Page 41 of Fortunate Misfortune
Me too, Mallory. I had fun too.
I step onto the curb to keep my toes safe and wave. “Good night, Eddie.”
“Save some of that popcorn for Cade and make those edits tonight. There’s no way you’ll wake up before class tomorrow morning to get them done.”
Dim tail lights disappear into the darkness, and she’s gone.
But only in the physical sense. The smell of vanilla and coconut burn stronger than the candle in the living room. The house even feels a bit brighter, as if the color she exudes has merged itself onto the walls.
Mallory is lingering.
Chapter Fourteen
“Good morning, Mallory. Howare you feeling today?”
I roll my neck, avoiding the all-knowing eyes of my counselor. “Like shit, but who cares about me. How are you, Sharon?”
Bright purple lips purse as she settles into her seat across from me. Her lipstick matches everything else in the office. The purple lamp in the corner fills the room with lavender light. My socked feet pull at the violet, fuzzy rug. Even her books are varying shades of purple.
“I care, and I’m doing well. Now, why don’t you tell me why you feel like shit?”
I rub my eyes. “I hate spring.”
Following my unpopular opinion are four harsh sneezes that make my eyes water. This stupid pollen-induced sinus headache assaulting me doesn’t help.
Sharon hands over a, no surprise here, purple tissue box.
To be honest, I have Kenneth to thank for being here. Every time I find myself perched on Sharon’s couch, I send up a silent thanks. Since the parking lot incident two weeks ago, I’ve had three counseling sessions.
“March is terrible for people like you, but is pollen the real reason you look like you haven’t slept in ten days?”
I look down at my stained T-shirt and mismatched socks that remind me I have no room to fight back. “Can’t a girl look terrible without being persecuted?”
“Of course they can, but you know I’ll always give you crap. Want to talk about it?”
Snuggling my knees into my chest, I sigh. “Can I have the wheel?”
Her chair creaks as she leans up to grab my favorite tool from the wall, and she hands over the colorful emotion wheel. “Let’s start with the core options. Which of these resonates most with you right now?”
Happiness, sadness, disgust, fear, surprise, and anger. I point at the word anger.
“Okay. What in that section best describes what you’re feeling?”
I take a moment and toss around each word in my head, carefully selecting the one most accurate at this moment.
She follows my finger. “Insulted. What’s making you feel insulted?”
I lean back, pulling a plum pillow with gold tassels against me. “I know I’m not stupid. I work hard every day to prove that I’m not stupid, but no matter what I do, I end up feeling stupid. Does that make sense?” Sharon nods at my nonsensical rambling, so I continue. “That’s how I feel when I talk to my mom. She spent the ten minutes of freedom I had yesterday going over my blood sugar levels with me, mom-splaining my own care plan! Ruined my whole Tuesday. She acts like I’m incapable of caring for myself.”
Sharon scribbles something on her notepad. “Do you think you’re capable of caring for yourself?”
I hold tight to Bex’s words that this journey is a roller coaster. “Yes, but I don’t know if I’ll ever truly feel great about it because it’ll never be perfect.”
“You know how I feel about that word in this room, ma’am.”
“I know,” I say, mimicking her counselor tone. “I’m working on it.”
“Which is growth. How did you respond to your mom when she,” Sharon checks the notepad, “mom-splained your care plan?”
