s of our last installment, our writer’s new-ish guy, Kevin, confessed his struggles with depression. Now that he’s shared his problems, can their relationship flourish?

Thursday, 10:00 p.m.
I can’t believe I’m in bed already — alone — and it’s only 10 o’clock. Tonight I tried something entirely new (for me). I didn’t check my email or browse the latest batch of online dating prospects. Since Molly is with Craig, I ate cereal for dinner and felt absolutely no bad-mommy guilt. I tended to my neglected eyebrows, shaved my legs, spent a half hour in the massaging chair from Brookstone, the one I convinced Craig to buy me for my birthday the year before we separated. I put Van Morrison on the stereo, took a long bubble bath and now I’m warm and clean and sleepy. I need to do this more often.

Thursday, 10:05 p.m.
I hear a buzzing in my bedroom. It sounds like a cicada. But the plague

	It’s Kevin calling… I decide not to answer.

of the 17-year cicadas was three years ago—it gives me the creeps to think about it. I get out of bed and search for the source of the buzz.

Of course. It’s my cell phone. I’d forgotten that I’d switched to vibration mode during a staff meeting earlier in the day. Before I pick it up to see who’s calling, I decide that if it’s not one of my kids, I’ll ignore the call.

I pick up the phone and peer at the display. It’s Kevin. Aware of a (small) pang of guilt, I set the phone back down under a pile of clothes, ignoring the call.

Friday, 9:03 a.m.
By the time I get to the office, I’ve missed three calls, all from Kevin. Obviously I’m avoiding him, and it’s no coincidence that my disinclination to see him coincides with his mental health revelation.

I’m not being fair. My little brother — whom I continue to feel protective toward even though he’s in his 40s — has struggled with depression. I’d hate to think women would avoid him because of it. Hell, I’ve been depressed, too. After Molly was born and again when my marriage was at its nadir and I felt completely unmoored and alone. So why should it bother me if Kevin suffers from something so common I daresay it is the human condition itself!

I know why it bothers me. Because he seems to have no interest in getting help. That’s what scares me.

But is it my place to insist that he get himself a psychiatrist? And if I do decide to broach the issue, how will I do it without sounding like I’m giving him an ultimatum?

Friday, 4:20 p.m.
Is it time to go home yet? I’ve had continuous meetings since 9:15 and even though I got plenty of sleep last night, I am having trouble staying awake. I’ve come to realize that unless I am amply caffeinated, I really shouldn’t schedule meetings in the afternoon. By 4 p.m. I’ve hit the wall and am virtually useless. The only problem is that my new boss prefers to schedule all his meetings in the afternoon—he’s definitely not a morning person.

Friday 4:30 p.m.
Uh-oh. Just got this email:
I think I know a secret about you.

The email is from a friend who works in this building and happens to live across the street

I get an email saying: I think I know a secret about you.

from me. You’d think Maria and I wouldn’t get along; she’s an accountant and I can barely do long division. But we’re both moms, we’re both single and we always enjoy chatting—if only in our driveways.

She responds within seconds:
Do you write an online diary? About being single in the suburbs?

My heart flip-flops. I have written this journal under not quite my real name (I’ve been using my middle name plus my maiden name) precisely because I don’t want my neighbors knowing about my love life. Or anything else, for that matter. But because I consider Maria a friend, I decide to ‘fess up.

Yep. That’s me.

She writes back: I knew it! I knew it! I knew it! I’ve been reading this since the beginning and always thought to myself: I KNOW THIS WOMAN. When I read about the problems with the dog, I knew it was you. Aha!

I can’t say I’m thrilled about this. Not that I’d ever write anything unkind about Maria. But this town is already a little Midwestern fishbowl. And now my friend, neighbor and colleague knows far more about me, my failed marriage and my divorce than I would have shared voluntarily.

Oh well. Now the question is, does she know Kevin? If so, maybe she could advise me on whether he’s worth sticking with. Or maybe I’ll just ask him myself…

Sara Susannah Katz is a writer in the Midwest.

Read Single In The Suburbs, Part 44