Bananapants: A Bonkers Romantic Comedy

“I was barely conscious but my standards were still awake.”

— Mariah Carey, The Meaning of Mariah Carey

“What do you mean?” I set my paper cup full of decaf on the café table too hard and turned toward the wall. I must’ve heard her wrong.

Since I’d returned from the Caymans about a week ago, I hadn’t been sleeping as much as I should due to pleasurable nighttime, and daytime, activities. I’d been skipping my morning workouts so I could lay and play with Ava since she’d taken last week off work. I’d also missed my last two CBT appointments since they’d interfered with my Ava plans. And I hadn’t been eating great, not eating whole meals or—like yesterday—eating just the ice cream licked off Ava’s body for dinner.

Therefore, the chances that I’d heard Sue wrong were quite high.

“Exactly what I said.” Sue spoke around a very full mouth. “Henri sent a copy of the contract to Hareem’s lawyer after we’d sent the bait. We thought we got every copy, we didn’t. He’s got backups in places we don’t know about.”

My head fell to my hands and my stomach plummeted. “Shit.” I felt like I might be sick.

“And fuck. Shit and fuck. Don’t forget fuck,” she said helpfully. “By the way, when’s the last time you ate? You sound off.”

I’d been out of contact with Sue for almost an entire week, partially because I wanted to spend every moment with Ava, but also I’d considered the contract issue settled, over and done. When Hareem’s new lawyer sent Henri the thanks but no thanks letter last Wednesday, I’d expected Henri to scramble for a copy of the contract and freak out when he couldn’t find it. I hadn’t expected Henri to immediately forward a copy to Hareem’s lawyer as a reminder that the manufacturing rights had already been signed away.

To say I was disappointed would be a massive understatement. I’d assumed my trip to the Caymans would be the end of it. I thought, with this over, I could walk away, retire feeling good about this chapter of my life.

“What am I going to say to Hareem?” I mumbled, rubbing my face. This felt insurmountable. Suddenly, I had a headache. This news hit me too hard. I could feel my body growing tired as I sat here.

That’s what you get for thinking you could be happy.

I shoved the irrational thought away. Feelings aren’t facts. I could be happy. Happiness, like misery, didn’t last forever. And that was fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. I’m fine.

“So . . .” Sue cleared her throat. “Are you results focused about the problem yet? Or still in the emotions phase?”

I answered without hesitation. “Still in the emotions phase.” I wanted to punch something. Or someone. Like Henri Wickford.

I hadn’t heard from him at all since the showdown in front of Ava’s office building. Not hearing from him wasn’t necessarily unusual, but he should’ve called me by now to follow up about whether my father’s company would provide private security for his various properties. The fact that he hadn’t reached out at all was, in retrospect, strange.

“Fair enough. Fair enough.” Sue went on chewing.

“What do I do?” I asked even though I didn’t expect Sue to answer.

I’d been in a fantastic mood all week. Every day with Ava had been like a dream. And now this. It felt like crashing down to earth after being in a heavenly orbit.

“I’ve been everywhere, Sue. I destroyed his server room in Chicago. You’ve wiped everything. Where could he be hiding it? Should I ask Alex for help?”

“Nah. Henri might have a copy saved on a random friend’s laptop for all we know. There’s no way to be certain. Not even Alex can fix this. It’s—” She stopped herself.

“Hopeless.” Rubbing my chest and the gathering tightness I recognized as intense frustration, I really did feel like I might be sick. When was the last time I ate a meal? I couldn’t remember.

Ava and I had spent so much time in bed or tangled together on the couch. She’d initiated sex almost as often as I had, wanting to try every position imaginable and in various stages of clothed. This morning, she’d been the one to wake me up with her mouth on my cock.

Therefore, food and proper nutrition had been the last thing on my mind. Though I did recall a delivery order, maybe Sunday? Or Saturday?

“You keep doing this to yourself. This job isn’t paid, and the next few we have lined up are more of this Robin Hood BS. Raz, if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: you can’t be Robin Hood in this business.”

“I know, I know.”

“Do you? I know your day trading makes up for a lot, but you’ve only been taking do-gooder jobs lately. Now, you know I don’t care as long as my fee is paid, but it’s hard to see you stabbed and shot when your fee doesn’t cover your doctor bills.”

“You’re starting to sound like a broken record, Sue.”

She kept on talking like I hadn’t said anything. “You can’t help everyone, Raz. There are some problems that can’t be fixed. If you’re not in this business for the money—and don’t tell me you are, not anymore—maybe it’s time to leave.”

I grumbled, turning in my seat to scan the menu over the register. I couldn’t think. First, I needed to eat. Then I needed to check my pill container to ensure I’d taken all my doses this last week. Then I should swim, do something physical. I’d abandoned all my good habits, so they’d abandoned me.

I would figure this out. But I needed my brain to work first.

“I hate it too.” She paused, snacking on something that wasn’t crunchy. “I think it’s time to cut your losses. And, if you want to look on the bright side, at least this job brought you home. Ya know?”

“Hey.” I stood from my seat and walked to the register. “Speaking of—wait. Just a sec.” I placed a food order—a big one, with lots of protein and raw vegetables—paid, and turned my attention back to the call. “Speaking of coming home, why did you tell Ava I was hurt last week?”

“A man in love is like a puppy,” she said wistfully.

Reclaiming my seat, I took a sip of decaf coffee, waiting for Sue to continue. When she didn’t, I asked, “Meaning?”

“Soft. Playful. Lacking in coordination.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Susan.”

“Yes, it does.”

Shifting my attention to the pickup counter, I watched for my food. “Again, why did you tell Ava I was hurt?”

“You were hurt.”

“I wasn’t hurt. I had no injuries.”

Her sigh was exaggerated and I could almost see her ticking my offenses off on her fingers. “You rushed the job. You took stupid chances to get back to Chicago faster than necessary. You almost died in the process due to sudden, shockingly shitty coordination skills, which has never happened before. I’d say you’re hurt somewhere.”

“You told her to bring a first aid kit,” I said flatly. “Why’d you do that?”

“You sounded like you had a headache. Maybe you needed a pain reliever. Stop giving me crap for being nice.”

“Don’t call Ava again.”

“Fuck you. I’ll call her whenever I want.”

“Sue,” I ground out.

“Kiss my ass. I’ll ask her to lunch.” She chewed her non-crunchy food, then added, “We’ll get our nails done.”

“Sue, I’m retiring.”

“No, I’m retiring. After this contract issue is finally resolved, in whatever decade that finally happens, I’m retiring. And so what?” she ranted. “I’ll be a bridesmaid at your wedding and there’s not one goddamn thing you can do about it. She’ll probably make me the godmother of your first kid. That means I’ll be invited to every birthday party. But don’t do a gender reveal. That shit causes forest fires. Also, it makes it unnecessarily difficult if the kid ends up changing the hardware later. Protect the kids and the environment, is all I’m saying.”

“Thank you for your sage advice. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

“Sounds good. Love ya. Bye.” She hung up first.

Tearing the device from my ear, I tossed it to the café table with a clatter and leaned back in my chair, staring at nothing.

I needed to fix this. I’d promised Hareem I’d fix this for him. Walking away, admitting defeat due to fucking paperwork? It wasn’t an option.

That afternoon, I woke up from a nap in misery, my body heavy, my brain both fuzzy and sharp. It would be one of those nights, hours with my eyes open before I could take my sleep meds and pass out, going through the motions, distracting myself from the crushing, unbearable weight of feeling hopeless for no fucking reason.

I forced myself out of the hotel bed and to the pool. I swam my laps. And then I ate my premade snack of spinach and egg white bites. I took my meds. And then, because I felt listless and directionless, I crawled back into bed and stared at the wall, my phone, a glass of water, and a pill container on my side table.

My phone rang. I ignored it. Each time my medicine alarm went off, I took my meds. Each time my food alarm went off, I ate. And that’s how I measured the passage of time.

It wasn’t until my phone buzzed with a message—a message from Ava—that I realized this wasn’t just me feeling low. Something was wrong with me.

Ava: Let’s have a movie night.

Movie night? How long have I been lying here?

I read her message and felt absolutely nothing. It was like being flattened under a heavy weight while my favorite person suggested spending the evening together. What difference did it make if she was my favorite person? I had this weight on me, suffocating me. I could feel nothing but overwhelming despair.

I called my mom.

She answered on the second ring. “Desmond?”

“Mom. Something is wrong.”

“Where are you?”

“At my hotel.” I rubbed my forehead, trying to wake up my brain.

“Did you take olanzapine yet?”

“It’s not mania.”

“Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“I . . .” I didn’t know what to say. “Hold on.” I pushed myself up and reached for my pill container. I fished out an olanzapine and swallowed it with the water next to my bed. I didn’t like how much I’d been relying on it these last few weeks.

But then again, my life had been in upheaval recently. Sudden changes, good or bad, could trigger my illness. I knew that and I’d been stubbornly ignoring it. I’d wanted this sudden change, this relationship with Ava. I should’ve known there’d be consequences.

“Desmond? Are you there?”

“Here.” I pressed against the vacant hollow in my chest, where the weight was heaviest. “I took the olanzapine.”

“Good. We’ll be there soon.”

“Okay. Okay. Bye.” I hung up. It wasn’t until I was lying in bed again, under the covers, that I realized she’d said “we.”

Even before I opened my eyes, I knew the depression hadn’t retreated. It still sat there, ready to pick up our dysfunctional conversation exactly where we’d left off. I sighed, wishing I could go back to sleep, wishing there were some drug I could take to knock me out until this depressive episode was over.

“Hey, handsome.”

My eyes cracked open and I saw a person lying in front of me who looked suspiciously like Ava Archer. I said nothing because I wasn’t sure if my eyes—who am I kidding—my brain was playing tricks on me.

But then Ava reached out and traced my eyebrow with her fingertip. “You’re so handsome when you sleep. I hope you don’t mind me watching you like a creep.”

I started. “You’re here?”

“Yes.” She took her hand back. “How are you feeling?”

I shook my head, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. “I—I called my mom last night. I think. Didn’t I?”

“Your mom stepped out. It’s my shift now.”

“Your shift?”

“Yes.” Ava scooched closer, her hand inching toward me. “Can I touch you? Or”—she sucked in a large breath—“I don’t want to make anything worse.”

I nodded. “Please, touch me. It won’t make it worse.”

Her eyes moved between mine, her expression sober. “But it won’t make it better, will it?”

I tried to force a smile. “Only one way to find out.”

She didn’t smile. “You don’t need to do that, Des. I’m here for you, not the other way around. You don’t need to fake it or force it. Just be.”

Staring at her, I nodded again, relieved. “Okay.” I didn’t have any energy to argue. Or try to fake it, or force it. Not for very long, anyway.

Ava studied me, then shifted all the way forward. Lifting my arm—presumably so I wouldn’t have to lift it—she tucked herself under my chin, wrapping herself in my arms.

“You’re cold,” she said. “I’ll warm you up.” Her hand moved in slow circles on my back and she placed a kiss on my neck.

We lay like that for a while in shared, easy silence. And it was warm. And it was comfortable. And comforting. I noticed she smelled good, like perfume and soap. I noticed her hair was soft and so was the skin of her cheek. I tried to distract myself by taking note of each sensation that made up Ava Archer.

After an indeterminate amount of time, she said, “If you want to, and if you have the energy, do you mind telling me what’s going on? I mean, I know you’re having a rough time. Your mom said you were deeply depressed when we arrived last night. What does that mean? Did—uh—something happen?”

It took me some time to untangle her words and several more minutes to realize that she was actually asking me two questions. First, she wanted to know what I was currently feeling. Second, Ava wanted to know if she was somehow responsible.

To ease her mind, I would address the second question before the first.

“Ava, this isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything to cause this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Completely.”

“I’m sorry. You’re the one having a hard time, and here I am⁠—”

“Don’t apologize. Your curiosity and concern are understandable, but I’m not feeling this way because of you. I’m having a low day, or few days.” I shrugged. “Sometimes that happens. I can only tell myself, ‘Get through it one more time. One more day, one more hour, one more minute.’ And when any measurement of time feels too long, I’ll tell myself to get through one more breath. A breath in. A breath out. Living becomes breathing for fourteen hours until I take my nighttime medication.”

I felt her nod. “What happens next?”

“Then I pass out and hope tomorrow won’t be a bad day.”

She paused, probably to absorb this information, then asked, “And what if tomorrow is another bad day?”

“I give myself a maximum of six bad days like this before I call my doctor and ask for my levels to be checked. If it’s really bad, I’ll voluntarily admit myself. It might be my medication that needs to be adjusted, it might be something more serious. But I don’t think that’s the case this time.”

“What do you think it is? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I think I haven’t been paying attention to my illness like I should. I’ve been skipping meals or not eating the right ones, not sleeping as much. I didn’t go to the pool for a few days last week. I fell out of my good habits. So bipolar decided to remind me that I’m its bitch.”

Ava laughed, and the sound drew a small smile from me. She squeezed me tighter. This feels nice.

“Can I ask, what does it mean to have a low day? Like, what does it feel like?”

I dipped my chin to inhale the scent of her hair. Her shampoo smelled nice. Using my senses to push myself out of the dark recesses of my brain and back into my body usually helped.

Her tight hug. Her warmth. Her lovely scent. It all helped.

Buffered, I made an attempt to answer her question. “Imagine being stuck in the saddest day of your life. But imagine you have amnesia and you don’t know why you’re sad, you only know you are the saddest you’ve ever been and your brain is telling you nothing will ever get better, even though it doesn’t make sense and is illogical. Breathing hurts, thinking hurts, you want to cry but know that won’t help and you’ll end up with a stuffy nose and a headache. Talking about it makes no difference because there is only sadness and no known reason for it. And, on top of that, you have to fight off a bear—a grizzly bear only you can see, with claws and jaws, who hates you and who tells you you’re worthless. That’s what a low day feels like for me.”

Ava had shifted back as I spoke so she could see my face. She stared at me, considering. I didn’t know how else to describe it for her. No words felt adequate.

“Des, can I ask you something?” Her tone was gentle.

I nodded. Through the haze of self-loathing, where my bipolar bear insisted on listing out every mistake I’ve ever made on repeat in my head, I stared at her in return.

“Have you ever tried to—” She inhaled deeply, like she was gathering courage. “Have you ever tried to leave this world?”