My Year of Rest and Relaxation

by Ottessa Moshfegh

She scribbled for a while on her pad. “Mirth,” Dr. Tuttle said. “I like it better than joy. Happiness isn’t a word I like to use in here. It’s very arresting, happiness.

After all the hell I went through, the consequences, your father, and the baby goes and dies? Like dropping a pie on the floor as soon as you pull it out of the oven.”

I did crave attention, but I refused to humiliate myself by asking for it.

“When something disappears, that’s usually where it disappears—into the black holes in our eyes.”

I’ve had such a day, I can’t even tell you.” But there she was, telling me.

I can’t say it didn’t hurt me that she held herself at such a distance. But to confront her about it would have been cruel. I had no right to make any demands.

There she is, a human being, diving into the unknown, and she is wide awake.