Page 96 of Snowballed

“Can I make you a snack?” he asks.

I shake my head. He nods and pulls on his coat. As he heads to the door, I feel like all the light is leaving the room.

I blurt, “I did what you said. Talk to a professional, I mean.” I want him to know I’ve tried, but I don’t add that it hasn’t helped.

Noah turns and seems to consider this. “Did you tell your therapist everything you just told me?”

I shake my head.

He doesn’t say anything else, but I hear him loud and clear. How can I get better if I’m not honest with Lorraine?

33

Zoe

I wake up to the unfamiliar sight of sunlight coming through my window. When I look outside, I can see Cookie and Win eating hay from the feeding stand, so I know that Noah has come and gone. And I missed seeing him. But when I look at my phone, he’s messaged me to say that he will make arrangements for the chores for a week. I’m apparently on farm vacation.

I feel a rush of relief. I have zero energy right now. And I have a bigger job to do: fix my relationship with my mother.

When I message Derek, he lets me know that he went in to see Mom and she’s better. She’s going to be having tests, and I can visit after my afternoon classes.

I drive in and go to my first class. After that, I realize I have my weekly appointment with Lorraine. I debate whether I’m up for therapy or not, but I decide to—once again—follow Noah’s advice.

Lorraine looks as serene and nonjudgmental as ever.

“I have a lot to tell you today,” I say.

“I’m ready to hear whatever you feel comfortable sharing,” Lorraine replies.

And we’re off. I tell her everything I told Noah last night, but with more detail. Like the one time we did bring my father home for dinner, and how he seemed so much more like himself. And how that evening inspired me to try to get him home. For once, I don’t think about how I’m making myself look—all I want is to shed these memories. When I get to the part about my mother being in hospital, I unexpectedly begin to cry. Not that I shouldn’t cry, but I made it through my father’s story without crying. Lorraine passes me a half-empty box of tissues.

“Let’s talk about your anger,” Lorraine suggests when I’ve recovered.

“My anger?” Is that her biggest takeaway from this?

She nods but doesn’t add anything else. I’ve always considered myself a cheerful person, but maybe she’s right. Lately I’ve been tamping down my temper which bubbles up at the worst times.

“Well,” I begin uncertainly. “All this time, I thought I was angry at my mother. But now it feels like I’ve been angry at myself. It’s so weird.”

“Are you sure you’re angry at yourself?” she asks.

“Who else is there?” Sure, Derek and I fight sometimes, but it’s just because we’re so different. I wouldn’t get mad at him. And I’m not angry at Noah—he’s been so sweet throughout everything.

“Just sit with your emotions for a moment.” Lorraine’s constant refrain is that I need to slow down and not leap into action.

So I do. The silence between us feels awkward at first, but it allows me to remember exactly how I felt when Noah and I broke up. How panicked I was at his suggestion of moving because people I love leave. But where did that reaction come from? Who has left me?

“Is it… my father?” I ask.

Lorraine doesn’t answer, but I can tell that she’s pleased that I’ve realized this.

“Why would I be angry at my dad? It’s not like he wanted to, um, leave.” I feel this rush of emotion; I hear the voice of a small child calling out to her father. It’s my voice.

“Children can feel deserted by their parents at any age,” she replies.

“It seems so ridiculous,” I protest even as I examine all the possibilities of this idea.

Lorraine checks the time. “Emotions can’t all be rationalized. I think today has been a very important session for you. I encourage you to think more about everything we’ve discussed in the upcoming week.”

---