I think I have gained three pounds in the past week.  I am hungry all the time and everything looks delicious.  At first, when Dr. Kim told me that some people gain weight on quetiapine, I assumed she meant weight would just appear on me, like my metabolism would slow down.  Now I understand she meant that I would be willing to eat my own hands if there was enough butter on them.

I’m at Liz’s for Friday night dinner.  My newfound interest in food has inspired me to make lasagna for us.  Liz had to work late, so I picked Binky up from aftercare and we went to the store, where I had to restrain myself from buying a block of spanish cheese and also the bakery tiramisu.  I successfully resisted the cheese but not the tiramisu, much to Binky’s delight.  Liz watches with fascination as I eat a large bowl of greek salad, two servings of lasagna, about eight slices of garlic bread, and now most of a large slice of tiramisu.  

“I can’t remember when I saw you eat so much,” she says. 

“I know!  It was delicious!” says Binky.  She pulls her shirt up and sticks out her stomach.  “Look at my tummy!”

I know Liz means this in an appreciative way.  I have been mostly uninterested in food for years.  

“It’s the new meds,” I say.  “They make me hungry!  I have to be careful.  But right now I’m just enjoying eating again.”

“That’s good!” she says.  “So they’re working out?”

“Too soon to tell.  It’s only been a week.  But I am so tired in the mornings.  I feel like someone has slipped me a roofie.”

“Slipped you a what?” asks Binky.

“A drug,” I say.  “That puts you to sleep.”  

“Oh.”

“That’s why I never leave you alone when I take you to the bar,” I say to Binky.

“Mar!” says Liz, while Binky gives me a confused look.

“I just said I don’t leave her alone!  Oh, you mean the part about taking her to a bar.”  I’m having a harder time than usual getting Liz to laugh tonight.  She looks tired and is distracted.  “Do you want me to run a bath for Binky?” I ask.

“That would be so great.  I think I’ll lie down for a little bit.”  Liz takes her glass of wine and goes to the couch.  

Binky and I go into the bathroom.  “Do you know what a bar is?” I ask her.

“It’s where grown ups get drunk and fight,” she says.

“Huh.  That’s about right, actually.”  I love asking Binky questions.  I have no idea where she gets some of her information, but the way she applies it to the world can be spot on.  I rinse off her plastic mermaids and dragons in the sink, then hand them to her as she settles into the bubbles.     

“I’ll turn off the water,” Binky says, cueing me to leave.  She likes to disappear into elaborate pretend games while in the bath.  I go back out to sit with Liz, but Binky calls for me to leave the bathroom door open.  She is afraid of being alone.

I sit next to Liz, settling her feet on my lap.  “Are you OK?” I ask.

Liz smiles but doesn’t open her eyes.  Her shiny dark hair is spread all around her head like a seaweed crown.  Tiny strands of grey are starting to emerge here and there.  I reflexively touch my own hair.  I’m six years behind Liz, but she often seems more stressed than I.  She has been my overseer for my whole life, but the more I learn about myself these past few years, the more I realize how much I’ve needed that.  I shouldn’t diminish my own stress.  Mental illness takes quite a toll, I hear.  Mental illness.  I really dislike that term.  I make a mental note to find something better.

“Neurodiverse,” says Liz.

My body jerks.  “What did you say?”

“That’s a better term for you.  Not mentally ill.”

“I was just thinking that!  Did I say something about it earlier?”

“I don’t think so,” says Liz, smiling.  She opens her eyes and peers at me.  “I’m psychic!” she whispers.

We laugh, both at how she says it and because it’s partly true.  Liz has been eerily accurate about things lately.  Last summer, Binky wanted to try climbing a wall at the playground and Liz said, “You’re going to break your arm.”  Three minutes later, Binky broke her arm, though not from falling off the wall.  A much larger kid slammed into her coming off the slide and snapped Binky’s humerus.  Liz predicted that Sean would cheat on me, and lo and behold he did.  Though maybe that one was a little obvious.  There have been lots of little things, too.  Like knowing that certain things will be sold out at the store, and knowing that specific people will call her right before they do.  Liz thinks they’re all bizarre coincidences, but I’m going to keep thinking she’s psychic.  It’s more fun.

“What are you laughing about?” Binky calls from the bathroom.

“Your mom’s funny!” I yell back.

“Oh. Yeah,” Binky agress.

“Thanks,” I say to Liz.  “Neurodiverse.  It makes me sound special.”

“You are,” she says.

“Seriously, though.  You seem really tired.  What’s going on?”

“It’s just work,” says Liz.  “It’s flu season, so we’re always really busy anyway, but then there’s the coronavirus.”

“How is that affecting your work?” I ask, preparing myself to talk Liz down from worrying about things that aren’t in her purview.  She often takes things on because she thinks nobody else is doing them, even when people are doing them fine, just maybe not to Liz’s standards.

Her eyes pop open and she wriggles up to sitting so she can reach over for her glass of wine.  “Mar, this virus is going to be huge.  Hospitals all over the world are starting to prepare for it.”

“Really?  But it’s barely leaving China.

“They just discovered it in Italy!”

“Yeah, but weren’t those people who had just been in China?”

Liz looks at me with a concerned expression.  “That’s how viruses spread, Mar.  Through people.”

“Or pangolins.”  I pause.  No laugh from Liz.  I try to look more serious.  “OK, but didn’t we just restrict travel from China today?”

“Sure, but it doesn’t matter.  It might help slow it down, but the virus is out.  Yesterday the World Health Organization declared an international public health emergency!” 

I don’t say anything.  I’m not sure how to help lessen her worry.  Liz knows far more about this than I do, and if she says it’s a big deal, it’s a big deal.  I can hear Binky talking softly to herself in the bathroom, as little plastic figures splash around in the water.  

“So what kinds of things are you doing at the hospital to prepare?” I ask.

“Well, we’re having daily meetings.  We’re reviewing inventory, staffing, supplies.  I’m pretty much only doing trainings now, besides my classes.  It’s amazing how lax our protocols have become when we really start examining them.”  She pinches the bridge of her nose.  

I pat her foot and say, “You know, everything I’ve read says the risk to Americans is really low.  I just don’t think this is worth getting so stressed about.  Isn’t it like MERS and SARS?  They didn’t really turn into a big deal here, right?”

“You shouldn’t get too hung up on what the news is saying,” Liz says.  “There’s a lot of misinformation.”  She shakes her head and says, “Bring me my phone.”

I get her phone from the kitchen and peek in on Binky, who has propped two mermaids on the edge of the tub and is chatting away to them.  “I can show you the way to the palace, follow me!” she says, and dips below the water.  

Back on the couch, Liz pulls a photo up on her phone and shows it to me.  It’s an eerie shot of a person in a white hazard suit, like you see in the movies.  The suit is drawn tight around their face, which is mostly covered by a blue mask with ventilation holes.  Large goggles cover the rest, and they are steamed up as the person peers into the camera, looking like a strange space bug, or an astronaut.  The caption reads ‘HEALTH WORKER IN SUIZHOU, CHINA’.

“We have to be prepared for that,” says Liz.  “We just don’t know how big yet.”

I don’t envy Liz’s job any day, but especially not now.  I get up and bring the bottle of wine into the living room to refill her glass.  I stopped drinking once I got diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which has weirdly made me more aware of when other people need a drink.  Maybe it’s actually that Liz’s stress is making me feel like I need a drink.  

“OK,” I say.  “Let’s just talk through this.  What’s the worst case scenario?  The virus turns out to be big, and?  Millions of people get sick?  And what…die?  That seems pretty unlikely.  It’s not 1920 anymore.”

“Yes, that is the worst case scenario.  People will die.”

“So that’s what you’re trying to prevent.  I mean, not you, but your hospital.  All hospitals.”  I say this, but I actually think that Liz believes it is up to her to prevent this worst case scenario.  Ever since we were kids, she’s acted like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.  Our dad skipped out when we were little—I was three and Liz was nine—and our mom, a nurse like Liz, was constantly stressed out while raising us alone.  Also like Liz.  Huh.  Funny how we do that.

“It’s such a shithole, Mar.  You don’t even know.  Our whole national pandemic response is a joke.”

I feel a little hurt by this exclusion.  “Everything on the national level is a joke right now.  But there are people like you all over the country!  Good fighters, smart.  I’m sure if you’re starting to organize now, this virus doesn’t stand a chance.”

I can tell by Liz’s face that I’m only adding to her worry.  I probably sound just like the naive public she feels responsible for training and preparing.  “Besides,” I add, “we have access to such great nutrition here.  I know Americans aren’t the healthiest bunch, but we do alright every year with the flu, right?”

“Oh Mar,” Liz says, and hangs her head.  Liz is in a sinking boat of misery and I am walking around the deck, punching new holes.  “Thirty million people get the flu every year.  Fifty thousand of them die,” she says.

“Right, but twenty nine million, nine hundrend and fifty thousand don’t!  Look, if you catch it early enough, give people good medicine-”

“You’re not a doctor,” snaps Liz.

“I know that,” I say.  “You don’t have to remind me.”  This is a sore spot between us that doesn’t come up very often.  Years ago, after Liz moved to Portland to work for OHSU, I transferred to Portland State University to finish my pre-med program.  The classes were hard for me, but the stress of the MCAT and applying to medical schools proved too much.  I failed, spectacularly.  I’m still not sure what happened.  It might have been self sabotage, or it might have been my first big hypomanic episode.  All I know is that instead of studying and preparing, I shopped and went to the movies, took random men home and skipped classes.  I’ve been a failure ever since, as far as I can see.    

“I’m sorry,” Liz says.  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“That’s OK.  I can see how worried you are and I want to help, but I don’t think I am.  How can I help you?”

“You are helping.  You do help.  So much.”  She smiles and I give her legs a squeeze.  I want to ask her again if this is why she seems so tired, but I know she hates being asked that.  So instead I say that I’ll get Binky into her pajamas.

The warm water has made Binky sleepy.  I help her brush her teeth and put on her blue pajamas with the unicorn cats.  When did every animal start having a horn on its forehead?  Then I take her to the couch, where she snuggles into her mom’s arms and they both yawn.  I do the dishes and then eat another piece of tiramisu.  This quetiapine is making everything taste like the best version of itself.  Maybe it will make me start feeling like the best version of myself, even if I am three hundred pounds by then.

I leave a little before ten, and without thinking I drive to Sean’s bar.  I sit in the car, wondering what I’m doing there.  The conversation with Liz has left me feeling a little down.  Not what she said, but how upset she is.  It’s rare that she brings up my medical school failure.  It stung more than I want to admit.  

The clock in the car reads 9:58.  It’s Friday night.  Why am I always going home so early on Friday night?  I leave Liz’s and just go home, week after week, to watch TV by myself.  It’s depressing.  I’m still young, I should be out!  I take out my phone and open the Bumble app.  I haven’t been on a date since the ramen dinner with David.  He and I have texted a little bit back and forth, but I just don’t know that I can handle his intensity around all the government stuff.  There’s another cute guy I’ve been messaging with this week.  Zach.  He’s really into yoga.  His profile picture has a weird object behind his ear, and I finally realized it’s his foot.  I open our text thread and pause, then impulsively write Hey!  I just finished dinner with my sister.  Want to meet up somewhere?  I press send and instantly regret it.  Getting to know a new person is not what I feel up for right now.

Fuck it.  I drop my visor down and use the mirror to put on lipstick, smooth my hair down, and flip up the collar on my coat.  Then I get out of the car and walk into the bar.  Somehow I know Sean is here.  I step to the side of the door and scan the room.  There are lots of beautiful people in their twenties and thirties, but no Sean.  I walk across the bar to the next room and look around, trying to stay in the shadows.  It’s a lounge type bar with red booths and dim lighting.  Sean and I used to sit in these dark booths and make out.  He was a great kisser.  In the farthest booth, next to the window, I catch sight of his telltale messy hair and plaid shirt.  He’s talking to someone, but I can’t see who.  I return to the bar and order a ginger ale.  What’s your plan, Mar?  Are you going to go talk to him?  Why?  What if he’s with a woman?

Sean and I broke up at the end of last summer, when I discovered he was cheating on me.  We had been together a little over a year.  I thought I was in love with him, but now I’m not so sure.  Now I wonder how much I knew him at all.  It’s a bizarre feeling when someone you think you know well betrays you.  It’s difficult not to take it personally, and my confidence has been pretty shot since then.  It has not crossed my mind that he might be with Angela, the woman he cheated on me with, but I think of it now.  I still miss him, and I hate myself for it.  I want to be angry at him, and to move on into an even better relationship, but every time I’ve gone on a date I end up thinking of Sean.  Closure!  I need closure.  That’s why I’ve come here tonight, I think.  Yes, that’s definitely why I’m here.  It’s a very healthy, healthy reason to be here.

I pull myself up straight and walk over to his booth.  As I get nearer, I can see that it’s not Angela.  It’s another woman, also very beautiful.  She’s wearing a white mini skirt and has long, shiny tan legs.  Also high heels, which I find intimidating.  I’ve never learned to walk in those.  She notices me first and stops talking, looking up at me with an expectant smile, like maybe I’m bringing her a gift.  

“Hi,” I say.

Sean turns and sees me.  His eyes widen and he definitely looks surprised, but not happy.  “Mar!  What are you doing here?”   I’m startled to see a moustache on his face.  A thick, evenly combed moustache that doesn’t fit him at all.  It’s not a good look.

“Just stopped for an ol’ ginger ale,” I say, and give my glass a little shake.  Ginger ale splashes onto the floor.  

“This is Ashley,” he says.  “We went to school together.”

“That’s great!” I say.  “Nice to meet you!”  I am forcing a smile that is much larger than I feel.  

Ashley gives me a little wave.  They are definitely on a date.  She sits like a posed doll.  Everything about her is held just so.  She clearly spent a lot of time on her hair and makeup.  I want to tell her not to try so hard, that he’s not worth it.   I want to say ‘Don’t give him your best self!  He won’t notice, and then you’ll feel like crap because you showed off and he didn’t even see.’  What a bastard.

“Are you here alone?” Sean asks, dread in his voice.  He is probably wondering if I am thinking of joining them.  For a second I consider the idea of sitting down, just to make them really uncomfortable.  Ashley has dropped her head and is studying the wet napkin beneath her drink.  Ashley.  Angela.  Is it A names that he likes?

“No, no,” I say.  “I’m waiting for my date.”  

“Oh,” Sean says.  “Well, it’s great to see you.  You look really…great.”

I try to smile at him, but the best I can do is sad disappointment.  It’s hard to read his expression beneath the thick mouthbrow.  I turn to Angela.  Ashley!  I turn to Ashley.  “Take good care,” I say, and walk away.  I hope he notices that I didn’t say goodbye to him.  So much for closure.

Wow, if I felt shitty before stopping here, I feel horrid now.  I go out to my car.  Now that I know where their booth is I can see part of Sean’s profile, and Ashley’s white outfit.  I sit in my car and watch them for a few minutes.  It’s 10:12.  That used up fifteen minutes of my Friday night.  Now what?  The prospect of my empty apartment feels even more lonely now.  My mind flashes to Sean and Ashley making out on his bed.  After I found out about him and Angela, I would have constant, unwanted flashes of them together.  I couldn’t stop seeing what I didn’t want to see.  

I pull my phone out again.  Yoga man hasn’t responded, but he did send me a video of himself jogging.  He’s running through a park at sunset.  Someone else is clearly holding the phone and recording it, as it follows him while he runs for a while.  Who did he ask to help him make a jogging video to send on a dating app?  I should send him a video of myself watching TV and eating popcorn.  I can ask Binky to record it, slowly moving the camera around me.  

Almost without thinking, I dial David’s phone number.  He answers right away. 

“Hi!” he says, sounding genuinely happy to hear from me.

“Hi.  I’m sorry to call so late.  I just had this weird thing happen and I needed a friend to talk to.”  I cringe.  I know this isn’t why I am calling him.

“OK.  What happened?”

“Eh.  It’s not really even worth talking about.  I just wanted to hear your voice.”  Please invite me over.  Please invite me over.

“Sure, I understand.  Where are you?”

“Just leaving Liz’s.”  Another lie.

“Well, do you want to come over?”

“Oh. Um, yeah!  That sounds great, actually.”

David gives me his address and I turn the car around.  I haven’t slept with anyone since Sean, and that is exactly what I am determined to do tonight.  That is just the kind of closure I need.  

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