Page 73 of Holiday Star
I drag in a ragged breath, my emotions spiraling into a dark place. “You were my safe space. My whole life, when Dad died and when Jax left, you were there for me. I need you again now, but I…I can’t do it like those other times.”
My own chest reverberates with her harsh sobs.
“Can you ever forgive me?” she cries. “I don’t want to lose you.”
My throat tightens at the thought of stepping away from Jenny. I’ve already lost so many people in my life. I can’t give her up too, not completely.
“You won’t,” I tell her. “Our friendship isn’t that fragile, but I have to be honest with you. I’m hurt, and it’ll take some time to get past that.”
I can barely make out her garbled, “Okay. I’m so sorry, Gwen.”
“I know you are.”
Struggling not to break down completely, I say good-bye and hang up. Once I’m off the phone, I kick myself for being such a fool. I should have known this would happen.
Caleb was too big a secret to keep.
44
The grief counselor tells me to call her Dr. Jill.
Her office is full of plants. They sit in a row on the windowsill, on the corners of her desk, even in the nooks and crannies of her bookshelves. She likes the leafy ones, with vinelike branches that trail and tumble down the sides of the pots.
I stare at them, the plants, rather than at her as I settle into the chair she offers across from her desk. This is my first appointment, and I’ve been anxious about it all day.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she says pleasantly. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here today?”
“Well,” I hesitate, my knee jiggling with nervous energy. “My dad died when I was in high school. Colon cancer. The rest of my family has moved on. My older brother is married with his own kids. My younger brother is going to community college. Even my mother has remarried. But for me, I’m stuck. Still sad and angry like I was when it happened nine years ago.”
“You mention being sad and angry.” She takes notes.
I wonder what she’s writing. It’s irrational, but I worry it’s something like “This woman is unhinged. A total lost cause.” Surely, that’s not it. Right? I’m not hopeless. Is that why Jax and Caleb left me? Because they sensed that I was broken? Damaged beyond repair?
Dr. Jill is still talking. “Most people would understand the sad part, but can you tell me a little more about why you’re angry?”
“Because it was so unfair,” I blurt out, the force of the words startling in the quiet office, where the only other sound is the hum of the heater. “He was only forty-five. He wasn’t supposed to get sick, definitely wasn’t supposed to die and leave us behind.”
My throat tightens, and I swallow around the lump growing there. “If the world is that cruel, to take him from me, how can I ever trust it? How can I ever believe that anything—life, love, happiness—will last? I’m pissed because his death took away my faith in the future.” My chest heaving, I cut myself off, feeling overly exposed, raw, and ragged. I hadn’t meant to reveal so much so quickly.
Her pen makes a rustling noise as she writes. “I see,” she says as she looks up from the page. “Do you feel like this cynicism about the future, your lack of trust in it, has affected other areas of your life?”
She had made me a cup of tea before we started the session. Chamomile. Supposed to be calming. I’m anything but calm, so I take a gulp, hoping it will soothe me.
“My relationship with my first boyfriend was in some ways a distraction from my grief,” I admit. “The whole time we were together, which was a long time, I kept expecting it to fail. Partly, I realize now in hindsight, because he was the wrong guy, but also because I couldn’t imagine anything lasting, not after Dad.”
“You mention that he was the wrong guy, so why did you stay?”
“I became risk-averse after Dad died. Set in my routines.”Serious, dependable, predictable, boring.“Back then, I didn’t fully realize that we weren’t a great fit. I was too busy clinging to him to take an honest look at our relationship. He represented stability to me at a time when I couldn’t take any more change. I almost married him.”
I take a deep breath. “More recently, I fell for a guy.” The flash of ocean eyes and hair like the sun whirs through my memory, making my heart speed. If she knows who I’m talking about, she doesn’t show it. I had double-checked that everything I tell her is confidential before I booked this appointment. The last thing I need is for the things I say in this room to end up in the newspapers.
“It all happened pretty fast. I believed he was the right man, but even with him, a part of me worried it wouldn’t work out. That nothing will stick to me. No one will stay. When he left, it just proved I was correct, and that makes me angry. Furious, really. That all my fears keep coming true.” My thumb rubs over the handle of the mug. The warmth of the tea seeps into my palms.
“Hmm,” she murmurs, taking her own small sip of tea. “I’m sensing some problematic thought processes. You’re making connections that might not exist. Your father’s death may have nothing to do with these failed relationships. After all, lots of people break up with their boyfriends, people who haven’t had a death in their family. The only way you would be correct is if you were subconsciously sabotaging these romances. Are you doing that?”
With my chin in my hand, I consider the question. “Maybe with the first boyfriend, but I don’t think I did with the second.”
“Okay. We can explore that in future sessions. I have some techniques I can teach you to help cope with these thoughts.” More writing. “When you have this sadness, anger, and doubt, what do you do to distract yourself or make yourself feel better?”
