The Expansion of the Universe

Thirty-One | "I'll make chicken-pesto wraps."

Liza watched with a smug smirk through her living room window as Elijah begrudgingly led a pest control technician around the front of his condo to the backyard.

Silly man.

He'd been so despondent when he'd trudged into her condo earlier that same day, ice packs all over his arms and neck as he complained about his "good-for-nothing, useless suit" and wasps' painful stinging ability. Still, it seemed as though nothing was hurt worse than his ego after he finally gave in and called for professional assistance.

"I can try again," he had grumbled when she'd insisted that he call in someone who knew what they were doing. "I can figure it out."

When she'd shot him a pointed glance, he'd sighed and pouted and moaned and stomped his feet against the floor like an actual child before finally giving in with a huffed, "Fine."

She'd nearly peed her pants from laughing so hard at his antics, though she'd attempted to be sympathetic and had given him a solid pat on the shoulder when he'd finally dialed in the pest control company's phone number.

As Elijah and the pest technician disappeared from view, Liza turned to Milo and told him, "Poor Elijah. He's going to need some cheering up after this."

Milo peered up from the peanut-butter filled bone she'd given him, licking his lips in what was likely not sympathy for Elijah's situation.

Liza snorted, shaking her head with amusement before gazing out at the pest control truck sitting in Elijah's driveway.

The longer she stared at it, the more deeply she fell into her own thoughts.

She and Elijah hadn't spoken much about their change in relationship, but, of course, it had only been a day since they had more-or-less agreed to begin dating. Still, the shift had given her much to think about.

Her mental health being the main issue.

Elijah made no indication that he would ever push the matter of her many issues, which she appreciated, but she couldn't help but continue to feel guilty. Guilty, because, at the rate she was going, she wouldn't be able to participate in many aspects of a "normal" relationship—such as going out on dates, or meeting his family, or literally leaving the house at all—until she was in her late eighties.

The realization had brought on anxiety, followed by the same guilt that surrounded her when she thought of her sweet mother, or Rebecca, Tim's widow, who she still hadn't called, damn it.

She was sick of wallowing in a form of perpetual stasis, where she made progress but didn't actually complete any of the shit on her mental to-do list.

Staring at the pest control truck, which was only there because Elijah had sucked up his pride and made a decision to call for help, something within her shifted.

She was going to be brave, if only for a moment, and she was going to call her mother.

It was long past time.

Before she could second-guess her decision, she was moving across the room, her abrupt motion causing Milo to startle and abandon his treat so he could follow her to ensure she wasn't doing anything stupid.

Maybe it was stupid, but, in that moment, her anger and her guilt at her own procrastination overpowered her fear and anxiety. Powering on her phone, her movements became almost aggressive as she slapped on her mother's contact card and hit the call icon.

Slamming the phone against her ear, she glared at a spot on the kitchen wall, sick of herself and her stupid, idiotic brain, which did nothing but overthink and overthink and overthink some more and—