I’m pacing the length of the small hallway.
“When will you be done class?” my mom asks on the phone.
“I don’t know. I can always crash at K’s apartment,” I reply. The impending snow storm is on all our minds.
“Do you have clothes?” she asks.
I look at K. “I have a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt.”
“You can borrow a pair of my sweatpants and a shirt to sleep in,” K adds.
“She said I can borrow stuff,” I tell my mom.
“Do you have your medicine?” she asks me.
It dawns on it.
No medicine if I stay at hers, no imitrex, no cymbalta, nothing if I get a migraine.
I fight off the panic attack.
“No,” I sigh. I really don’t want my parents driving in the weather but I’ll be screwed even if I miss one dose. I have in the past.
“Let me know when class is done and I’ll come pick you up,” she says.
“Okay,” I say defeated.