There's a live band playing at Deer & Pine on Friday evening, a local four-piece of a pianist, a saxophonist, a double bassist and a drummer playing smooth jazz renditions of classic Christmas songs. I don't usually like live music, too loud and unpredictable and overstimulating, but this is the opposite. It's romantic and relaxing and unobtrusive, the perfect background to my date with Annie.

I haven't seen her since I left for work yesterday morning, after we spent the entire night before wearing each other out the way we used to. She spent last night with her parents and I spent it with Ava, the way so many of my nights are spent, and yet I felt so much lonelier than I used to. I couldn't decide what to do once I finished wrapping the kids' presents, whether to read or watch TV, so I ended up doing neither and wasted the evening wafting around because what I really wanted was Annie.

She has wormed her way under my skin like a splinter that's too deep to remove, a tiny sliver of glass that my body will have to absorb. It scares me, how much I care. How much I yearn for her. How much of my heart I have placed in her hands, how big a space I've made for her in mine.

"Three more days til Christmas," Annie says when she returns from the bar with a couple of glasses of wine. We have the cozy table by the fireplace again, tucked away out of sight of the band, our own private corner of the bar.

"Which means one more day until dinner with your family," I say, clinking my glass against hers and taking a sip of ice cold wine. When I took my anxiety medication today, I made sure I have enough for a double dose tomorrow. I know my nerves will get the better of me when it comes to meeting Annie's brothers and her brother's girlfriend and sitting down at the table with all of them. It's bound to be overwhelming, though it'll be better than another night of aimlessly wafting around the house.

"It'll be fine," Annie says, scooting her chair in. "You already know my mom and dad, and my brothers are totally harmless."

"So they don't share your sense of humor?"

She beams, showing her teeth. "Unfortunately, no. The funny gene skipped the boys. I must've gotten a triple dose."

"Lucky for me," I say drily. "Tell me about them. Your unfunny brothers. Anything I need to know?"

"Hmm." She taps her bottom lip, drawing my attention to its pink plumpness. Even in the dim lighting in here, she's radiant. She's the moon, reflecting the light of the fire that flickers next to us. "There's nothing to, like, warn you about. They're normal people. They won't try to steal a baby out of your arms or anything."

I laugh, but I have to say, "Hey, we have to give my mother some credit. I don't know what her true motive is, but she's trying."

"I know. Just you wait, your mom and I will be besties before you know it."

"Let's not go that far."

"She won't be able to help it. I'm just too damn likable," Annie says with a long-suffering sigh as she swirls her glass of wine and gazes into my eyes.

"That you are." I slip my pantyhose-covered foot out of my heel and cross my knees, running my foot up Annie's calf. "Should I be concerned that you're avoiding telling me anything about your brothers?"

She leans across the table and a stray blonde wave falls forward. She lets it hang there, grazing her cheek, as she whispers, "They're actually both aliens my parents adopted before they were blessed with a human child."

"You're really not going to tell me anything?"

Annie shrugs. "There isn't much to tell," she says, "but let's see..." She taps a nail against her wine glass as she sifts through almost thirty years' of experience with her brothers to find the pertinent facts. "Theo lives down in Missoula with his wife, Becca, and their son, Toby. Family is everything to him. He's quiet and sensible and hard-working." She lifts her eyes to me and says, "He's kind of like you, really. You'll like him. You can bond over your young children."

I'm about to protest that I can bond with people over things other than kids, but virtually all of my surface-level relationships – the people I'm not dating or working with – are by dint of my children.

"He's an IT tech, which means Mom calls him three times a week when she forgets her password or she can't get the internet to work," Annie continues. "He can be a bit awkward, but he's very caring. He's only a couple years older than me, and we were super close when we were kids."

"That's nice," I murmur. I wish I'd had a sibling. Not that I'd want to inflict my parents on anyone else, but it would've helped me out, to have someone else going through the same shit. Though, knowing my luck, I'd have ended up with a brother like Ross Geller – golden child, can do no wrong – and I'd remain the Monica. Nitpicked by her mother for every little thing.

"It is," Annie says. "It's sad that we're not as close as we were, but I guess that's the thing about growing up. He's got his own place, his own family." She sips her wine and stares off into the middle distance. "He used to just be a big brother and a son, and now he has all these other labels. Husband and father and boss and employee. He's pulled in all these different directions that I'm not a part of."

I put my hand over hers when I sense her getting sentimental. I wish I could relate. I wish I'd had the chance to be less alone, that someone else had been there when I'd had to grow up way too fast to deal with the fallout of my parents' divorce. "I'm sorry," I say, because I don't know what else to say.

"Hey, it's life, it's no biggie," she says, snapping out of the moment. "So that's Theo."

"He sounds like a great guy."

"He is. You'll like him. Oh, and he's super bookish," she adds. "Not the same stuff you're into – not sure he's ever picked up a sapphic romance – but he loves those deep and winding and metaphorical literary fiction books that I can't get into."

"Sounds like my kind of guy," I say with a wink. Annie slaps my hand and points an accusatory finger at me.

"Hey. Hands off my brother. He's very happily married. He and Becca are, like, disgustingly in love. Also, like, you're with me."

"Ah yeah. Forgot about that." My foot inches up to her knee, to the curve where it meets her thigh.

There's a pause when our food arrives, as we make space on the table for our plates and I order another couple glasses of the chenin blanc. Once I've taken my first mouthful and Annie is digging into her chicken parmesan, I say, "Go on. Tell me about your other brother." I can't remember his name. I'm sure Annie's told me about her brothers in the past, fleeting mentions, but the first time around most of our conversations revolved around me and my divorce, and this time around, I guess it's me again. Me and my family. Shit. I haven't been the best girlfriend. I'm so wrapped up in my kids and Annie and my mother, I've barely asked her about her family. The brothers she so clearly misses.

"Nathan," Annie says. "We weren't as close growing up – he's six years older than me, and it always felt more like we were people who happened to share a house. He always wanted to get out of Deer Pines."

I search my brain for something, anything, and I'm too loud when I say, "He's in New York, right?"

Annie chuckles. "Yeah, he is. He went to Johns Hopkins, spent a couple years in Baltimore after he graduated, and he's been in New York ever since. I haven't seen him that much since I was twelve." She loads up her fork with chicken and mashed potatoes and a green bean, pausing halfway to her mouth to continue. "I think Nathan always felt like a bit of a lone wolf. Like, sure he was the first born and everything, but Theo and I were so much closer."

"Is that a personality thing?" I ask, piercing a perfect flake of baked salmon with a couple of fries. "Or more of an age thing?"

"Bit of both, I reckon. Theo and I are optimists. We like to see the good side and appreciate the little things."

"Life is in the little things," I muse. Annie hums her agreement.

"Nathan's all about the big picture," she says. "He's a bit of a cynic, though he'd say he's a realist. He knows what he wants out of life, and he'll do what it takes to get it."

"He sounds ruthless," I say. "He's not going to interrogate me over my intentions with his little sister, is he?"

Annie splutters a laugh. "God, no. I'd hit him if he did. He's not ruthless. He just, you know, has a career he loves and he makes a shit ton of money 'cause he doesn't let stuff get in his way."

"Yet he's the one bringing a girlfriend?"

"Oh, he always has time for a girl," Annie says. "Not in a sleazy sense. He likes to be in a relationship. He does have a warm, caring side. It's just not as obvious as Theo's."

"No kids, I take it?"

She laughs and shakes her head. "God, no. Kids would mess up his dream of owning a sky-high apartment with a view of Central Park in the next five years. I can promise you one thing – if Lily even jokes about someday having kids or the idea of being a mom or anything, she'll be gone by the new year."

"And yet you say he's not ruthless?"

I have to admit, I'm a little scared. Theo sounds like a great guy, and I'm sure they both are – I love Annie, and I know her parents are wonderful people – but Nathan sounds intimidating. I don't look forward to the third degree from him about how I manage three kids and a business. The answer? Stress and medication and child support.

Annie clocks my expression and squeezes my hand. "It'll be fine. Just nod along when he talks about risk management and financial stability and don't tell him that I have, like, thirty-seven bucks to my name."

"I promise not to divulge your financial instability to your brother," I say. "What would you be doing if I hadn't offered you the job at the store?"

She steals a fry off my plate before I can stop her and she says, "Probably sponge off my parents for a bit and drag my sorry ass back onto Fiverr, bash out a few essays and articles for a bit of cash, have a mooch around and see if anyone's looking to hire an out of work journalist."

"Good thing I snapped you up, then."

"A very good thing indeed." She snags another fry. I kick her.

"Quit it. You want fries, get your own."

"Is that an option? I can get my own fries?"

"You can get whatever you want."

With a gleeful grin, she catches the eye of a server and orders an extra side of fries and says, "I hope you're paying for this, unless you want to give me an advance on my paycheck. I'm not kidding about the thirty-seven dollars. That might even be a generous estimate."

"It's on me," I assure her. It'll be on me for a while, by the sound of it. That's fine by me. I want to spoil her. "Get the fries, get the wine, get whatever you want."

Annie swoons, one hand fanning her face and the other clutching her chest. "Is this what it's like to have a sugar mama?"

I don't know what to say to that. My face must say it all because Annie laughs and takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, cutting the bands of tension in my shoulders. I often have to remind myself to relax, even when I'm not stressed; I have to consciously unclench my muscles.

"I love you, Laurel," Annie says. "I know you're nervous about tomorrow, but please don't be. I love you more than enough for my entire family, but that doesn't even matter because I know they'll love you too."

I clutch her hand in mine. Her voice is so steady, so sure. I want to embrace her spirit. I need to.

"I love you too," I say. God, I love her so fucking much it hurts. It's terrifying. I didn't even feel this way when I got married, the way my chest swoops and soars like a seagull every time I see her, the way I want to always be touching her. Her hand in mine; my foot on her calf; her head on my chest. Anything. Everything.

My heart is a reckless beast. I can't afford to be reckless. I'm Laurel Jacobs: sensible, practical, rational. This equation isn't simple. It isn't just Laurel plus Annie equals love. It's Laurel plus Annie plus three kids and an ex-husband and a business, and I know there's love on the other side of that equation too, but there's a hell of a lot of other stuff too. Stress and responsibility and sacrifice.

"Are you okay?" Annie asks. I nod, but there's a lump in my throat.

The extra side of fries arrives right as we finish our main course. The moment the server sets it down on the table, I steal two to make up for the ones Annie took off my plate. Chewing and swallowing helps to dislodge the lump, but it doesn't go. It lingers there. Then comes the clammy heat and the palpitations and the tightness in my chest and the sense of dread, the stinging in my eyes and the trembling in my hands.

"Laurel?" Annie tilts her head, a couple of fries in her hand and one in her mouth.

"I'll be back in a second." I search under the table for my shoe, yanking it on and heading to the restroom. But in my panic, I throw open the wrong door. Instead of the bathroom, I find myself outside in the snow, in the small garden at the back of Deer & Pine that buzzes in the summer.

Snow is good. Snow is cold. It soothes my burning cheeks and my racing heart and I curse myself as I sink onto an iced-over bench and press my hands to my face. I know it's just an anxiety attack. I know it will pass. But in the moment, I can't intellectualize that thought. In the moment, I am plagued by the kind of non-specific dread that feels like a fire trying to claw its way out of my stomach. I convince myself that I'm having a heart attack, that Annie is going to look for me in the bathroom while I'm dying out here, and who will look after Ava if I die? Christian will take Otto and Hannah, but what about their sister? Oh, god, she'd probably end up with my mother and she'll turn out like me, a neurotic bag of anxiety who can't handle her feelings.

It could be a minute, it could be twenty, I have no idea how long it is that my mind plays through a string of awful worst case scenarios like a torture reel before the door opens and Annie comes out into the snow. She sits next to me on the bench and she gathers me in her arms and she holds me as tight as she can.

"It's okay," she murmurs. "Whatever you're thinking, it's not happening, Laurel. You're okay."

It's a minute or two before I can speak, before the demon in my throat releases my tongue and I choke out, "I don't want Ava to live with my mom if I die."

Annie doesn't laugh, doesn't tell me I'm being stupid. She tucks my head under her chin and says, "Then we have to make sure you don't die, okay? And that means going back inside where it isn't, like, twenty degrees."

I nod, but make no effort to move.

"I thought you went to the bathroom," she says.

"I meant to."

"Oh, Laurel. Did you pee in the snow?"

"Not to pee. Panic attack," I say, wishing she could hold me like this forever.

"I know," Annie says. "I was making a joke to lighten the atmosphere."

"Oh."

"We can stay out here if you need to, but we might have to be surgically removed from this bench if it snows much more."

"No need for surgery. I'm sure the heat from your burning loins will keep you from icing over."

"Hey, look at that, you made a joke," Annie says, laughing. "Come on. Any longer out here and I think my nipples will snap right off, and I'd really rather that didn't happen because I quite like it when you play with them."

Neither of us are wearing enough layers to be out in this weather. The minute Annie mentions her nipples, I become aware of how painfully cold mine are.

"I don't think it's a good look to dine and dash but if you give me your card, I'll go pay," she says as we get to our feet. A deep sense of shame crawls over me like the clouds that remain after a storm. Annie's seen me panic before. It's not the first time she has held me through an anxiety attack, but it's the first time in eight years and I hate that.

"No," I say. "There are fries to finish."

"It's not the end of the world. I can get them boxed up."

"I'm okay," I say, standing as straight as I can and sucking in a deep lungful of frozen air. "Really, I'm okay. Just a ... you know."

I don't know. A blip? A moment? A sign that I'm not ready for this? That after all this time, I'm still not ready?

We go back to the table. I finish my wine. Annie finishes most of her fries. I pick at the ones she leaves, but they've lost their flavor. I pay. She drives us back to mine, and it's late already. We didn't sit down for dinner until eight o'clock and now it's ten and I'm exhausted.

Within fifteen minutes of getting home, I'm in bed, watching Annie in the ensuite bathroom through the crack in the door as she takes off her make-up and washes her face and brushes her hair. I watch her when she comes into my room and undresses, as she stands naked in the moonlight and pulls on one of my nightdresses, as she slides under the covers and tucks her body against mine, her back against my stomach. I hold her like a child clutches a stuffed animal.

This, I think. This could be my life. Annie in my arms every night. Annie in my bed every morning. Yearning and fear are at war in my tiresome brain. I hold her tighter.

"Laurel?" Annie murmurs.

"Mmm?"

"I completely understand if you don't want to talk about it, that's absolutely fine," she says, "but I can't help noticing that you told me you love me and immediately had a panic attack." She takes a deep breath. "I know panic attacks are irrational, but should I be worried? If it's about my family, you don't have to come tomorrow, really. I don't want you to stress over it."

"I want to be there," I say. "I do love you, Annie." I press my nose to the back of her shoulder and close my eyes. It's easier to talk like this, when she's facing away from me, when I can close my eyes and let my mind spin free. "I love sharing a bed with you. I love reading with you and working with you and I love the warmth of your body under the covers." My voice cracks. I press my forehead to her shoulder and a tear slips out.

"Laurel?"

I don't answer. I can't.

"Are you crying over how much you love me?"

"I think so," I manage to say after a moment, after another tear has slipped out, trailing down Annie's bare shoulder. I rarely understand my own emotions enough to put a name on them. I have no idea what is going on in my head and my heart right now, can't pick apart the threads of a dozen tangled feelings.

"Damn, I really am good," she says. She lifts my hand away from her stomach so she can roll over and face me. There's still a hint of highlighter at the top of her cheekbone, near her ear. The moonlight catches on it, making her shimmer.

"It's a big feeling," I say, the words awkward and stilted like I'm a child learning to read by sounding out letters. "Big feelings overwhelm me."

"I know," she says softly. Sometimes I forget how much she saw me through. How many times I cried in front of her when I couldn't figure out how to even begin processing the emotions that came with divorce and becoming a single mom, when I couldn't tell if I was sad or angry or frustrated or tired. Sometimes I needed to vent. Sometimes I need a sandwich. Sometimes I just needed to lie down and close my eyes and wake up in a new day.

"We can take it easy," Annie says. Her thumb brushes my wet cheek. Only my right eye is leaking. The left is dry. "I know this has been a lot, the last few weeks. If it's too much, just say the word."

"I'm okay. But thank you." I find her hand and lace my fingers through hers, hold on tight. I kiss her damp thumb, taste the salt of my tears. Move our joined hands to my chest and hold them over my heart. My pulse is too fast, but it's going in the right direction. It slows down considerably more when Annie gently pushes my shoulder, easing me onto my back, and she drapes herself over me like a blanket.

"Is this okay?" she asks, her head on my breast, the comforter pulled tight around her shoulders.

"It's perfect," I say, and I mean it. 

*

i've had too many panic attacks that feel like heart attacks, they're scary af and i feel for laurel (yes i know i made it happen to her)