23. Noah

Dr. Stein has comein clutch. She emailed me back sometime during my date with Jane to set up a telehealth appointment, but I didn't see it until I got home from Cat's house last night. She gave me a phone number to text her, so here I am at seven the next morning sitting at my desk and waiting to be let into the Zoom meeting.

For some reason, my stomach is queasy.

Anxiety really is the pits sometimes.

The screen comes to life and Dr. Stein shows up, sitting at a brown desk. Her black hair is extra curly and bunched behind her head in a claw clip. Shelves of knick-knacks and little stacks of books are artfully arranged behind her. In the center of the screen, just behind her head, is a large, soothing abstract painting of calm blue and cream and gray. I already feel more hopeful.

She's good at her job.

"Good morning, Noah. I'm sorry we couldn't meet yesterday. How are you today?"

"Better?" I say it like a question, then lean back in my chair and shake my head. "It comes and goes."

"Okay. Why don't you start at the beginning for me? I think when we ended last time, you were doing your best to support Bree during her difficult time."

I go back about a week, because that's the last time I filled her in, and tell her about Olive coming home to comfort Bree and how it's thrown Cat. I tell her about the family group chat that explodes every day, how I swipe into the message thread to get rid of the notifications and then back out again without reading anything. I tell her about my shortness of breath at the beach and how kayaking did nothing for me.

"Being in nature or going for runs has helped historically, correct?"

"Usually," I confirm. "I couldn't seem to bring my head back down to earth yesterday. My breathing was shallow, and that thing was happening where I could hear my heartbeat in my ears."

"You mentioned feeling better this morning. When did those symptoms lessen?"

"Yesterday afternoon. I went to see Cat and spent some time with her, and the symptoms weren't as bad then."

"But they didn't leave completely?"

"No. I still feel it all," I tell her, a little ashamed I can't get a handle on my emotions.

Dr. Stein looks down at her iPad, then raises her eyes to me. "Do you have an event coming up? A circumstance that might be triggering this extended anxiety attack? Or could it be the presence of your sisters in the house that is bringing up some discomfort in connection to your parents' divorce?"

Extended anxiety attack. That sounds like a barrel of fun. "I'm not sure. There's a party for my aunt tonight. Both of my parents will be there."

She smiles softly at me, full of kindness and understanding. I appreciate her patience while I gather my thoughts and continue.

"My sisters being home has been a lot, too. One of them has a difficult past with Cat, so there's been some discomfort this week. I didn't know—that is, no one ever told me my sister bullied Cat in middle school. It was years ago, but I can't seem to let go of the guilt associated with that."

"Cat is your personal assistant, correct?"

"Yes, but she's also my friend." Which is putting it lightly. She's so much more than that to me.

"Putting blame on yourself for actions out of your control will only increase your discomfort, and it isn't fair to you. While it's understandable that you want to protect your friend and be a support to her, you can also let go of responsibility for actions that another person made—even one so close as a family member."

That was far easier said than done.

"Right now, what I'd like to address are your immediate feelings. Have you considered the medication we've talked about?"

My stomach seizes again, sending a queasy feeling through my gut. I've seen the way my family has abused prescription medications and alcohol, and it's kept me from ever being interested in either of those things. I've opted for holistic remedies instead of the anti-anxiety medication Dr. Stein mentioned at our first meeting.

"You have expressed concerns in the past, so I want this conversation to be open and honest. There are medications you can take on an as-needed basis for panic attacks. They could help you in situations like this where you know a trigger is coming—a meeting, a family party, anything big. But I think you could benefit more from a consistent, small dose that would keep you regulated. You could feel less symptoms all the time, instead of trying to determine when you'll need it and when you won't. Your triggers appear consistent enough to make this a safe medical option."

I sit there silently, feeling the lightness in my limbs and the pulse in my ears and the uneasiness in my gut, and I want it to go away. I don't enjoy feeling this way, and though I know it's been part of my life for a long time, it has only gotten out of control in the last few years. I'm ready for it to be gone.

I'm ready to feel like me again.

"We would start with a very conservative dose, if this is what you choose to do, then go from there."

"Okay."

She waits a moment, giving me room to continue. When I don't, she starts to lay out instructions about lowering the dose and testing it out for two weeks before taking the full pills. I appreciate her cautious approach. With my weekly appointments this summer, she'll be checking in with me regularly too.

I can stop at any time. It feels important to remind myself of that.

"This won't take immediate effect, Noah," she reminds me. "You still need to utilize the coping mechanisms we've discussed when you attend the party with your family, or work meetings, or anything else where you start to feel the symptoms we've gone over."

I nod. There are a few things I can do—for instance, I can always walk out the door—but I'll have Cat with me, and she has been a steadying presence from our first day together this summer.

She is anti-anxiety medication.

I also know I need to figure myself out, and Dr. Stein is monitoring me closely enough that I feel safe giving this a chance.

"Can I start Monday?" I ask her. "I have to leave for the airport fairly soon."

"Of course." She smiles into the camera. "Don't hesitate to reach out when you need to, Noah. I'm glad you emailed me yesterday."

I am, too. It's so hard to reach out sometimes, to feel like what I'm going through is worth an appointment when I'm so used to putting on my big kid pants and dealing with the pain or the inconvenience. Now that I have reached out to her, I can already feel the weight lessening.

Not the stomachache, though. I have a feeling that will persist until the party tonight is behind me.

We sign off, and I check my email to see if there are any updates on the open world game or the dating app I need to address before taking off for the day. Now that the bugs are worked out and the ad campaign is complete, we're getting close to releasing the dating app that I'm hoping will reduce the amount of catfishers out there.

I've seen the ads Christine finished with our graphics team, and they're good. Like, really good. I'm hoping they'll entice other people too. I would buy anything that used Cat as a point woman on their ads.

I, very intentionally, do not open the game on my computer, even though I have an hour to spare, because I know how easily time passes when I get sucked into it. Mateo tells me they're still working out the kinks before the game can be brought before investors, but I've been playing it for two months now and it seems nearly perfect to me. They brought my vision to life.

I pick a suit for the party tonight because there's no way I'm letting my mom's stylist dress me again, then pack up everything I'll need and zip it into a travel garment bag.

Then I pull out my phone and text Cat.

Noah

Don't forget your license

Cat

What about music? Do you have that covered? Two and a half hours is a long time to be stuck with your sister.

Noah

Entertainment is covered.

She'll probably be glad to learn there are TVs on the plane. She can plug in to one of those and ignore Olive all she wants.

I head downstairs and hang my suit bag over the back of the sofa. Olive is sitting at the table with Celine and what looks like artfully arranged power bowls. The blueberries and sliced strawberries are fanned out with oats and seeds and some sort of honey or agave drizzled over the top.

"Where did you find those on the island?" I ask. They're easy to get your hands on in Manhattan—not so much in Sunset Harbor.

Olive leans to the side, taking a picture of her and Celine leaning together with their bowls. She reaches forward and pushes her bowl over an inch, then takes the picture again. "Perfect."

"Ollie?"

"Oh, I made them." She digs in, putting her phone down. "Dash's chef taught me a few good ones."

Dash: her boyfriend the movie star. He was a lot more down to earth than I'd expected when we met for the first time, despite things like having a private chef. We get along pretty well. Neither he nor I like being around my bickering parents, so we often escape on the occasions we're all together and find a game to play. He's a nerd too, so it doesn't take much to get us to search out a TV and a couple of controllers. "Will he be coming tonight?"

"He has a press thing downtown, but he's going to try to stop by."

I pull a banana from the fruit bowl and peel it, leaning against the counter. It's debatable whether addressing the bullying now is a good thing when we all still have to fly to the city together. At this point, I don't care if she knows that I know.

"Cat's coming," I say, taking a bite of the banana. "I would really appreciate it if you gave her space."

Olive's head whips my way. "She's coming to Tootsie's party?"

"Is she your date?" Celine asks, her mouth full of chia seeds and fruit. "Or is this part of her ‘work' responsibilities?"

"She's just a friend." I spear Olive with a look. "Please give her space."

Her brown eyes lock on me. "She told you."

Olive's too intelligent not to note the difference in me between now and yesterday. Then I was ignorant and confused. Now I'm angry. "No. Someone else did."

She bristles defensively. "I tried to apologize. She just walked right out."

"Can you blame her?"

"It's been over ten years."

"Ollie. Can you blame her?" I repeat.

She is so stubborn. She got it from my dad and it's not her best trait. Her gaze drops to her bowl before lifting to me again. "Not really."

"Okay, then please give her space. You can't force her to accept your apology or want to be around you."

"I just hoped we'd all be adults about it now."

Implying that Cat is childishly holding on to the past? "No more digs, okay? I'm serious. Or you can find your own way there." I polish off the banana and toss the peel in the garbage.

She turns her glare onto her breakfast. "You know, I've moved on. It would be nice if she could too."

"That's her business, not ours."

Celine nods. "It's true, Oll. Forgive yourself. You can't force her to do it, but you can free yourself from the guilt."

And there it is, the faint shimmer of goodness in my gold-digging ex-girlfriend. There was a reason we dated for six whole months, thin as it was.

I'm guessing Olive filled Celine in on her past with Cat.

Olive takes a bite of her breakfast, ignoring both of us. If I can handle the rest of my family this seamlessly, maybe the rest of the day won't be as bad as I've feared.

Or maybe defending Cat just comes naturally to me.

"You know," Olive says, turning in her seat to face me. Her freshly highlighted hair falls over her shoulder. "I wasn't going to say anything, but you brought it up, so it's fair game now. You claim she doesn't want you for your money. But the first opportunity she gets, she's taking your private plane to Manhattan for an exclusive party." Her eyebrows hike up. "Sounds a little suspicious to me."

Celine drops her focus to her bowl, looking mighty hard at the blueberries there. Little snake.

Defenses die on my tongue. "My relationship with her isn't anyone else's business."

"Mom won't agree with that. The party is probably being covered tonight. You're not going to be able to avoid pictures."

"I'm not ashamed of her," I clarify. "We're just friends, so we don't have anything to worry about."

Olive rolls her eyes. "Sure."

"Ollie."

"What?" she snaps. "Celine said Cat needs money, and now she's hanging out here all the time?—"

"It's called working."

"—and then she's leading in your ad campaign and coming to family parties?—"

"Olive," I bark. "Honestly, stop. You don't know her and you don't know the situation."

Her eyes spit fire. "I don't want my brother to be taken advantage of. Or, worse, hurt because some girl wants revenge after what I put her through over ten years ago."

Ah. So she's being protective. Taking blame. It's oddly comforting to hear she has a reason for being so ridiculous, that it's not coming from sheer mean-girl-ness anymore. Maybe providing a little more information about the situation would give her enough cause to step back and quit worrying.

"Do you remember how her parents died and left her with her uncle?"

Olive nods, her face a mask of hesitation.

"His name is Otto. A few years ago, he got cancer. I don't know if you'd heard, but it was pretty bad. He went through a cancer treatment center right on the mainland for chemo and surgery. He's in remission now, but they were slapped with some pretty hefty medical bills."

Olive's shoulders deflate, the fight gone from them. "So Cat needs money to pay her uncle's medical bills or?.?.?. what? They lose everything?"

"Yeah. The house her parents raised her in. Their BB. Her home."

She's careful when she asks, "Have you considered the possibility that she manipulated you into helping her?"

"Honestly, no. She's not like that. It didn't even cross my mind." My gaze flicks to Celine and back to my sister. "I've had plenty of people take advantage of me, Ollie. I know the signs."

Celine glares.

But Olive understands. "I just don't want to see you hurt because of something I did when I was young and stupid."

"She holds that against you, not me."

Olive rolls her eyes. "Great."

"She's gone through a lot," I say. I can't imagine losing my parents, dealing with a bully, almost losing my uncle, then possibly my house. "Cut her some slack."

Celine makes an irritated scoff, but Olive ignores her. My sister nods, rising with her half-full bowl and carrying it past me to the sink. "I'm not evil, you know."

"I know." I pull her into a side hug. "You're only part evil."

Olive laughs, but the sound is strained.

"Or middle school you was, apparently," I mutter.

She rinses her dishes. "I really tried to apologize to her, but she wouldn't let me."

"That's her choice," I say softly. "Can we just make the best of today?"

"Yeah," Olive says. "Did you hear the latest? Mom cut Dad out of the family portrait that was hanging in their Manhattan place."

My stomach churns. "That was an oil painting."

"Yeah, and now it's a ruined canvas. She wants to do a photoshoot with just her and the kids to replace it." Olive rolls her eyes. "Probably better to humor her. They won't live together again, and she wants a family picture on the wall."

I have to get away from this conversation. "Be ready to leave in an hour?" I ask.

Olive nods.

"Be on your best behavior," I warn.

She scoffs. "I've grown up, Noah."

I look at her with reservations. I also never thought she'd be capable of bullying.

Prove it, sis.