Page 66 of When I Come Back
Seth tosses the paper towel in the trash under the sink and reaches up to another cabinet to bring down a couple of tumblers. “I think you need something a little stronger than beer right now.” He pulls down a now-familiar looking bottle of whiskey and pours us each two fingers.
I nod my head in thanks and take a long sip.
“So,” he says, taking a sip himself. “Should I start updating my resume?” he asks with a wry smile, but I see a hint of apprehension in his eyes.
I drain my glass and say, “I don’t fucking know.” Running my fingers through my hair, I then add, “I don’t fucking know anything.”
“Your parents are only human. We often idolize our parents and place them on a pedestal. We think because they’ve been around longer, they have all the answers and know the difference between right and wrong. Your parents were only a few years older than you are now when you left. Do you think you’ll have all the answers in six or seven years?”
There’s a long pause. Dr. Ferris agreed to see me at seven thirty this morning after I texted her in the middle of the night once Seth and I finally said goodnight following two more refills.
“Okay, let’s reframe this,” she says. “What’s your greatest regret?”
I look up at her and say without missing a beat, “Letting Thea go.”
“Okay. And how long would you have stayed away from her if your parents hadn’t passed and you didn’t have to go back to South Carolina?”
“Fine, I get it. We’re a family of cowards.”
“I don’t think cowardice has anything to do with it. I think when emotions are high, it’s easier for people to create distance as a means of self-preservation. Once enough time goes by, we convince ourselves that it’s easier to continue on maintaining this distance than to face the emotions again to try to fix what’s broken. Let’s call it emotional inertia.”
“So you’re saying I can’t be angry with my parents because it’s human nature that kept them from reaching out?”
“Now you know I would never tell younotto feel something. Points for being able to name the emotion you’re feeling, by the way. For the longest time, you would come in here and talk to me about what happened with you and your family, but when I asked you how you felt about it, you’d say ‘I don’t know,’” she drops her voice to imitate me on the last words. I give her a flat look and she continues, “Eighteen months.”
“What’s eighteen months?” I ask.
“Eighteen months is how long it took for you to be able to label what you felt toward your parents, your brother. Not until you told me about that last fight with your parents. That was the first time you said, and I quote, ‘I have never been more angry.’ Talking about that particular incident opened the floodgates.” She pauses and looks at me with her usual pointed gaze. “But going back to your question; you are free to feel toward your parents however is appropriate for you. But do you think it’s also appropriate to grant them the same grace you’ve allowed yourself for staying away from Thea for so long?”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, hands clasped in front of me. My eyes are cast down on the carpet, tracing the swirls in the pattern.
Seeing she’s not going to draw an answer out of me, Dr. Ferris says, “There is no right or wrong answer here. Your parents are no longer here to help you find closure. It is entirely up to you how you choose to move forward.”
“But none of this helps me figure out what my next step is right now. Do I abandon the career—the name I’ve created for myself—here or do I spend the next six months to a year finding and training someone to replace me? Because, realistically, that’s how long it will take. I don’t think Thea will wait for me. I’m already on shaky ground with her after everything I’ve put her through the last month. This may very well be the last thing she needs to close the door on me—on us—forever.”
“What do you want?” she asks flatly.
“I want Thea. More than anything. Full stop. But I also want my career. Right or wrong, it’s part of my identity.” I pause then add, “Is it selfish to want to have my cake and eat it too?”
Dr. Ferris narrows her eyes at me, and we sit in silence for a minute. She glances at her watch. “Looks like the hour’s up. But before you go, let me just say this: you’re a chef; seems like you have the skillset to bake another cake at any time. But thispieceof cake that you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist for the last eight years will not be around for you to eat forever.”
“That’s not your best metaphor, Dr. Ferris,” I say with a smile, standing up and making my way to the door.
“It’s the best I’ve got before my second cup of coffee, but I think you get the idea.”
I thank Dr. Ferris again for meeting me so early and head out. I glance at the time and see it’s only eight-thirty, but suddenly I really want a piece of cake.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Thea
Ilook down at my phone for what feels like the seven-hundred-and-sixty-fifth time today; Cary hasn’t texted me in over twenty-four hours now. It shouldn’t bother me. He texted me daily for almost two weeks straight, and I never once answered. Him going radio silent for one day should be no problem. Especially after the email I sent him. He probably needs some time to process the letter just like Brooks and I did.
Or at least, I assume that’s what Brooks is doing, I haven’t heard from him since we found the letters. I texted him this morning to check in, but he didn’t reply. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m more than used to his disappearing act. I decided I’ll just let Cary handle it once he’s back in town. Which is supposedly happening in three days.
He promised he’d be back on Sunday, the fifteenth. I don’t one-hundred percent believe him, but part of me turning over a new leaf with him is believing he was—and still is—telling me thetruth. So, he’ll be here. He’s probably just packing and settling things in Seattle.
I huff as I chuck my phone on the counter, frustration coursing through me.
