“You might be leaving out some pretty key symptoms, Ms. Bryan. Can you catch me up?”

“Okay.” I sigh, then, as I did with Kiera, try to explain what is going on even though I don’t understand it.

Kiera looks nervous as I talk, and Jim listens patiently and without judgment. Marcia, on the other hand, has arched a perfect eyebrow so high it looks like it might float off into the air above her head.

“But I called my mom this morning and she thinks I live here. So I know it’s not you all, like … messing with me or something like that.” I blush, feeling embarrassed to even suggest something so self-centered. “And I feel fine, so I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Any history of mental health issues?” he asks. “Any family history?”

“I have an aunt who thinks she’s drop-dead gorgeous, but in reality looks like Rod Stewart.”

“Ah, Aunt Cath,” says Kiera. “Bless her.”

She knows about loony Aunt Cath. How weird.

“No,” I say, to be clear. “No real mental health issues. I get panic attacks sometimes.”

“Right, you told me about those. Grandiose delusions are a symptom of several different psychological disorders,” Jim says, studying me.

I laugh. “I mean, they’re hardly grandiose. Being famous kind of sucks.”

Kiera and Jim exchange a look. Marcia lets out a sharp ha!

I must have been the one to end things with Cillian. It’s the only explanation for why this woman seems so mad at me.

“I thought it might be because of the breakup,” suggests Kiera.

“True enough, but she’s usually fine after the breakups,” he says. “If a bit reclusive.”

“How often do I break up with this guy?” I ask. “Or does he break up with me?”

“It’s always you,” comes Marcia’s voice.

A guilty plunge goes through me and I say, “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine why I … why I did that.”

Jim gives me a kind look. “Meg, I really think you ought to go to Tralee and be seen by someone.”

I stare blankly at him, then look to Kiera for explanation.

She glances at Jim and then says to me, “University Hospital.”

I shake my head. I really do hate hospitals. They’re a place for crisis and tragedy. And what could they tell me? I know this isn’t my life. No number of MRIs or psychoactive drugs will change that. This is the kind of thing Netflix makes documentaries about, and don’t we all watch them and think the people are crazy?

“No hospital. Please.”

Kiera sighs.