Page 5 of Of Heather and Thistle
Ivy tilted her head, studying her. “But what if it’s not bad? What if it’s something you need to see, even if it’s hard?”
Heather’s grip tightened around her coffee cup, her stomach twisting. Her father had never ended a conversation with kindness. What were the odds that his final words to her would be any different?
She exhaled slowly, looking up to find Ivy watching her. Steady. Unwavering.
Ivy had always believed in her—so deeply, so unquestionably—that it should have been reassuring. But sometimes, it felt like too much. Like Ivy wasn’t just expecting her to succeed—she was expecting her to need her.
Heather wasn’t sure how to include Ivy in this.
Silence stretched between them, the only sound the quiet hum of the coffee shop and the snow falling softly outside.
Then Ivy set her mug down with purpose. “No matter what’s in there, it doesn’t change who you are. You’re HeatherfreakingCampbell, and you figure it out. You always do!”
Heather let out a soft laugh. “You make me sound a lot cooler than I actually am.”
“No, I just see you for who you really are.” Ivy winked, draining the last sip of her coffee before stretching lazily. “Alright, I’ve gotta run—I’m meeting Theo for lunch. Not sure if it’s a date, but hey, free food.”
Heather nodded. “Yeah. I think I just need some time to think.”
Ivy nudged Heather’s coffee cup. “Just don’t think too hard.” Then, with another wink, she was gone.
Heather watched the snow drift outside, the weight of the envelope pressing against the edges of her thoughts.
She wasn’t ready to go home—not yet.
So instead, she kept walking.
Chapter 3
When she reached the corner where she usually turned toward her apartment, she made a split-second decision and kept walking.
Her therapist’s office was only a few blocks away, tucked into the second floor of an old brownstone building. Dr. Lily Andrews had been her therapist for the past year, ever since Heather had finally admitted to herself that she needed help untangling her past. At first, she’d resisted opening up, hesitant to expose the parts of herself she’d spent years hiding. But Lily had been patient, calm and steady, never pushing too hard.
Heather paused at the door, brushing snowflakes from her coat. She hadn’t made an appointment, but Lily had always told her to stop by if needed. After a brief hesitation, she stepped inside.
The waiting room was quiet and warm, with the scent of vanilla lingering in the air. A small lamp cast a soft glow, and the receptionist, Brenda, looked up with a welcoming smile.
“Heather! I didn’t see you on the schedule today,” Brenda said warmly.
“Yeah, I—I don’t have an appointment,” Heather admitted, unwrapping her scarf. “I just… I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d see if Dr. Andrews had time today.”
Brenda nodded, her smile never faltering. “Let me check.” She tapped a few keys on her keyboard and then looked up. “You’re in luck—her next session just canceled. She can see you in about ten minutes if that works?”
Heather nodded quickly, relief washing over her. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”
She sat on the plush couch in the waiting room, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her thoughts buzzed as she tried to figure out where even to begin.
Brenda called her back ten minutes later, and Heather entered the familiar office. Lily stood near the window, watering a small plant on her desk. She turned and smiled warmly when she saw Heather.
“Heather,” Lily said, setting the watering can aside. “What a nice surprise. Come in, have a seat.”
She sat in the chair across from Lily, her coat still clutched in her hands. The office was as cozy as ever, with its soft lighting, shelves full of books, and a faintly humming space heater in the corner.
Lily sat cross-legged in her plush armchair, notebook resting in her lap. “I can tell something’s on your mind,” she said gently. “Want to talk about it?”
Heather hesitated, staring down at the fabric of her coat. She wasn’t sure why she was nervous—Lily already knew most of it. She knew about her father, about the drinking, about the tangled mess of emotions she still hadn’t fullyprocessed.
“My dad’s lawyer gave me an envelope after the funeral,” she said slowly. “It has my name on it, and it’s supposed to be important. But I haven’t opened it yet. I can’t.”
