Page 68 of I Think Olive You

I say nothing.

“Matt,” she urges, her voice stronger than I’ve heard it before. She never was one to raise her voice, to discipline. The moments I had with her growing up were always too distant for that. It’s enough for me to drag my gaze to meet hers. My eyes feel like sandpaper, every blink painful. When’s the last time I took a shower?

“Promise me.”

There’s no denying her, not when she’s agreed to let me live here after the loft’s taken away. That’s the answer I gave her. Not the fact that I have nowhere else to go and I haven’t had the courage to go back to my loft where I’ll be truly alone.

“I promise,” I say and it feels weird, the words clumsy and thick coming out of my mouth. Days without speaking will do that. Fuck, I should brush my teeth.

“I’ll see you tonight for dinner.” Gathering her stuff into a small purse, she slings the strap over her shoulder and puts on a pair of sunglasses that probably cost more than the fucking Vespa. She’s trying. Now it’s my turn.

I drag my body through a shower and clothe myself in the first things I can find that make sense, and sit in the silence of the apartment. Spoon clinking against a bowl of cereal, I force myself to breathe as deeply as I can. The bran feels like chewing sticks but my stomach is glad for the sustenance. My mother’s pulled me from my little cotton wool haze and now I’m noticing just how fucked the last few days have been—how deep I’ve sunk into myself. It’s been almost a week since I drove the dirt road away from Abundantia and I haven’t heard a word from any of them.

My phone has been a minefield of “friends” I haven’t spoken to in months, who never check in, never ask, suddenly giving a fuck. It’s also Alan and his threats. A few places have reached out for comment but hopefully this thing will fade with the next big story.

Still, nothing from them. Not sure why I expected anything else, but hope is hard to squash.

The car ride is short and the therapist’s office not what I expected. Instead of a sleek medical-looking building, it’s a townhome; a brownstone, aged by time and the weather. The driver finds somewhere to park and it dawns on me that he’s going to have to sit and wait for me.

I’ve never thought about it before, the people tangential to my life that I’ve ignored, barely noticed.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

Glancing up from the newspaper he’s unfolded in front of the steering wheel, he makes eye contact with me in the rearview mirror. “Clyde. Clyde Adams.”

“Thank you for driving me, Clyde. Appreciate it.”

His eyebrows twitch once, like he needs a second to absorb what I’ve said.

“No problem, Mr. Palmer. I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

I walk on leaden legs up the steps, read the little sign asking me to ring the doorbell for entry, and wait. So much of my life is going to feel like waiting now.Just passing time until it stops meaning anything.

“Hi, how can we help you?” comes through the electronic doorbell.

“Matte—uh, Matt Palmer, I have an appointment.”

A few moments later a young woman opens the door for me, gesturing that I follow her inside and toward an office near the back garden. Inside what looks more like a study than an office is a bowed head with long, salt-and-pepper hair, engrossed in writing notes.

“Mr. Palmer to see you,” my escort says from the doorway before walking away and the therapist nods for me to join her in the room.

“Shut the door behind you and come take a seat, Mr. Palmer.”

“Please, don’t call me that, my first name’s fine.”

“Okay then, Matt. I’m Dr. Pritchard. What brings you in today?”

“My mom made me an appointment?” I phrase it as a joke, the question going up at the end and even I can tell the facade is wearing thin.

“Be that as it may, you still showed up and she was concerned enough to make an appointment for you. Is there anything specific you’d like to bring up or would you prefer we go over some of your history first?”

“I guess I’ve been a little ‘off’ lately.” I stare down at my hands in my lap, fingers tightly-laced, skin white where it's being squeezed. “I lost someone I was close to and I’ve been having a hard time with it, I suppose.”

You’re having a fucking ball. What did you expect when you fucked everything up? Did you really think she’d forgive you for lying to her over and over?”

“Ah. Yes, I’d heard about your father’s passing. My condolences.”

Jerked from reminiscing about Giuliana, I look up at her, confused for a second. “No. No, that’s not what this is about!” It’s stronger than I intend, almost offended.

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