosage. I want you to try something new with it tonight. Take the new dosage around 11 p.m. and see if it works for you. If it does, try it again tomorrow night. We’ll meet again the next day to go over those results. Just because you have to take a pill for assistance now doesn't mean you’re weak, Tenley. It makes you strong to admit you need assistance. Since we didn't cover much of substance today, I’d like for us to meet three times a week for the first month. After the first month, we’ll go down to two visits a week and down again and repeat. As long as you keep improving the less we'll see each other. You are incredibly strong for coming here today. I'm looking forward to our sessions together. I'm going to make a few prescription changes for your depression today as well, and we’ll sit and talk at your next appointment. Does everything I’ve mentioned sound okay?” she asks.
She must've known by my expression I wanted to flee. I'm sure it screamed, this one’s a runner. And up until I saw the comforting office and furniture, I had planned on running. Turning around and walking straight out the door. Bye, Felicia. Good riddance. Peace out. But the damn chaise lounge did me in. Not only did it appear comfy, it is comfy. Dammit.
“Ye-yeah, sounds perfect. I was scared to come here today. You don't know how many times I've thought about running out the door. The only reason I stayed once you brought me back here was your furniture and how comforting your office appears.”
Laughing softly, she replies, “I hear the same thing at least once a day.”
At least I’m not the only one.
“I’ve written you a new prescription for a higher dose of Ambien and given you enough for a week. If after a week it’s not working like it should, we’ll try something else. I’ve also changed your Paxil dosage and added in Abilify for you to take. It’s been proven to work alongside antidepressants, thus I’d like to see if it could essentially help you,” she explains.
Great, more medications. Not exactly what I wanted to hear but then again, I didn’t actually open my mouth either. She’s only going by what’s on my paperwork. Hopefully, these drugs are not a long-term solution but only a short-term answer.
“Okay, I’ll start the new medications tonight. Do I set my appointments with you or with Gabby out front?” I ask.
“We can set them up back here if you like and then you can be on your way.”
After setting up the next months’ worth of appointments, I leave Dr. Beesley’s office feeling a bit...lighter. Which I find highly odd because I didn’t voice any of my concerns to her. Not a damn thing. Besides the sleep issue and I didn’t bring it up, she did.
Deciding since I’m already out, I may as well stop by Bookmark It! and take the next step in my new life. I park my silver Lexus out front, kill the engine, and stare at the front of the store. Doing the exact same thing I did yesterday, only this time from the comfort of my own car and not the sidewalk out front.
After fifteen minutes pass I open my door, I know how long it’s been because when I killed the engine, my radio plays for exactly fifteen minutes before the key has to be turned again, or the car started, to turn the music back on. The first step out is a heavy one. My shoes feel like they’re filled with lead. Why are the smallest battles sometimes the hardest things?
You can do it, Tenley. You’re a strong woman.
If I keep telling myself I’m strong, eventually I’ll believe it. But I’m not strong. At least not anymore. I’m positive I was once, and probably will be again, but it’ll take a lot of practice for me. One step at a time. This is one of those steps.
Opening the front door, the familiar bell jingles and calms me like it did yesterday. Luellen is busy with a customer but she looks up, sees me, and smiles. One can only imagine the thoughts running through her head. Instead of wasting time and seeing what’s new, I go up to the counter and wait behind the customer she’s currently helping.
Overhearing the girl ask for a new recommendation, I speak up. “Lu has a stellar indie section. I think you’d like Tarryn Fisher, Aly Martinez, and Linda Kage. In the new section you’d like Colleen Hoover, anything and everything she writes. And since I see some paranormal in your pile, Sarah J Maas is amazing when it comes to fantasy.”
Please don’t let me have overstepped my boundaries by making a suggestion to this customer.
“Oh my goodness. You’re Tenley Grace. I love everything you’ve ever written. May I take a picture with you? Will you sign a copy of one of your books, if I buy one, since I don’t have any with me?” the excited g
irl asks.
“Yes, and yes.” Because who would say no to a fan, even if I am depressed? I can’t turn one down for an autograph or a picture. It wouldn’t bode well for me with future fans to let this one down today. Word would spread like wildfire online.
After smiling for the selfie, Lu hands me one of my books she has in stock. “What’s your name? You’d like it personalized, I’m assuming?” I ask the bubbly girl.
“Oh, heck yeah, I’d like it personalized. Stephanie, my name is Stephanie. Wow, I still can’t believe I ran into you in a bookstore of all places. Your words saved my life. I had suffered a miscarriage when I stumbled upon one of your books on Amazon. I one-clicked it and read it in a single sitting. Afterward, I clicked buy on each one I could. You’ve gotten me through one of the hardest times in my life. Thank you, Tenley. I’ll also buy those books you recommended—the ones by authors you mentioned—anything you like must be golden.”
Well, I wouldn’t go as far as saying they’re golden. In fact, I know some of them are leaps and bounds better than I am as an author, but I’d never tell Stephanie this. At least not to her face. Social media? Yeah, I would post something there about how amazeballs Colleen or one of the others is.
“They’re amazing, I highly recommend them. You won’t be disappointed. Their writing is flawless. The heroes? Swoon. You’ll love them. I promise. And thank you for telling me your story. It’s readers like you, Stephanie, who make the difference between authors opening their laptops or keeping them closed.” At least it’s a half-truth.
Luellen rings up Stephanie’s purchases after I signed not one but two books for her, and she left with ten more by the authors I mentioned. It’s only Lu and myself in the store now. Taking a deep breath, I brace myself for what’s next. Here goes nothing and everything. Take the leap, Tenley.
“Mama was telling me something about you needing extra help around the store. Is it true?” I ask.
“Yes, I do. The last girl I hired left me a couple of weeks ago; she ran off to get married. It’s not much of a job, Tenley, but it is yours if you’d like it. Only a few hours here or there to help me out. I can’t always be here myself, therefore I’d like someone I trust to be here in those times. You could write from here, if you wanted. It wouldn’t bother me none,” Lu explains.
