“What?” Her mother took Didi’s face in both hands, searching for the breakdown that usually followed . . . an episode. “You didn’t take your meds again. I checked.”
Of course she had. She was the one who placed each pill into the daily organizer. The portion marked SATURDAY AM was still full.
“I’m fine, Mom,” she said, yet the words sounded hollow to her ears. “There wasn’t any power, so the alarm didn’t go off, and I woke up late. And no hot water.” She sighed again. “Basically everything went downhill from there. I promise I didn’t intentionally forget to take my meds. I was just about to take them when you came out of your room.”
Why, oh why, of all days had her mother been home? Then she realized that she had left work early. Her shift at the country club wasn’t supposed to end for another couple of hours.
As if not believing Didi’s explanation, her mother sighed and began rubbing her forehead. “I think you really need to see a therapist. The meds aren’t enough.”
“No!” Didi caught her mother’s wrists in her hands. Those muddy brown irises that used to be so bright stared back at her. “Mom, you know we can’t afford weekly therapy sessions. I’m fine. Really.”
“You’re not fine.” She shook her head, eyes flooding. “You jumped off a cliff.”
“I just needed to cool off. I accidentally dumped two glasses of water on this rich girl at the club and she started screaming at me. I lost my temper. . . .”
“And lost your job,” her mom finished, shoulders slumping.
“Yeah.” Didi dropped her arms, letting her hands slap against her thighs. “It was stupid. I was being stupid. I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to see all this.”
“D . . .” It came out as a long breath, then a pause. She knew what usually came with the utterance of the first letter of her name. All she had to do was wait. It didn’t take long. “You really need to consider attending group sessions. I found one that meets once a week at the community center. Those are free. Please. . . .”
What would group sessions do for her? It was bad enough that she had to go through life without a map, sometimes feeling out of control—like today. She didn’t need to share in the misery of others. The meds were enough.
“Mom”—she looked into her mother’s eyes without blinking—“I made a mistake. I sacrificed taking my meds so I wouldn’t be late and lost my job anyway. You have to trust that I won’t make that mistake again.”
The same stubbornness Didi possessed straightened her mom to her full height. “We’re not done talking about this.”
Didi rolled her eyes. “Of course not.” She unhooked her mother’s purse from the coatrack and slung it over the other woman’s shoulder. “If you don’t get going, you’ll be late. We can’t have you fired too.”
“Didi,” she grumbled. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m fine?” She waited with bated breath for the response in the game they played after each episode.
It seemed like ages, but finally her mother said with a sad grin, “As many times as it takes.” Then she kissed Didi’s forehead. “Take your meds.”
“Get going.”
“And laundry.”
Didi opened the door. “Will do a load as soon as I take my meds.”
“Dinner—”
“Mom,” she said in exasperation, practically pushing the woman out of the house. “Go. I got this.”
“I’ll check on you later,” her mom called back as she hurried down their walkway, passing an overgrown lawn and the car that didn’t have gas in the tank. Again.
Mow the lawn. Didi added it to her list as she watched her mother walk toward the bus stop that would take her downtown. Then she closed the door and twisted the lock. The dead bolt sliding into place seemed so loud in the now empty house. She hated that she worried her mother. But what could she do?