This is the most awkward taxi ride ever.

Mostly that’s because it smells like somebody might have been a little unwell in here and the driver didn’t do a good enough job cleaning, but I’m also very nervous. As well I should be because it’s really awkward being back. I was worried that it might be a little triggering too, but on the whole it’s simply awkward.

Yep, I now use words like “triggering.” That’s clearly a sign that I have spent much too much time in psychotherapy, but you do what you have to do.

I’m really hoping everybody understands that you have to do what you have to do, because I will admit that the manner of my leaving was not exactly great. It’s just as well I don’t want that job any more because I would never get it back after running out without notice the way I did. It was entirely unplanned and I’m still not quite sure why I got it into my head to leave. I think on some level I’d given up.

The drive feels like it’s going incredibly slowly. I keep staring out at the signs and the palm trees and thinking how alien it seems to be back in the US after my trip back to Adora and then England. It really is like being on a different planet.

I had to go because I could not keep on going the way I had been. I was miserable and not coping. In hindsight, I don’t think I had ever really got well again the way I thought I had after that whole stupid tourist incident. On Adora where the lifestyle was the easiest thing going that was pretty easy to mask, as much to myself as to other people, but being in LA where I was a fish out of water and under pressure really showed up the cracks. The only person I really dared speak to from here about it was Rachael, and she didn’t exactly sound surprised when I told her what was going on. I was surprised that it was her and not Justin who called me there but she was really sweet when I explained why I’d gone. Let’s hope everybody else is the same.

Justin… ye gods. I feel pretty shitty about that. I think he was kind of put out by my not telling him about any of it and my disappearing without notice. I think he was especially put out by my not getting back in touch for the first couple of weeks but I really did not feel ready. He hasn’t picked up when I’ve called since (no idea whether that’s intentionally or if he was simply too busy with his promotional tour). He has answered texts so clearly he’s not ignoring me, but they weren’t exactly deep and meaningful. I have no idea what kind of reception I’m going to get here.

Which is awkward considering I’m going to be temporarily staying at his house. Rachael swore she would clear it with him but do I trust her on that? Not sure.

I really hope he doesn’t think this was down to him. He didn’t do anything wrong, as bruising as his rejection was. It was kind of the catalyst for my leaving but not in a bad way – my messed up reaction to it and how badly I took it was what made me finally accept that something wasn’t right. I kept blaming work pressure or things with Lily or whatever but the truth is none of those things were really that bad. Treating them like they were the end of the world was a symptom of what was going on. Heck, they were really only bad to begin with because of what was going on.

In a way though I think the fact that I’m not coming back to the same situation will help. Lily has moved to New York to go to a different branch of the company, so the apartment’s been let go. Rachael very sweetly offered me one of Justin’s multiple spare rooms while I hunt for a place and sort out a job. (I am staying well away from high octane offices this time, going to look back into teaching.) Mum was worried about me coming back at all, but I’ve finally learned to stop blaming LA for my problems. The problem was not LA or the LA lifestyle. I was just ill. In a way I kind of want to prove to myself that I can make a go of it here, but the key thing is that I didn’t want to go back and hide on Adora again. It would have been much too easy and would have led to more dodging my problems. That was why I only stayed long enough to see my parents before going to England for the treatment.

So here I am again. Ready and armed with a new perspective, the number of a recommended therapist in the area and some new meds. I hate taking them but since they’re helping I’ll just deal with that. I will also admit that I am kind of hoping to patch things up with Justin. I hate leaving it on a sour note.

Okay, that wasn’t very honest. I want to patch it up because I love him. That is a big part of the reason why I’m back. No matter what form any future relationship might take I can’t stand the idea of him not being in my life any more because I fucked it up. I’m truly at peace now with his not wanting to be with me and friendship’s fine if that’s what’s on the table; I wasn’t previously. Part of the reason I reacted so badly when he turned down any future hook ups was feeling rejected.

In honesty, I think pretty much all my weird behaviour with him – even the reaction to finding out he was famous – was pretty much attributable to feeling rejected or fearing rejection. There was a feeling of not being good enough for him. I was probably starting to love him as far back as Adora, so when I found out he lied I was scared that meant he hadn’t really thought very much of me. I made that cop out suggestion of friends with benefits because I was too scared to go for what I really wanted and was then crushed when he said no. I fooled myself into thinking I was merely annoyed with him for making it a big deal that I’d asked, but really I just felt rejected. In my head he said no because I wasn’t worthy.

I should add none of that is because he objectively did anything to make me feel that way. This was all my poor self-esteem talking and projecting my insecurities onto him as if he was the person giving me those ideas. I worked this out after a session of my therapist continually asking me what Justin had said to make me think it. When I said I could tell because X she would then point out the zillion other things X could plausibly mean - it took a while, but eventually I got her meaning. I was attributing my own self-doubt to Justin.

Finally we’re pulling up to his now familiar house and my palms are kind of sweaty. It’s all a bit of a blur as I pay the driver and get my single suitcase out (I ran out without much and Lily kindly put my stuff from the apartment in storage, so there’s not a lot). As the driver pulls away again I give myself a quick spritz of body spray, hoping it’ll mask any lingering odour I may have picked up from that nasty car. When I look at my watch I’m more or less on time. I’m fifteen minutes early but Rachael swore she’d be back here for 2pm. Even if she’s not here yet I won’t have to wait long.

When I ring the bell it’s Justin who answers. I was not prepared for that.

He looks good, but he has a pretty inscrutable expression on his face. He’s trimmed his hair so it’s cropped much closer to his head and he’s got some stubble going on. He’s not really saying anything but he doesn’t look like he hates me for anything, so hopefully this means it’ll be okay.

“Hi,” I finally say.

“Hi.”

**

So what exactly do you say to your long lost crush who has just returned from Europe after running away to go to therapy?

Rachael gave me due warning and I agreed to it, but the preparation time has not helped. Once we got past the initial greeting I found myself struggling and it’s not getting any better yet. I’ve done the pleasantries. I helped her bring her bag in and I’ve offered her a drink. I asked her how her flight was and explained that Rach asked me to be home because she got caught up. I call bull – I think she engineered this because she knew Addy and I haven’t talked properly since before she left.

Maybe it’s time to admit that it was dumb to have avoided talking to Addy for this long. I was steamed at her for running out like that, particularly given the situation we were in at the time, but as soon as I found out why she was forgiven. Well, okay, maybe there was a slight delay while I spent some time fuming about how Rachael and Trace and their fucking dumb intervention had been right. (I still say that magazine article was a moronic way to go about it though.) I knew she had some stress and I’d certainly noticed her overreacting to some things, but the idea that she might have a mental health issue never really crossed my mind. Now I think back on it, it seems ridiculous not to have noticed. I complained enough about her having a personality transplant on the flight over from Adora; how did it not occur to me that this was significant?

Now she’s sitting on a stool in my kitchen holding her cup of coffee rather than drinking it. I’m leaning against the counter feeling uncomfortable. I have things I want to say and I suspect she probably does too, but where the hell do you start?

“So how are you?” I finally ask.

“Really?” She gives me a wry little smile. For somebody who got off a long flight she looks in pretty decent shape. She’s wearing a yellow sun dress and a white sweater which looks very preppy. She looks a bit more like herself, anyway. I kind of hated seeing her in that severe work gear.

“Really.”

“Lord.” She raises her eyes to the ceiling momentarily before shaking her head. “Barely know where to start. Better, would be the short version. I’m on some meds which had me a little zombified for a while but it’s passing and I feel more like me again. Therapy is awkward and I hate talking about myself so bloody much but all in all it’s helped. I think I understand what happened a bit better and I feel like I’m honestly getting over it properly now. You know, instead of just being a miserable bitch and turning into a drama queen.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” There’s an overly long pause before I let out a curt laugh and shake my head too, only I’m shaking it at myself. “Man, I just have no idea what to say.”

“No wonder, it was all pretty dramatic. I am sorry about that, by the way.”

“It’s okay.” I shrug. “I was a little upset initially but… it’s your health, right?”

“Indeed.” She nods her head and then looks down at her hands where they’re folded around her mug. She doesn’t look at me when she speaks. “I hope you didn’t think that timing was anything to do with you, or that I was mad at you because I didn’t take your calls.”

Ahh. That’s awkward. I so did but I don’t want to tell her. Shamefully I didn’t take her later calls because I was kind of scared of her confirming that. Trace called me a pussy and he wasn’t wrong, but my ego was dented and that never lends itself to me being my most mature self. I get kind of childish and into avoidance tactics when that happens. It was more cowardly but easier reply to texts in a way that side-stepped any serious conversation.

“What was it?” Hope she doesn’t notice my transparent attempt to deflect.

“It…” Clearly she’s going to shake her head a lot during this conversation. “I reacted really badly to something at work, to nothing really, and while they were looking at me like I was a crazy person it suddenly hit me that it’s not normal to react so badly to everything. So I in turn reacted badly to that little realisation, and in a panic I just decided I wanted to go home. By the time I got there I decided I wanted to go back to counselling because I was sick of being miserable. And…” She looks up at me, somewhat wary, her eyebrow arching just a little.

“And?”

“Okay, so it was a little bit about you. Not in a bad way or anything you did wrong or anything like that, but I kind of feel like I handled that entire reunion of ours wrong from start to finish and I think it was because of the depression and me not processing shit right.”

So now I’m interested. “How so?”

“I… it… I just…” If she’s hoping I will butt in and save her here she’s wrong. Maybe that’s mean of me all things considered, but I’d really like to hear this. “Again, I guess just blowing everything up out of proportion.”

That was a cop out answer and she is shifting way too much in her seat. Call me self-absorbed but I think there’s something she’s not saying there and I think it’s about me.

Maybe that’s wishful thinking because part of me is hoping she’s... I don’t even know. I guess I kind of want a do-over. As mad as I (temporarily) was at her, it came from the feelings I’ve caught. I don’t know if her treatment is like AA where they tell you not to start relationships for a while, but having such a long time away from her to think about it all has confirmed for me that I still think there’s a chance. Or maybe I should rephrase that and say I want there to still be a chance.

In a slightly screwy way, the fact that she’s needed to go into treatment has kind of re-confirmed in my mind that she’s in my picture of what I want. It’s like it has somehow proved that the Addy I first connected with is Addy in her more natural state and the highly strung creature that came to LA was  only her dark side getting more airtime than usual, not necessarily who she really is at heart. And hey, I still dug that version of her too. As my mother rightly pointed out you really must give a shit about somebody when seeing them at their worst doesn’t put you off. Possibly my mother said it more gracefully.

Point is, I know that side of Addy now and instead of it busting the bubble the way you’d think it might (I really had over-idealised her after that vacation) it’s made me see her better. I still want what I see but after that whole thing I have no idea what she wants or is even ready for.

“The way we… left things.” Fuck it, I will poke the bear. On my head be it. “I got the feeling I upset you.”

“Um…” I’m trying to stare her down but she’s giving me nothing. Keeps looking into her coffee again. “I was upset but in hindsight I was being unreasonable. You were right. That would have been like us having a relationship without having one and that’s no good for anybody. Like you said, holiday romances don’t work when it’s home for one of you and I was ignoring my own advice there.”

Well shoot. That was a good answer for her but for me it’s a fail. She’s managed to very reasonably answer the question without giving me the hint I want about her feelings.

Finally I move to stand next to her, folding my arms back over my chest. I feel self-conscious as I lean back against the counter and my mind has gone unhelpfully blank. I need to play this very carefully.

“So what now?”

“Find an apartment, find a teaching job, keep up the treatment and get my life back.” She immediately perks up when she says that. Her voice sounds a little brighter and I’m heartened. “It’s a work in progress but I feel like away from that job and with my issues under control that I can actually have a life here.”

“You didn’t want to stay on Adora?”

She shakes her head. “No. I was there because it was easy and I could hide. Don’t get me wrong, I love it to death, but my life’s got to be bigger than that. This is one of the many things I decided in therapy.” She puts on a silly voice and nudges me with her elbow, trying to mock herself a little. I think she’s embarrassed but she doesn’t need to be. It sounds right on point to me and I judge nobody for going to therapy.

“Sounds good.”

“Thank you for agreeing to put me up, by the way, it’s really sweet of you. Given how we left things and my less than reliable friend behaviour lately I wouldn’t have blamed you for being done with me.”

I decide to be brave and put my arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze. I wasn’t planning to leave it there, but she hasn’t complained and my muscles oddly don’t want to co-operate with the whole detaching operation.

“It was a fight, that’s all. I care about you too much to let dumb shit like that get in the way. It was only because you weren’t well, anyway. You’re my friend, you’ve had a shitty time and you need a little help, there’s no way I wouldn’t be here for you.”

She starts pursing her lips in a really funny way and I wonder what she’s doing until I see a tear spill out. She’s trying not to cry.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “I seem to have sprung a frickin’ leak lately. I cry at everything, even dumb shit that I’m not really upset about.”

“Everything?” I tease her gently as I wipe it away with my index finger.

“Seriously. The other night it was a bloody toilet paper commercial.”

“Why?”

“There was a puppy.”

I will not laugh at my friend when she’s vulnerable.  I will not laugh at my friend when she’s vulnerable.  No matter how much I’m tempted to because hey, a toilet paper commercial, I will not laugh at my friend when she’s vulnerable.

The fact that already I’m starting to feel easier and more relaxed with her further cements my notion that it’s worth pursuing the idea of me and her again, but not now. On a more serious note, crying at commercials and being so easily emotional clearly means she’s still got some shit to deal with and I don’t want to overload her. When she’s had time to settle back in and I’ve had some time to get braver, I can broach the whole subject of our hooking up again. I don’t think I ever explained to her that I didn’t say no because I didn’t want to. I did it because I can’t be that close to her and not really have all of her.

Not that I can have all of her now, but I’m a patient man. Besides, I still have half a promotional tour to finish and fuck knows that’ll keep me distracted until she’s had space to readjust to everything. One thing at a time.

“I know what definitely won’t make you cry.”

“What?”

“Making up for lost time ridiculing Trace.” Yes, I am unsubtly changing the subject. “He just got a new tattoo, it’s really fucking stupid, and I think we should go out to dinner tonight to welcome you back and so you can see it. It hasn’t been the same without you to add some British flair to the insults.”

She sniffles a little, still recovering from the tearing up, but she’s smiling. “It’s the accent. Everything sounds more cutting in an English accent.”

“More cutting, smarter, sexier, annoyingly it’s a way superior accent to mine and Trace’s.” Okay, JT, what did you just tell yourself about taking it slow? Quit the flirting.

“Glad you’ve had some personal growth in my absence to be able to admit that.”

See? That’s my Addy there. She’s on her way back.

“Hey, just remember who’s putting you up for free before you go being all cutting at me.”

“Sorry. I’ll save it for Trace.”

Okay, it’s another bad but I kiss her forehead. Really must stop the flirting, she’s barely got through the door. “Atta girl.”