Bold red numbers pierced through Deana’s room, taunting her that she should have been asleep hours ago. 2:14 meant she was seven hours and forty-six minutes away from torture. A sudden urge to return to the range was dampened quickly.

“No. I can do this. It’s not that big of a deal.” Deana twisted away from the ominous face. There were plenty of bubbly champagne that melted the party after their long hike and picnic. The last hoorah of Bachelorettes was a success. Liv was a perfect mix of spicy and bittersweet – venting last minute frustrations as they scaled up the rocky face, then giving weepy monologues over their sweet tea and parfait deserts at the lodge. It was a complete success.

So why was she so damn anxious? Why was she still frustrated that Nathan, Hubby-To-Be, was giving his Best Man and her a fight over the set-list for the local band he so desperately wanted to hire? Yes, she knew it was his little brother, but it was both cliche and cringe for The Lab Rats to play the Police’s Top Hits.

She flipped on her side, looking out the window overlooking the shadowy shape of a verdant New England mountain. At the top of the craggy facade were small blueberry bushes, still dappled in late season berries. She remembered the way that Liv lit up, gushing on and on about homemade pies and lobster rolls for summer dinners. The golden curls bouncing in radiant laughter, more words of old memories of spices and desserts they could not have been able to carry up. Madison nearly took her out when she finally reached the top, teasing that she nearly fainted out of hunger. Only then did Liv pass out their brown-bagged sandwiches.

But that memory was now a fuzzy story, their voices not as clear in her mind. It was slipping away from her, time. A pain ached in her chest, one that her hand could not even rub away. She was slipping away from her.

Another slippery memory dripped into her mind. A splotch of dark bar lights, vague black booth seats, table littered with plates from a late night meal. There were a few beer glasses on their table, Sherri and Tyler long gone looking for some man to make beg. And then there was Liv on the inner seat, hair wild, perfume everywhere, breathing Deana in deeply. It was divine, being enwrapped in the smell of her and feeling very much at home.

And it was very, very dumb. What once was a mere curiosity and friendship had developed into a spiral of individual crises. There were flirtations, a few hook ups. But what did shift mean? Did she not like men anymore? Did Liv ever regret that night? Hell, did she even remember?

Another pain of regret broke through her heart. The space between bed and mountain seemed to expand and contract as Deana’s mind and chest sputtered. Finality was incoming, and now that shadow was culminating in another stupid anxiety attack.

2:35

Breath finally steady, Deana flipped onto her other side, popping in an earbud as she did. Her phone flicked awake, glaring as well as she found the right app. “It will be alright. Just keep moving.”

As the meditation started playing, Deana had a startling thought. Maybe she just doesn’t need me anymore. But before a question could form, a calm British voice crooned a soft Namaste.

Another time, some other time, she will think more about this. For now, the mindless list of mantras washed over her, coaxing Deana back into begrudging sleep.