Page 175 of Anything Necessary for Her
She was a black woman about my mother’s same age, but she looked younger due to the absence of hard drinking, I was sure.
“She know already,” I replied, still trying to get used to this therapy shit.
This was only the second session, and last time, I just sat and listened to my mama say most of the same shit she’d told me during our heart to heart that one morning.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about therapy simply because I’d been this way for so fucking long. I never talked about how I felt aboutsome shit until I met Banks, but even then, a nigga only felt safe enough to do so with her.
“Do you?” Dr. Jackson veered her attention to my mama.
“I know he doesn’t like it,” Whitney deduced, simplifying the hell out of everything.
“I think it’s a little more than that. Am I correct, Low?” Dr. Jackson pushed her glasses upward.
“Definitely.” I chuckled mirthlessly.
“So, tell her if you can.”
I felt my mama shift to face me, but I couldn’t give her any eye contact just yet.
“You turn into a different person when you drink, and you say a lot of shit that I would—wouldn’t accept usually.” I edited my words, not wanting to let Dr. Jackson in on the fact that I’d put a bullet in a nigga for bumping into me and not apologizing before. “Before I used to accept it and press on, but now shit has changed. Now I’m getting to a point where I don’t want you around me or Wyatt and Waverley if you gon’ be abusive physically and verbally.”
I finally looked my mama in the eyes, and she nodded, eyes misted over.
“Has something changed in your life that made you feel this way? Like you can no longer accept her behavior?”
I pondered for a minute, though I already knew the answer. Banks. Everything led back to her. She was injected into a nigga at this point. That was why I saw a lot of shit through a new lens. I felt like one of the blind men Jesus had blessed with vision.
“My fiancée.” I said two words I never thought I would. The doctor smiled at this confession. “She made me realize my worth, in a sense, and ever since then, I realize that a lot of shit Whitney does is unacceptable.”
Dr. Jackson bobbed her head as she wrote down some notes.
“How does that make you feel, Whitney? Knowing your son is at his wits’ end?”
“Terrible, but also good yet scary. I hate that I’ve taken it this far, but at the same time, I love seeing him realize he’s a person worthy of respect. Same time, I’m afraid I will relapse.”
At the moment, Whitney was in rehab, only coming out to attend these sessions and taking her ass right back. I’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to revert to her old ways, but it hadn’t happened yet.
“Well, if you think you will, you probably will. Think positively, Whitney. Low told me you have been doing a great job and staying dedicated to rehab. Stay until you feel like you can do it on your own, and eventually, you’ll be able to.”
“He said that?” Whitney looked my way.
“He did.”
“I also said if you keep it up, you can be at my wedding. Then more if you keep your shit together,” I said.
She smiled softly in response before Dr. Jackson’s voice pulled her attention from me.
The session was over half an hour later, and I couldn’t have been more thankful. I felt too exposed in that shit, and I could only hope I’d become more comfortable as we had more sessions. After my mama and I got better, we’d add Wyatt and Waverley, but for now, it was just us two.
“You remember when I said I stopped drinking because I was hoping to lure you guys’ fathers back in?” Whitney asked as we strolled toward my whip.
“I do.”
“I have a new goal now, and I think that’s why I’ve been doing so well.”
“I hope it ain’t no nigga.”
Chuckling subtly, she replied, “Depends what type of nigga.” She peered up at me, smirking. “But no, my new goal is to notonly be around my kids but to be there to witness you create your own family. Then to witness Wyatt’s and Waverley’s. I wanna be at the wedding. I want to be a grandmother and all of that.”
