Page 66 of Just Business

Now that I know how much she’s struggling to keep her head above water, I’ve looked for anything I can do to help, while making sure I don’t jump in and try to fix everything. I could tell when she asked it of me that she feels strongly about handling the mess that she was left with by herself.

Another reason I’ve been keeping myself busy is that, if I’m being honest, I’ve been dreading the therapy appointment. I’ve come close to canceling it every day since I booked it, but I know Cassie is right. If I ever have any hope of dealing with all my parents put me through, I have to do this. I’ve made a vow to myself that I’ll tell him everything and hold nothing back. I know from all the conversations Cassie and I have had over the years that the only way therapy will help is if I'm completely honest. And I’ve spent far too many years lying to myself and those around me. Plus, if I’m serious about building a future with Penny, she deserves the best version of myself I can offer.

So with trembling hands, I navigate to the confirmation email for the therapist I’m meeting with today and click the secure link to their video conference portal. My heart beats wildly behind my ribcage while I wait for approval to join the call. After the longest twenty seconds of my life, the screen lights up and the therapist appears. He’s younger than I expected, probably close to my age, with tattoos on every inch of skin visible other than his face. He wears a big friendly smile that instantly puts me at ease.

“Morning, Austin! I’m Ben,” he says, his voice calm and reassuring. “Hope you’re doing well today so far.”

We spend a few minutes making small talk, getting a feel for each other. I tell him that my sister’s a therapist and she’s the one who convinced me to give it a try.

“Smart sister!” he says.

“That she is, Ben. That she is.”

“So, what brought you to therapy?” His question instantly sends a spike of anxiety through me.

“Jumping right in, aren’t we?” My voice comes out thinner than I intend, betraying my nerves.

He offers a small smile but stays quiet, patiently awaiting my response.

“Do you want the long version or the short version?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with. As long as it's the truth.”

I reach for my bottle of water, swallowing down a large sip before responding. How much of my story should I disclose in our first session? After a beat of hesitation, I begin to unravel it, laying it all out for him to sift through with a fine-toothed comb. I start with my childhood, leaving nothing out. His face remains unreadable, no matter how grim the story gets. I tell him about life with my aunt and uncle, the years on the road, the loneliness, the drinking. It feels like I’ve been talking for hours, but it’s really only thirty or forty minutes. He nods, listening and occasionally writing something in his notebook.

“So, you use alcohol as a coping mechanism, would you agree?” he asks once I’ve wrapped up my story.

I nod. “I like the taste of bourbon, but we both know the flavor isn’t what I’m interested in these days.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

I huff a short laugh. “I think you know the answer to that one.”

Ben steeples his hands under his chin, like he’s thinking some things over. “Would you consider going to Alcoholics Anonymous? I don’t know what your schedule looks like in the near future, but once you’ve found a home base for yourself, would you give it some consideration?”

I’m taken aback by his suggestion. My drinking is just something I do when I don’t wanna think. To silence my mind. I’ve proven that I can go days without it, right?

“Eh. I’m not sure I’m AA material.”

“Let me ask you this. Do you have a desire to stop drinking?”

I take a second, thinking over his question. Finally, I give him the most honest answer I can find within my churning thoughts.

“I need to figure out how to be the best version of myself for my family. I’ve put them through a lot. And now that I’ve met Penny, she deserves the best version of me, too. If giving up drinking is part of that, then yeah, that’s what I wanna do.”

Ben sets his pen down, his expression thoughtful as he studies me, brows pinched. “Why for them? Why not for yourself, too?”

Sitting there blinking, I let his question settle over me. “They—” I clear my throat. “They don’t deserve to put up with my shit.”

He studies me so intently that I feel the urge to fidget, but with every ounce of willpower I have, I hold his eye contact.

“Do you deserve the things you put yourself through?” he asks, still not looking away.

I’m the one who finally breaks eye contact. Leaning back in my chair, I pinch the bridge of my nose, struggling to find a way to put my thoughts into words.

“When I was a kid, things weren’t always bad. It’s like my dad had two faces. There were times when things were good. Sometimes we made some good memories as a family. It would last long enough for me to feel a bit of hope, ya know? I’d think,This is great! My dad has decided to act like the other dads.Anytime I’d find myself thinking that, I’d care about what he thought of me just a little more.” I swallow down the emotions threatening to rise to the surface. “And I don’t want to care what he thinks of me, but I can’t help it. And when you’ve spent your whole life being told you’re worthless by the one person who’s supposed to protect you from that kind of pain, it makes it damn near impossible to believe anything else.”

“It’s completely normal to care about your father’s opinion. When we’re born, there are two people who are supposed to love and protect us more than anyone else—our parents. But your parents failed you, and because of that, you've developed a lot of negative beliefs about your own self-worth.”

---