Beyond Friendship

CHAPTER 1 | BRIAN

SIX YEARS AGO

"Brian," Dr. Wilson says from his black leather chair as he rotates his computer screen toward me. His expression is unreadable, but I sense a warning in his voice. "Your test results show irregularity, which could explain the sudden dizzy spells you've been having lately."

I lean forward, brows furrowed as I take in the array of lines on the monitor. When the words finally stop flowing, I sink back into my seat across from him.

"But you're not completely sure?"

He fixes me with an intense stare and clears his throat. "Vertigo is associated with your condition, and these new results have raised cause for concern. Have you read through the information folder?"

My gaze rambles around the familiar office—its white walls cluttered with diplomas and the thirsty plant withering in its corner next to the window overlooking the crowded parking lot.

"Yeah," I reply warily. "I've gone over it."

"What do you think?"

A resigned sigh escapes my lips. "Let's just hope I'll never need it," I say, lifting my eyes to meet his.

He twitches a half-smile at the corner of his mouth. "We both agree on that. But, as your doctor," he says in a stern tone, "I need to remind you that with this condition, things can change quickly."

Cold chills run through me as painful images from my past resurface. "I know," I murmur, "but if it stays like this—just a little vertigo every now and then—then there's no way I'm doing this," I say, holding up the folder he gave me last time.

"I know it sounds scary, and we're not at that stage yet, Brian. But if the new medication I'm prescribing you doesn't work and your symptoms worsen, I'll urge you to reconsider it."

When I give him a subtle nod, he switches back to his laptop. "Until next time," he says while entering something else into his notes, "pay attention to how your body feels and stay away from things that may increase your chances of developing further problems. This includes drinking too much alcohol and taking recreational drugs." He looks up again and adds one final reminder, "And if you feel a fever—"

"Doc"—I cut him off before lifting myself off the chair and rubbing my finger over my temples—"no need for a repeat every appointment. My brain is working fine. Are we done?" I ask, lifting myself off the chair and rubbing my fingers over my temples.

He nods, sighing. "Yeah, but if you experience any more dizzy spells or one of the other symptoms, you—"

"Yep, I'll call."

The warm air hits my skin like a wave once I'm out the door and into the parking lot, and I squint through the sun. I pull my sunglasses down from my head, shielding me from the light. Slipping into my royal blue BMW, a buzz startles me. I press the button on the steering wheel.

"Hello, honey. What did the doctor say?" My mother's voice is laced with worry.

I take a deep breath before answering. "Mom, I'm fine. Cross my heart. He prescribed something new."

Her relieved breath comes through the speakers like a whisper. "Okay."

I switch topics before she can continue any other line of questioning.

"So, Mom, tell me all about dinner with Paul last night. Did you two have a good time?"

An uneasy stillness hangs in the air.

"Mom?"

She emits a deep sigh. "I canceled."

A sour taste sits in my mouth at her confession.