Chapter 12
brOOKE
Iwas about to leave for my third counseling visit with Cheryl when Whit came in the front door, leaning down to ruffle Maple’s copper head when she bounded her way.
“Mail call,” her voice rang out. I looked up from my spot on the couch. I certainly wasn’t expecting anything, but I could see from the twinkle in Whit’s eye that something had come for me. She dropped an envelope in my lap.
“California?” I questioned her, taking in the return address. My heart gave a funny little flutter when I saw the name.
“I think you should open it,” she encouraged.
I unfolded several pages of scrawled handwriting and smoothed them out in front of me.
Dear Brooke,
I got your address from Whitney. I hope that’s okay.
I meant what I said on the phone—I miss you, and I miss our friendship.
Here’s hoping you’ll give me another chance.
I’m going to try to earn it by writing you this letter and updating you on the last five years of my life.
I hope you’ll read it, and maybe even respond.
If not, even though it’ll kill me, I promise I’ll leave you alone for good.
I’m turning 23 today, so here is a list of 20 updates on my life, followed by 3 questions I have for you. Here goes:
1. My 18th was my loneliest birthday–I’d just moved to California and moved into my dorm. My roommate Robert had never even seen The Goonies. Can you imagine?
2. The first time I ever got drunk was on a bottle of J?germeister. I spent the whole next day hugging porcelain. I stick to beer, now.
3. I still don’t like cake. Popsicles for life!
4. Grape is still the uncontested best flavor of jam. There’s this hipster brunch place near me that has like 18 different varieties of jellies and jams, and I’ve tried a few. Nothing beats grape.
5. I actually eat sushi now. I know you’ll be shocked that I’ve gotten over my fish aversion.
6. I have 1 tattoo.
7. One of the first things I learned when I moved here was how to surf. I still surf at least once a week.
8. I never graduated from college. I dropped out to become a firefighter. I’m sure you can guess why.
9. Every firefighter in my station has a nickname. One of my buddies is called Wreck, after this time he heroically used the Jaws of Life to save this woman from her car before it went over an embankment.
10. My apartment is tiny—like 400 square feet. I can walk to the ocean, though.
11. My mom’s kitchen is still full of roosters. - insert your favorite dirty joke here -
12. Dad still runs the hardware store in Birch Hollow. He’s been training my cousin Andrew as a store manager so he has more time to travel with my mom.
13. The zoo in San Diego is epic—you’d love the animals. I can spend all day there.
14. I know you always found my eye color intriguing, and I found out the official term for it: sectoral heterochromia. Feel free to add that to your Fun Facts Journal (assuming you still keep it).
15. I think I’m gonna grow my hair out again. Not feeling this short cut. Need to embrace my surfer aesthetic.
16. I’ve been to a few Padres games. Not sure if I’m ready to switch my Blue Jays allegiance. I know you’re in Boston, but please don’t tell me you’re a Sox fan now. I think I’d find that unforgivable.
17. My mom gave me a photo album for graduation with a bunch of childhood pics. You’re heavily featured, of course :)
18. My neighbor’s name is Val. She’s a tattoo artist and she has this hot pink mohawk. She’s awesome. Still not the best neighbor I’ve ever had, though.
19. I have a dog, an Aussie mix named Echo. I’m training him to be a Search-and-Rescue dog.
20. My 8th birthday was the best birthday of my life.
Okay, now for the questions—
1. I noticed you didn’t order a drink at the reunion. Is that a lifestyle choice on your part? Or just didn’t feel like drinking that day?
2. Do you have any pets?
3. What made you decide to become a nurse?
You know I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, so I’ll make you a deal—if you respond to this letter, I’ll try another Jane Austen movie. NOT Mr. Darcy again. He’s kind of a dick (sorry, not sorry).
Love,
Cade
I could feel Whit’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t help the stupid grin that split my face as I read down the list. I beamed harder than I had in weeks.
I barked out a laugh at the roosters—only Cade would remember my embarrassing attempt at a dirty sense of humor regarding his mom’s choice of kitchen decor.
I met Whit’s eyes, knowing she’d played at least a small part in this. “Thank you,” I whispered.
I slid the letter in my crossbody bag, grabbed my keys, and drove to see Cheryl.
“How’s your week been?” Cheryl prompted as I tucked one foot underneath myself and settled onto the couch.
“Better,” I began honestly.
Cheryl consulted her notes. “Looks like last time we talked a little bit about your fiancé, Brock. You mentioned that you felt like you were having trouble being your full, unfiltered self with him. Did you give any more thought to why that is?”
“I did, yeah. I look at Brock and he’s just really put together.
Every part of his persona. It’s kind of intimidating sometimes.
Even his friends and his sister are that way.
I think I’m nervous to put my flaws out there, like maybe he won’t want me if he sees who I truly am.
He knows about my diagnosis, but we don’t really discuss how it affects my day-to-day.
It’s like . . . I’ve more or less made my peace with how different my life is going to be from here on out.
But also . . . I don’t want to burden anyone else with that. It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Isn’t that what partners are for, though—to share our load?” Cheryl countered.
“Yeah, I guess so. I don’t really know why I feel so uncomfortable talking to Brock about my limitations or how I’m feeling. It’s on me, really—it’s like with Brock, I’m in this happy little bubble. I put on my best face, and I set my other worries aside for a night.”
“But is that really happiness?” she challenged. “And is that sustainable, long-term?”
“Not really, no.”
I slumped, feeling a bit defeated, as I always did when I felt like I wasn’t being the “perfect” counseling student.
“A significant part of our adolescence, teens, and twenties is about finding our identity. Figuring out how we fit into the world, what mold we fill. You say you have to seem put-together for Brock. Have you always struggled to feel like you fit in, or felt like you had to work to meet the expectations of others?”
Cheryl really wasn’t holding back with her questions this time.
I gathered my resolve. Honesty, I reminded myself. That’s what this is all about.
“Yes. I think sometimes I . . . made myself small for my parents. I didn’t want to add any stress to their plates. They were so busy already. I focused on getting good grades, being an athlete, that kind of thing. The model daughter.”
She jotted a note.
“And what about your friend group as a child?”
“I grew up with a group of neighborhood boys. I was the only girl. There wasn’t anyone to play dolls with or have tea parties with, even though I liked those kinds of things.
So I adapted . . . I kind of took on their interests, learned to play different sports and laugh at their humor, things like that.
There was this one boy—Jace—who quite literally sidelined me.
He claimed as a girl, I needed to stand on the sidelines and cheer while the boys played sports.
I stood up for myself for the most part, but yeah, I think some of those early events might’ve damaged my self-esteem.
Made me feel like I had something to prove. ”
“That’s really great that you can reflect on that, Brooke,” Cheryl encouraged. “Let’s continue thinking this through together. Let’s talk about college. What kind of changes did you make when you moved away from home?”
“That was really my time to reinvent myself, but—I might’ve gone too far the other way. Joined a sorority, got really into makeup and hair and things like that. It was all sort of a performance. I’m not sure it was really me.”
Cheryl nodded sagely.
“Would you say your relationship with Brock is a bit of a performance?”
Oof. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and whispered a hesitant, “Yes.”
“And do you try to make yourself small for him as well? Try not to inconvenience him? Change your habits or routines to fit with his?”
I nodded. I wondered if my cheeks were burning with shame.
“I want to go back to something we talked about a couple weeks ago, if that’s alright with you.”
She flipped back a couple pages in her notepad. She met my eyes and saw my silent assent.
“We talked about your parents not fighting in front of you and your brother. How surprised you were by their divorce.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, wondering where she was going with this.
“It sounds like your parents wanted to shield you and your brother from their problems. I think they meant well in doing so, but maybe were a bit misguided. You see, you didn’t grow up seeing arguments, but your parents also weren’t modeling how to resolve conflicts.
I want you to consider if that could play a role in why you avoid conflict with your fiancé. ”
I gave a slow nod, mentally digesting this new suggestion.
Cheryl continued. “Have you ever had anyone outside your family that you had conflicts with? And worked through them?”
I thought for a moment. “Whit and I don’t really butt heads. We are kind of on the same wavelength about most things. But I guess . . . Cade.”
“Cade?” She wrote the name on her pad.
“My childhood neighbor and best friend. We were friends a long time—ten years. We lived right next door until I was about 16, and we went to school together from 3rd through 12th grades.”
“I see. And is he still in your life?” she queried.
“I saw him recently, at our five-year reunion. And he just wrote me a letter.” I glanced toward my bag, eyes burning a hole in it as if I could see the letter through it.
“What kinds of conflicts did you and Cade have?”