When I looked at it that way, the last thing they would have wanted was for me to force myself to do the show when I was that anxious.
“I’m so dumb,” I mumbled, sinking farther into the bed.
“You’re not dumb,” Mia said.
“No comment,” Mase said.
I tried to kick him from under the covers, but I didn’t have enough freedom of movement to do a good job. “But I can’t talk to them. I have no idea what I’d even say.”
“Hmm, let me think.” He assumed a bastardized The Thinker pose. “You could start with I’m sorry, really sorry, like I-will-be-your-hot-sex-monkey-for-a-week sorry.”
Mia nodded gravely. “That seems reasonable.”
I managed to hit both of them with one pillow. Hashtag skillz-with-a-z. “No, but seriously. If someone did what I—”
Mase put his hand over my mouth. It was not as hot as when Sidney did it. “You did way worse to me, son, and I got over it. Even if you weren’t so hung up on them you can’t see straight—which you are, by the way—it would still be a decent thing to apologize.”
“But nothing’s changed!” I whined. “I still can’t be this person.”
“What person?”
I did a whole big flapping thing with my arms. “This person who someone else can trust! This person who deserves to fall in love!”
“I’m taking that as a profound insult. I fell in love with you, and I felt lucky that you were in love with me.”
“And then I fucked it up so badly, Mase. I fucked it up so, so badly. I like destroyed you, and I loved you more than anything.”
“Um, hi, do I look destroyed to you right now? Don’t make me into the stick you use to beat yourself, okay?” He leaned in until most of my vision was taken up with his face. “Hate to break it to you, sunshine, but I got over your ass.”
I laughed. It was a wet, exhausted laugh, but it was still a laugh. “Yeah, you did. But like... I don’t want to do that again.”
He shrugged. “So talk to Sidney. Look, Dec, you’re my best friend in the world. I’m not even that pissed that you lucked out and found someone amazing, but I really will be pissed if you throw that away because you’re scared.” He shook me very gently. “I trust you. And if Sidney wants to trust you, you should let them. You definitely shouldn’t decide they don’t have the right to make that choice.”
I looked at him, feeling all the years of our friendship, seeing all the love we’d had for each other etched in his face as clearly as he must see it in mine. “I don’t think I could forgive me.”
“You would forgive me, though. Or Mia or Ronnie or Oscar.”
Which...yeah.
“So what makes you unforgivable?”
“I fucked up worse?”
He shook his head. “Not this time. This time it’s a blip.” When I opened my mouth he said, “Okay, a really big blip. And if Sidney doesn’t want to take you up on hot monkey sex, fine, but I think probably they’d appreciate the opportunity to forgive you. Or maybe kick you. Either way.”
“No kicking.” Mia kissed my cheek. “Mase is right. Also maybe you should let us, I dunno, help or something next time you have a panic attack.”
“It’s not, like, a hobby of mine,” I grumbled. “And help how? Hold my hand while I cry?”
“Uh...yes? Would that not be helpful?” She glanced at Mase, who shrugged again. “I think if I were having a panic attack that’d be comforting.”
I rubbed my eyes. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to, but at least have it as an option. And I hope that whatever happens, Sidney comes back to drinks. I really like them.”
“Me too.”
Mason went to mess with my hair then made a face at it instead. “Cheer up, buttercup. And take a damn shower.”
“You’re not my mom!”
He grinned.
They stayed a little while longer, making sure I was basically all right. Mase offered to cancel the date he had planned so we could cuddle and watch TV, and Mia invited me over for a sleepover at her and Ronnie’s house, but in the end I opted to stay home.
I spent a couple of hours cleaning, which you can only do in a tiny little room if you have hashtag-mad-skillz at procrastination and distraction, which I do. But by the time I went to bed I had done my laundry at the laundromat down the street, cleaned and put away all my dishes, changed the sheets on my bed, and swept the floor.
Not that cleaning cures depression or anything, but it at least made me feel like less of a lump. And it gave me something to do while I obsessed over texting/calling/emailing/sending a pigeon to Sidney. I could say I was sorry, but then what?
Going to sleep in a clean apartment was nice, but I was no closer to figuring out what to do. Cleaning: doesn’t cure being a dumbass. Tragically.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I conducted an aggressive program of self-care on Sunday, still putting off actually talking to Sidney because I totally needed it.
Luxurious bath complete with tea and a book: check.
Start carnitas in the slow cooker: check.
Add a bunch of people on Instagram who post beautiful travel pictures because I love looking at them: check.
Get a little weepy about a fantasy of exploring castle ruins somewhere in the world: check. (Technically not all that self-carey, but it was triggered by the pictures, and I went with it. I bet Sidney was fun to travel with... Sidetracked. Back to self-care.)
Leave a message for my old therapist to schedule an appointment (because it might help and it couldn’t hurt): check.
Cut all my nails, like a grown-up: check.
Play with Toby in the sun: check.
Stay away from Twitter: check.
Talk to Mase about his date, which was good: check.
Send Oscar a text message with all emojis just to annoy him: check.
Contemplate whether “annoy your friends” counts as self-care and decide it does: check.
Take a nap: check.
Check on carnitas, run out for avocados: check.
Feast: check.
(In between those last two there was a long contemplation of inviting Sidney over for dinner, but I chickened out. Definitely not good self-care, but then again, I sort of had a date with myself, which is a legit item on your standard internet self-care checklist, so I win.)
Monday. I’d talk to them Monday. They had the show. I’d call them after the show. Or no, text. Or maybe email. Except I could email them at any point during the day, even when they were at work. Technically I could also text them while they were at work. Scratch that.