*.*.*.*.*.*

November 3

"Riley won't talk to me," Carlos says, knotting his hands on the table between us.

I roll my eyes and slump back, staring at him challengingly as I pull at the zipper of my hoodie. The small cafe is stuffy and too warm for my liking, smelling strongly of coffee and baked goods I'm no longer allowed to have. Even though my heart tells me no one will know, my mind tells me I probably shouldn't do anything against my doctor's advise. I don't want another fainting scene.

"Do you blame her?" I ask.

"I blame you," he counters.

Scoffing, I grab my disposable box of salad as advised by my doctor and attempt to stand up. Carlos jumps, grabbing my arm and stopping me.

"Sorry, sorry, force of habit," he mumbles, lowering his gaze.

I sit down, eyes narrowed. "You better be polite if you want me to listen to whatever you have to say today," I remind him, picking up my disposable fork and stabbing it through a piece of boiled potato. I'm already pissed off after being handed a diet chart by my doctor because he needs us to get my glucose level balanced out.

Carlos throws up his hands in surrender, his eyes watching me with caution. It's surprising seeing Carlos holding himself back. The usually bold and overconfident Carlos Sanchez appears to be picking his words with caution, tapping his foot in anxiety and wringing his fingers together.

"Riley won't talk to me," he says for the fifth time.

I sigh. "Why don't you talk to Gemma instead?" I ask.

Carlos' eyes widen and jaw drops. "How -- how do you know about Gemma?"

If I was a bitch, I would tell him his best friend accidentally gave me this information without knowing why I was asking him apparently harmless questions. Thankfully, though, I don't want Shane to get in trouble.

Carlos huffs and runs his hands through his curls.

"Look, it's not what you think," he says.

"So you're not dating two girls at the same time?"

"I'm not dating Gemma," he says. "That's just ... for show."

"For show?" I ask incredulously.

"Okay, look ..."

Carlos inhales a deep breath and pulls up to his full height in his seat. His eyes scan the small coffee shop we're sitting in. A few of the tables are occupied, the sleepy waiters walking around randomly or chatting behind the counter. Although the place is a pit-stop for travelers through Dallas, the only four customers aside from Carlos and I are old men with spectacles on their noses and newspapers or books spread out before them.

"My parents died when I was five," Carlos tells me, taking a deep breath. "I was raised by my grandma. She's really old and was diagnosed with ischemic heart disease last year so ... she said she wants me to get married to this girl she knows."

My eyes nearly fall out and lips part.

"You're seventeen," I breathe out.

"Yeah, that's what I said," Carlos agrees, nodding wildly and throwing up his hands. "So Grandma said okay. But she won't let me take charge of the family business until I'm married because, to her, that proves I'm a grown man, an adult, old enough to handle shit, you know?"

I almost snort. For the first time, I see why Shane and Carlos are friends. Not only is Carlos surprisingly dramatic talking to me about his absurd family life, his use of 'you know' reminds me instantly of Shane. I wonder who picked it up from whom.

"Gemma's the unfortunate granddaughter of a friend of my Grandma's," Carlos tells me. "Apparently, all ladies lose their minds once they hit seventy --"

"Sexist," I speak up.

"-- so her grandma wants the same." He ignores me. "But we talked about it, you know? And turns out Gemma doesn't want to date me any more than I want to spend the rest of my life joining in her feminist parades and eating nothing but salads because she's a vegetarian."

He waves a hand at my bowl of veggies.

"So we talked and ... we decided to just play along."

Carlos shrugs but I sense a stiffness in his shoulders. He doesn't meet my eyes and I get the feeling he's ashamed of what he's telling me. The thought makes me think maybe he's not the douchbag I thought he was.

"We decided to fake date, you know," he tells me. "Just long enough for Grandma to see I'm actually a mature adult and can take care of the business and then she'll leave me alone and we can go our separate ways. That's why ... that's why I didn't want anyone to find out about Riley."

He lowers his gaze and sighs.

"I didn't want anyone to see her and tell my grandma," he admits weakly. "Gemma and I have a deal. I can't let all our hard work go to waste."

"What about that night --" I begin.

"She has a heart attack," Carlos says. "My grandma had a stroke, Taylor, and I couldn't stay to tell Riley when Gemma called. We were in the hospital for the next two days and when I tried calling her, I saw she's ..." Carlos sighs. "She's blocked my number and won't answer my emails. I can't talk to her in school because I'm fake-dating Gemma and I can't go to Riley's house because her dad is a pretty scary dude who I'm afraid is going to skin me alive."

Carlos stops talking, watching me as if he's expecting me to ask him a dozen questions. I do have many questions but I don't know whether to believe Carlos or trust my initial judgment about him.

"I can get you to meet Gemma if you want," Carlos offers halfheartedly. "Honestly, though, my plan was to just keep up the facade long enough to get into college. Riley and I will probably go our separate ways and I'll never see her again."

My eyes narrow and I hiss.

"That was my plan," he repeats. "I just ... I guess I kind of like her a little now."

I stare at him as Carlos' cheeks turn a bit darker and he averts his gaze, pretending he's not nervous admitting he actually likes Riley.

"We can go to the same college or something," he mumbles almost to himself. "But we can't do anything if she won't even talk to me."

I lift my fork to my mouth and nibble slowly at the carrot, hating everything about my meal. I put it down with a sigh and fold my arms over the table.

"What can I do to help you?" I ask Carlos.

"Talk to Riley and ask her to at least hear me out," he says.

"It's not like I asked her to stop talking to you."

"Yeah, but you hate me," he reminds me.

"I only told her what I thought of you," I tell Carlos truthfully. "Yes, it was nothing pleasant, but the choice was all hers."

"Was?" Carlos picks up. "Are you saying you don't think I'm an asshole anymore?"

"I never thought you were an asshole," I lie.

Carlos' eyes narrow. "Yeah, save it. We both know you hated my guts."

"Okay, fair enough," I agree.

Carlos snorts and I smile too.

"Okay, but why would I help you?" I ask Carlos, not really comfortable with the fact that I'm having lunch with a guy I've never had anything good to say about.

"Shane said you would," Carlos states as a matter of fact.

"So?" I raise my eyebrows.

"So, he's Shane," Carlos repeats. "Shane said you're a nice person and you'll help me."

"Shane doesn't know me," I counter. "It's not like we're dating or anything."

Carlos scoffs. "Yeah, save it." He smirks. "I know you two were totally on a date Friday night. He even skipped our afterparty to hang out with you. Do you know how privileged that makes you?"

I let out a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, well, he wasn't with me after all so I'm just as underprivileged as you are."

Carlos' smile vanishes and brow furrows. "But he said he'd be with you."

"He was supposed to be," I admit, vaguely aware of the sinking feeling in my heart. "But he said he had to be somewhere and will be back in an hour. Your sweet old friend totally stood me up."

Although I'm still talking as if I'm joking -- though I'm not because the thoughts of Shane stings -- Carlos is more serious than he has been all day.

"Well?" I insist, hoping to get some information out of him.

Carlos lowers his gaze to the mug of coffee before him, a thousand lines on his forehead.

"That's not like him," he mumbles. "Not like Shane at all."

"Yeah, well, that's what I thought too," I say, not allowing disappointment to seep into my tone. "I didn't think he'd just ... vanish, you know?"

"I know," Carlos mumbles, running a calloused hand through his hair again. "I totally know."

I sit back and say nothing, wishing I knew too.

*.*.*.*.*.*

A/N: Were you expecting this from Carlos? Turns out he's not so bad after all, just misunderstood. Anyway ...

Okay, so I'm going to be ranting a bit. Let me be very clear, firstly, that I'm a generally polite person and I know it. I can deal with hate and critique and probably find a satisfactory answer to give. So, for instance, if I'm writing something and your experience has been different, and you tell me that, I'll probably end up typing that confusion into my ICD-11 (International Classification of Diseases) and find an answer. But if you're going to imply that I haven't done my research and that I'm representing something inaccurately ... okay, I'm not going to handle that so well. Do not, please, imply that I'm just putting words on a page without proper background knowledge. I spend hours researching and reading through articles, talking to people and familiarizing myself with any topic. So, you might say you feel differently. But DON'T tell me I'm not aware of what I'm writing.

That being said, let me please explain for those of you who are having a problem believing my story ... this is a TRUE story so I'm not making anything up. Secondly, I work in the healthcare sector and deal with more patients than you have probably seen in your entire life. Thirdly, every patient is different. One patient with depression might only require psychosocial therapy and counseling. Another might require a heavy dose of tricyclic antidepressants in combination with atypical antipsychotics as well as require urgent admission. They're still both depressed. They just require different treatment because treatment is always INDIVIDUALIZED. Taylor's treatment does not represent anyone else's.

Thank you for coming to my very pissed-off TED-Talk. *bows and drops mic*