Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“So what?” Mel throws both hands up, her exasperation as clear as her compassion. “You spend the rest of your life alone?”
“I’m not alone.” I smile at them broadly. “I got you two heffas. I have the aunties. I read that something like ninety percent of marriages with a bipolar spouse end in divorce. With those odds, not sure I want to try it.”
“And she gets dick and pussy whenever she wants,” Tessa crows, her grin as wide as Texas.
“And do!” I cackle. “I’m not sure I want a relationship. I don’t have to know right now.”
“Kids?” Mel presses. “You want ’em someday?”
I try to ignore the little twinge in my chest. I used to want kids with the right partner, but I’ve heard too many horror stories from people in my support group. I’m not sure it’s worth the risk. I know there are people managing it well and being great parents, but growing up with the tumult of my dad and experiencing the trauma of his actions, I’m not sure I’ll ever try. I’d never forgive myself if I endangered a kid of mine while I was manic.
“Nah,” I finally reply, sifting through my jewelry box for gold hoop earrings. “I don’t think the kid thing is for me.”
“Well, I might have a whole litter of kids with one of the guys I’m seeing now,” Tessa pipes up.
“You should probably be able to name one of the guys you’re seeing now,” Mel says, irritation snapping her brows together, “before you go in on a baby.”
“Whatever,” Tessa giggles. She keeps going in out and out of the frame, zipping around the apartment like she’s a wind-up toy.
“Girl, what is you doing?” I tease. “Sit down for two seconds.”
Tessa does come to a standstill for literally about two seconds before giving the camera a pointed look and skipping back off.
“I’m going for a run,” she says, but she’s wearing a sundress and sandals.
“Like that?” I ask, laughing at her ridiculousness.
Tessa glances down at her dress and high-heeled sandals with a wide grin. “I’m making a statement!”
She grabs her purse from the counter and dashes through their apartment door like the Road Runner.
“God, that girl.” I chuckle. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was off her meds.”
When Mel doesn’t answer, I shoot her a sharp glance.
“Mel, please tell me Tessa’s taking her meds.”
Mel lifts both brows, stirs the ceviche, and drinks her beer. “I’ve been trying to tell her.”
“Oh God. No! Why didn’t you tell me?” My heart gallops at the thought of what could happen. “She has to take them. You know that.”
“Dammit, that’s so unfair, Verity.” Mel slams her bottle down on the table in front of her. “You’re off in LA living the high life, while I’m here making sure Tess doesn’t go off the deep end. I’m the one making sure she showers and eats and doesn’t slit her fucking wrist when she’s not running all over the city spending our rent money on thousand-dollar purses for the unhoused in our neighborhood or getting up in the middle of the damn night to go on a run.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s just a lot.” Mel massages her temples. “I know it’s not easy for you guys living with this condition, but maybe you don’t realize how hard it can be living with you sometimes.”
Her words slice me right down the middle, the pain so sharp, so visceral, that for a moment, I can’t breathe imagining how much it would hurt to hear those words from a man or woman I loved.
“Verity, I’m so sorry,” Mel gasps, her expression horror-struck. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
I don’t respond, but nod jerkily. She was simply telling the truth; a truth I’ve known for years, which is exactly why I don’t do relationships anymore. I live with this, but I don’t have to expect anyone else to. Maybe there is someone who will stand by my side if things get really ugly, but I’ve never wanted to give anyone that much power to disappoint me.
“Do me a favor,” I say, my words short and sharp. “Remember this conversation the next time you try to convince me I need that partner and kids.”
“Shit.” Mel squeezes her eyes shut. “I shouldn’t—”
“I better go. I don’t want to be late.”
“Verity, I love you.” Mel’s voice breaks. “Honey, I’m sorry.”
My heart cracks and I imagine myself in her shoes. This diagnosis is hard on Tessa and me, but it also takes a toll on the people walking this journey with us.
“I know, babe,” I tell her. “I love you, too. We’ll get through this. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I disconnect the video call and make a mental note to check on Tessa, but right now I can’t get distracted by this, not when I’m embarking on the biggest project of my life. In most cases, my job would be done now. Typically, once a script was finished, the director might have a few questions here or there, but I could move on to the next project.