Page 22 of The Last Session

“Catherine, ready to fill out the discharge paperwork?” Diane stood in the doorway.

Please,no, not at this moment, not when Catherine was going to tell me more about our past life connection, which was obviously a fantasy but also incredibly interesting.

Catherine reached out and squeezed my hand. Hers was bony and cold. “Can we talk more later?”

“Of course.” She looked nervous enough that I squeezed her hand back.

12

“I love you, Thuya.” Sebastian softly touched Catherine’s cheek, ardent even in the throes of death. “If I have to search every cavern of the underworld, I will find you. I will never let you go.”

WatchingStargirlfor the first time in two decades seemed the only reasonable thing to do after the exceeding strangeness of the week. After our conversation that morning, I’d waited for another chance to talk to Catherine. But after filling out paperwork, Catherine had been approached by Shana, who took her to the TV room and questioned her about her “Hollywood affairs.” Whenever I peeked in, a small crowd of patients surrounded her. I’d considered bringing her back to the conference room, but my own day had gotten busy, and I’d completely lost my chance to find out more about this mystical link between us. I’d have to catch her the next morning before she left.

A part of me had wondered: Could my thirteen-year-old self be right?Hadmy feelings of connection and closeness with Catherine been more than just a parasocial delusion? She’d been such a big part of my life then. It was like praying to a deity and then running into her in a grocery store. It just felt soweird.

But it was all ending soon, and maybe that was a good thing. Catherine would soon be flying back to her world, leaving me to mine. Since the public knew she’d been at the hospital, I no longer had to bite my tongue. If I kept the details vague, it could even become a juicy story, maybe one I’d tell at parties: how my teen-era celebrity twin showed up in my psych unit.

Watching the movie felt like an appropriate bookend to the experience, though I had no idea how I would react to it.

Oh boy. It did not age well. Beyond the hokey sets and wooden dialogue, thirteen-year-old Catherine’s affair with the adult pharaoh now felt incredibly disturbing. In spite of the heavy makeup, it was clear shewas still just a kid. This movie would never be made today. I considered turning it off more than once, but the eerie nostalgia it provoked caused me to keep going.

At the tail end of Sebastian’s death scene, there came the scrape of a key in the lock. Dom and the mysterious Amelia tumbled in, mid-laugh.

“Hi!” Dom ran over and hugged me. “How are you?” Her breath smelled like whiskey.

“I’m okay.” I smiled at Amelia. “Hey there.”

“Hi. I’m Amelia.” She stuck out her hand. Her fingers were filled with silver rings, her nails neon pink.

“What are you up to?” Dom flopped next to me on the couch. “Wait. Is this…”

“Stargirl,” I supplied.

“With that actress.” Dom snapped her fingers. “The one who showed up at the hospital, right?”

“Right.” At some point, Dom had texted me about it, sending one of the cat-outta-the-bag gossip site articles. I’d written back:See? I DID know her!!!

Dom jumped up and went to the fridge. “You kept saying you recognized her—I should’ve believed you.”

“What’s she like?” Amelia asked, flipping the part in her hair.

“She’s… you know. Nice.” It hadn’t gotten out that Catherine had attacked a social worker, thankfully.

“I think we should all discuss this at the show.” Dom came back balancing three glasses of whiskey. “Amelia’s friend is performing.”

“Oh, you know what? Ijustput these on.” I pointed to my sweatpants.

Dom smirked. “What if I told you our cute friend Matt is going to be there?”

“Do I know him?” I asked.

“Not yet!” she cried, almost spilling her drink. I had to laugh; tipsy Dom was enthused and accident-prone. “Hey, when’s the last time you chatted up someone?”

“Chatted up someone? What, are you Bri-ish?” I teased with an accent. Seeing Dom in party mode reminded me of grad school nights when a group of us would hit a nearby dive bar for karaoke.

“Trust me, gov’na!” Dom clinked my glass. “You won’t regret it.”

Two hours later, I’d managed to snag a stool at the bar. Live music blasted from the back room, where Dom and Amelia camped out. I’d felt dizzy in the hot, cramped space. But even out here it was packed, mostly with twentysomething hipsters with shaggy haircuts and ugly-cool glasses. I felt old, out of place. And the much-touted Matt hadn’t yet materialized.

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