Karma Brown - Come Away With Me

“I know Dr. Rakesh thinks I’m depressed,” I say, keeping my eyes on the antelope’s final moments. Solidarity with the abandoned, weak animal. “But I don’t feel depressed exactly. I feel...angry.” I take another swill of the thick, pink liquid and grimace as it coats my throat. “Doesn’t depression come after anger?”

“I can’t remember,” Gabe says. “Isn’t depression at the beginning?”

“No, anger comes before depression. I think. Or is it depression, anger and then acceptance?” I sigh. “I have no fucking idea. But no matter what order they come in, Dr. Rakesh was pretty clear there are no shortcuts.”

“I don’t know about that.” Gabe smiles at me. “You’re one smart cookie. I think if anyone can find a shortcut it would be you.”

“I don’t think I’m that special.”

“That’s your opinion,” Gabe says. “But I know you can do whatever you put your mind to, Teg. I’ve seen you in action, and it’s pretty freakin’ scary when you’re committed. Like that lion.” I look back at the screen, where the lion is tearing apart its prey, and grimace.

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

Gabe smiles wider, one side of his mouth resting higher than the other, where a faint white line is the only remnant from a childhood dog bite that required two-dozen stitches inside his cheek. It’s adorably quirky, his smile.

“The old me might have agreed with you,” I say, tucking my knees up to my chest. I feel cold, but on the inside. No blanket or hot cup of tea can help with that. “But I don’t recognize myself anymore. I’m...lost.” I dip my head and let the tears fall onto my pajama bottoms. “And I’m afraid I’m never coming back.”

I close my eyes and feel Gabe’s hand. His fingers intertwine with mine, and his thumb gently tickles my palm. I stay very still so as not to disturb the moment.

“You will make it back, Teg,” Gabe says, his tone gentle. “And I’m going to be here every step of the way. Promise.”

I nod and stay as I am, the sensation of Gabe’s hand pushing away some of the sadness and leaving something in its place. Something I haven’t felt in months—possibility.

14

“Is this all you’re bringing?” My brother Jason stands in the doorway of the master bedroom holding my backpack. I glance up from the customs forms I’m filling out at the kitchen island.

“Yup,” I say, flipping the page over and working on the back side. “I don’t need much.”

“But it’s like, six weeks. You used to pack a bag bigger than this for an afternoon at the beach.” He chuckles, and I roll my eyes. “Looks like I’m rubbing off on you. Jase style. Nice.”

“Jase style?” Connor says. “You mean a pair of boxers and a T-shirt for a week?” Connor, the youngest of the three of us, sits beside me, looking over my to-do list. “Let’s hope nothing about you is rubbing off on Tegan.”

I nudge Connor with my knee. “Be nice.”

“Whatever,” Connor mumbles, before pointing at items five through twelve, which are unchecked and range from acetaminophen to travel-sized bottles of shampoo. “Did you get all this stuff from the pharmacy?”

Connor is cautious, analytical, thoughtful and headed toward a successful career in engineering, whereas Jason, though brimming with enthusiasm and that hard to qualify “joie de vivre,” seems allergic to regular employment, rules and generally being an adult. Though opposite in personality, they look so similar they’re often mistaken for twins. Unlike my brothers, with their well-muscled height, eyes the color of fresh-cut grass and sunshiny good looks, I’m dark-haired and brown-eyed. I’ve also been blessed—as my perpetually dieting mother likes to remind me—with string-bean legs, narrow hips and small boobs.

“Mom came over earlier with all that stuff, including six freaking bottles of Pepto-Bismol.” I give Connor a wry glance. “She’s very committed to this weak stomach of mine.”

“Can I have a bottle?” Jase asks, bringing my backpack to the front door. “Last night was a rough one.” Gabe, who is a last-minute kind of packer, laughs from the couch, where he’s reading a magazine. If there’s one thing Jason excels at, it’s being the life of a party.

“Take two bottles, Jase,” Gabe says. “I think you’re going to need them more than Teg will.”

I push the bottles of bismuth to the edge of the island. “Here you go.”

“Thanks!” Jase tucks a bottle in each back pocket of his jeans.

“Did you get all your shots?” Connor asks me, ignoring Jase, as usual.

“You make me sound like a dog at the vet!” He doesn’t smile. “Yes, I got my shots.”

“Some of them anyway.” Gabe looks up from the magazine. I shoot him a warning glare and he shrugs. Connor isn’t exactly flexible when it comes to things like this, and the last thing I feel like doing is arguing with my baby brother. He always wins. Even though he’s the youngest, he’s the cleverest.

“Most of them,” I clarify. Connor’s expression tells me “most” isn’t going to cut it. “Don’t worry, okay? My doctor said as long as I’m careful about what I eat and do, I’m young, healthy and sure to be just fine.”

“What about the other medication?” Connor asks, carefully avoiding eye contact this time. “From Dr. Rakesh.” I don’t like to talk about the antidepressants, and everyone knows it. It makes me feel more depressed for some reason. Like, you feel totally fine, then someone comments on how flushed your cheeks are and asks if you’re okay, and suddenly you’re convinced you have a raging fever.

“In her bag already,” Gabe says. “I made sure.” I narrow my eyes and wish Gabe would let me handle this.

“I’m all set, Connor. Don’t stress, okay?”

Connor lays the pen down on the list and sighs. “Mom and Dad are worried, Teg,” he says, trying to keep his balance when Jason nudges him off the stool. He punches Jason’s arm in annoyance. But Jason seems to barely register the jab as he claims the stool, pushes his blond hair off his forehead and leans forward with hands on his thighs. He shifts to avoid crushing the small bottles in his back pockets. “We’re worried, too,” Jason says.

“I know you are.”

Gabe gets up and walks toward the bedroom. “Time for me to get packing,” he says, but I know it’s less about his empty backpack and more about giving me some alone time with my brothers.

After Gabe leaves I point to a small box on the kitchen counter. “Could you put that in the top of my bag, please?” Jason, who’s the closest, grabs the small box of note cards and zips it into the top flap of my backpack.

My parents’ concern is well intentioned but has been suffocating, an intrusion almost. And the box of already addressed note cards Mom gave me earlier, which came with a so-you-can-write-us-whenever-you-want speech, only made me feel more like an incapable child. But then Gabe reminded me it has only been two months since Mom found me unconscious in bed, barely breathing. ‘Right , ’ I said, pulling the note cards out of the trash.

While Jason deals with the box and my backpack, Connor reclaims the bar stool and picks the pen back up to check off the drugstore items with precise, perfect checkmarks. I resist the urge to throw my arms around him and kiss him on the top of the head, like I used to when he was little. I’m beginning to realize how useless my family has felt during these past few months. And how far away I’ve kept them.

“Look, I’m sorry I scared you guys,” I say. Jason stands behind me and massages my shoulders with his strong fingers. I relax back against him.

“It’s okay, Teg,” he says, though Connor gives me a look that suggests he’s not quite as ready to let his guard down.