12 Days of Mistletoe

41. Bonnie

FORTY-ONE

bonnie

A dress? I don’t have a dress—a big, fancy, Christmas Eve kind of dress. This pantsuit is the fanciest thing I own. And it has no sleeves. I am wearing no sleeves in December for you people and now you’re telling me I need a dress .

I have no money. And no time. Why did no one tell me about this before?

And why won’t my brain stop with all the scenarios? I won’t be showing up in a potato sack. No, really, brain, I won’t. Just like I won’t be showing up in a fancy dress—I don’t have either one of those.

Alisa Monroe isn’t invited to May Elliot’s party. She won’t be pushing me down, dumping eggnog on me, and laughing at me in front of Elliot’s family and friends.

I pull in a breath—five seconds. And breathe out—seven seconds.

But I wish Noel were here.

May’s chatting in the back, but I’ve lost track of what she’s saying. My chest hurts and my pulse is thrumming like the little drummer boy has taken up residence there .

I need to take my meds—and I remind myself that I’m not ashamed of this. Somehow, it’s difficult with the guy I like sitting right next to me as he tables his feelings. Still, it’s what Noel would be encouraging me to do and it’s what I need.

I dig into my bag, and pull out my pillbox and a water bottle. I slip the little pink pill into my mouth and wash it down with one swig, glancing Elliot’s way as I do. I don’t think he’s noticed.

Nothing magical changes inside of me, not right away—not like it seems to with Noel. For me, she is more effective than any drug.

“You okay?” Elliot says.

Okay… maybe he did notice something.

Awesome . My reputation of odd and undesirable has decided it isn’t going anywhere.

I offer him a tight-lipped smile and nod. “Fine,” I lie.

By the time we get to the symphony hall, I am not fine. It’s been over an hour and my medication has yet to kick in. I’m dizzy, I’m sweating, and my haggard breathing is loud enough that both Elliot and May have noticed.

David and Marlene pull up with the rest of the family, parking right beside us, and with their presence we get to add shaking hands to my list of current qualities.

“Elliot, be a dear, you and Bonnie get me a tea at that corner café we go to at times. I’m going to go inside with Marlene and the girls.”

“Sure, Gran,” Elliot says .

“Take your time,” she says, dipping her head and giving him a pointed stare.

Elliot opens his door to help his grandma, but May is already out the door and on her way over to her daughter.

Sitting back in his seat, he shifts into reverse and pulls out of the lot before his mother can come over and ask where it is we’re going.

“Bonnie?” Elliot glances over at me—and that face, it’s full of concern and confusion.

“I’m okay,” I manage to get out.

“Okay… since we both know that isn’t true can I ask a follow-up question?” We’ve driven for two whole minutes before he’s parked again, at the café down the street.

He knows what’s happening. And it’s probably for the best. So, I wait for that three-letter word, the one I hate so much, to leave his mouth: WHY .

The problem is, I don’t know why. I don’t know why thinking about a dress I don’t own would send me spiraling. Just that it did.

“How can I help?” he says, and I’m taken aback by the question.

Noel has been my “help” for so long that it takes me a minute to think, to remember that I have other tools. I go back to all the things I learned years before I got Noel. I had coping mechanisms pre-Noel.

“A coffee?” he prods when I don’t answer.

“No caffeine.” I shake my head. Oof, that would only make it worse. The first thing that comes to mind is the 5-4-3-2-1 method I learned back in ninth grade with the school counselor. It always seemed to help. “Quiet. I need some place quiet.”

“Quiet. Okay.” Elliot switches off the radio. “Sit back, close your eyes. I’ll find a place.” He’s on his phone, quietly texting for a few minutes, and then we are moving again.

I shut my eyes and start where I can with my old counselor’s method. Since I can’t study five separate objects with my eyes closed, I move on to step four.

Four distinct sounds.

Elliot breathing.

Car engine purring.

Car honking.

Heart beating.

I breathe and I listen.

Once again, the car comes to a stop and Elliot kills the engine. I hear that too. I’m focused. I’m not ready to go to a symphony with my fake boyfriend’s entire family, but I am focused.

I hear Elliot’s car door open, then close. A gust of cool air assaults me when he opens my door too. My eyes pop open and erratic breathing fills my ears once more.

Elliot doesn’t explain but holds out a hand to me, and like an anxious lamb to the slaughter, I set my hand in his. He helps me to my feet and walks me forward, not tugging but matching my pace.

I peer up at the tall building, a dome roof at the center of the structure. This looks like a very public place, and I’d rather stay in the car than face dozens of strangers. I drop my eyes to the door in front of us only to read— closed .

Still, Elliot types in a passcode for the door and opens the thing right up. It’s dim inside, but with Elliot’s hand in mine, he leads me into the room.

“I think there are benches in the theater.”

I peer up, seeing spheres in the low light above our heads. “Is that—is that the solar system? ”

“Uh, probably.”

My irregular breathing is momentarily distracted. Elliot leads me through a set of double doors, not another human soul to be seen. The room is black as night.

“Elliot?” I squeak. I’m not sure this is helping. It doesn’t matter that I trust Elliot, I’m still imagining all of the ways a stranger could kill us in this dark room.

“I know. Sorry. Give me one sec.” He briefly lets me go, and in seconds the ceiling above us comes to life as if it were the night sky. It’s domed and shines with a million stars above us.

My breathing stops altogether for a moment.

“Where are we?” I say, my hand on my beating chest.

“It’s a small planetarium. One of my former teacher friends runs it. I called in a favor. He gave us access for the day.”

I blink. “We’re the only people here?”

He nods. “What next? I’m no Noel, but tell me what to do and I will, Bonnie.”

My chest aches with the erratic beating of my heart. “5-4-3-2-1,” I say.

“Okay.” He nods again, but his brows are cinched and he’s frowning.

“It’s a method my high school counselor taught me—it was my best help before I got Noel.” Though, I’m already feeling a little better.

“Let’s do it.” He sets his warm hand in mine and leads me to a bench at the back of this round room. “Five what? How do we start?”

I sniff and muster my courage. “Look at five objects, thinking about each for one minute.”

Elliot sits at the far left end of the bench and pats the seat beside him. “You can lay down. My thigh dubs as a great pillow.” He slips his arms from his coat and drapes it over one arm. “Look, I’ve even got a blanket for you.”

But I’m warm—in fact, I shed my own coat. I can’t remember the last time a person took care of me during one of my attacks. Mom, back in high school, probably.

I do as he says, lying on the bench and resting my head on his leg. I drape my bare arms over my stomach.

“What do you see?” he whispers.

“The sky.” I stare up, focusing on just the computerized night sky above us. “The moon.” I breathe and study. “The stars.” I exhale, focusing on one, then two individual stars. Gazing over the vision above us, I add, “The Milky Way?”

“I think so,” he says. We both stare up for a moment more. “One more,” he says just above a whisper.

I blink, taking my eyes from the sky to look at Elliot, still searching the Milky Way. “ You .”

His gaze drops to mine and his throat bobs with a swallow. “What’s next?”

“Four sounds.”

“It’s pretty quiet in here,” he says.

I swallow, my eyes not daring to leave his. “It is. But there’s always something to hear. I hear you —your voice, my voice, your breath—” I close my eyes and listen. “Your heart.”

“You can hear that?”

“I think so.” It could be mine.

“Three,” he says, his tone hushed.

My heart and head have returned to mostly normal. This place, my medication, Elliot—they’ve done the trick. I’m me again. I’m back in control. But I’m not ready to leave either.

“Touch,” I tell him .

And while I’m supposed to touch three different items, thinking about their consistency, texture, and temperature, Elliot brushes his fingers along my eyelids, closing them up. His gentle fingers trace below my lashes, up to my forehead, and back down around my chin. He’s touching me.

I’m okay with that too. I focus on his warm skin, his smooth movements, and his steady rhythm.

The pad of his thumb lumbers over my bottom lip.

I wait for Elliot to ask what number two is.

Smell —he doesn’t ask, but I already know. I don’t need him to walk me through the steps. I can do it on my own. I breathe in, paying close attention to the scents around me. This room has a lemony, clean aroma like it’s been newly dusted or mopped. And Elliot smells like richness and pine, like a Christmas tree. I pull in another breath. Yep, I’d know his scent anywhere.