Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
I slouch in my chair, resting my head on my hand as I stare out the window of Dr. Beckett’s office. There’s nothing to see outside, other than the side of the next building, but I’d rather focus on that than listen to Dr. Beckett’s questions.
Mom started dragging me here a couple of weeks ago, but I’m not in the mood to spill my guts to a complete stranger.
Our hour is almost up, and I’ve hardly said a word. If I respond at all, it’s with a shrug or a headshake. It’s the same language I used all weekend long with Mom.
“Your mom mentioned you applied to a school in New York. Have you ever been before?” she asks.
I applied to as many colleges on the other coast as I could. As soon as I graduate, I want to be as far away from all of my problems as possible. It’s a fresh start where I won’t have to think about my past.
I check the time on my phone, and then I stand, patting my legs. “It looks like the session is over.” I hold my hand up to give a half-hearted wave as I turn my back to Dr. Beckett and walk out of the room.
Mom is sitting on the bench in the hallway but jumps up when she sees me. Her pink smile is bright. “How did it go?”
I look at my feet and raise my eyebrows. “Oh, it went.”
She pats my shoulder. “Just wait here a second.” Then, she shuffles past me, balancing her overfilled purse, into Dr. Beckett’s office.
I let my back fall against the wall, looking at my phone again.
Mom tries to whisper, but with the door wide open and her struggle with volume control, I hear every word.
“Why hasn’t there been any progress?” she asks.
I can hear the hesitation in Dr. Beckett’s response. She’s trying to gauge how to respond to my overzealous mother. “Becca has to want to heal. It’s not something that you or I can force.”
“I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried everything, and nothing’s working.”
I roll my eyes. Mom has tried everything. She’s been everything from overly attentive and coddling to frustrated and yelling when I don’t respond the way she wants. There’s hardly ever anything in between.
“Do you want my honest advice?” Dr. Beckett asks.
“Yes. Why do you think I’m paying you?”
“Your whole family just went through something very traumatic. Each of you is learning to cope with the loss and is each experiencing the stages of grief differently. Becca isn’t ready to talk about it yet, and until she is, these visits aren’t going to be very productive.
She’s still processing losing her brother, so instead of trying to force her back to her normal self, give her some time.
Look for ways that you can be understanding toward the way she’s feeling.
If you are, she may be more willing to open up to you. ”
I chuckle, knowing how Mom is about to react.
“I’ve been nothing but understanding,” Mom says.
“What I’m hearing is that you aren’t very good at your job.
We won’t be making any further appointments with you.
” Flustered, she rushes out of the room with her cheeks brighter than her lipstick.
She takes my arm and pulls me with her down the hallway.
“I’m going to find you another therapist.”
I smile softly as she leads me away because I know that I won’t have to come back here anymore.
But my smile doesn’t last because I also know that, as soon as we get home, she’ll start reading online reviews of local therapists.
She’s sorely mistaken if she thinks she can find a therapist I’ll actually talk to.
No amount of talking will ever change the fact that my brother is dead, so what’s the point?
There isn’t one.
The entire way home, I listen to music through my headphones.
My headphones are almost an extension of me.
I don’t go anywhere without them because I never know when noises will become overwhelming.
Sometimes, I wear them without even listening to music.
They ward off anyone that might want to strike up a conversation.
They’re practically a “do not disturb” sign.
I keep my eyes closed and don’t open them until the car stops in front of our house.
I focus on my tennis shoes against the pavement and walk on autopilot toward the door. Just a couple more steps, and I can be alone.
A tap on my shoulder causes me to skid to a stop. I spin around.
Caleb stands there with another homework packet. He’s talking, but I can’t hear him. I pull my headphones off, letting them rest on my neck.
“You’ll like the math assignment from today,” he says.
“Why?” I mumble, snatching the packet.
“Because it drained my soul.”
“And yet, you’re still here.”
He makes a face.
Mom appears around the other side of the car with the bag of groceries she picked up after leaving Dr. Beckett’s office. “Caleb, how are you?”
I cringe.
“Pretty good. Oh, I’ll carry that inside for you,” he says, holding out his hands.
“Thank you,” Mom says, handing him the bag. “I swear you grow another inch every time I see you.”
He laughs. “My mom says the same thing.”
“How is your mom? I hardly see her.”
“She’s pretty busy with work,” Caleb says.
Mom nods. “Well, we should have you guys over for dinner sometime soon.”
“I’m sure she’d love that.”
Mrs. Park is one of the hardest working people I know. Ever since her husband died, she’s worked two jobs. She’s a realtor but also works at a department store most evenings.
That’s why I’m surprised to see her car in the driveway next door.
Caleb hurries ahead, and I follow him. He slips off his shoes and carries the groceries to the kitchen.
Still wearing my sneakers, I take one step up the stairs.
Mom grips the fabric of my jacket, tugging me back down. “Not so fast. We have a guest.”
I raise an eyebrow. “No, we don’t. It’s just Caleb.”
She pushes me a foot closer to the living room. “You need to get out of your room and spend time with kids your own age.”
I bury my heels into the floor, squirming to get away. “I don’t want to.”
She pushes harder. “Five minutes. Otherwise, I’ll turn off the Wi-Fi.”
My face falls.
I’ve lost. Playing the Wi-Fi card is low, but she knows it’s my only weakness right now. Without it, how am I supposed to watch my movies or TV shows? Sure, there are the random DVDs we have in the living room collecting dust, but I don’t have a way to watch them in my room.
“You can help put the groceries away while you’re in there,” Mom says.
I shake Mom off with a fierce glare as I walk past the couch and into the kitchen.
She grins optimistically in return, waving me on.
Caleb is already taking things out of the bag and setting them on the counter. He smiles at me as I walk up to him.
I don’t know what to do with my hands. They’re awkward, no matter how I position them.
He’s holding a box of cereal.
I reach for it. “I can put that away.”
He tosses it to me, and it grazes my fingers, fumbling in the air. I catch it seconds before it crashes to the ground. His mouth opens as if he’s about to say something funny.
“No comment,” I say, shoving the box into the cupboard.
“But I have such a good one.”
“I’m sure.” I grab the pack of cherry soda, taking a few to set in the fridge for later—they’re my beverage of choice, and I prefer to have some cold at all times. It’s way better than pouring it into a cup with ice cubes. The ice is always too cold and makes my teeth hurt.
Caleb takes the eggs and hands them to me as soon as I set the cans on the fridge shelf. “There’s a group going bowling tonight. Are you going?”
I turn my head slowly and narrow my eyes. “In all of your seventeen years of life, have you ever seen me pick up a bowling ball? No.”
He shrugs. “I think you’d be good at it. You have a knack for knocking things over. Just look at what you did to me yesterday.”
My jaw drops, and I jump closer, covering his mouth with my palm.
“Be quiet,” I say, scanning the living room for Mom.
Thankfully, she isn’t in sight. When the horrifying realization that my hand hasn’t moved hits me, I flinch away from Caleb.
“Don’t joke like that. It’s not funny. I don’t need my mom playing matchmaker. ”
He leans against the counter. His head tilts to the side. “What’s wrong with that? Don’t think you could handle all this?” He gestures to himself.
I close the fridge door. “Trust me. I’m good.”
“Your loss.”
I suck in a breath. “You’re right. I’m devastated.”
He laughs, taking an apple out of the bag and biting into it. “Whatever you say, Bec.”
“Stop calling me that. You know I hate that nickname.”
He bites at his smile. “I would, but it’s a little too perfect.”
A knock at the door redirects our attention.
“Mom, someone’s at the door,” I yell.
There’s no reply.
I groan as I set off toward the door, leaving Caleb behind. I open it to find Mrs. Park staring back at me with a grin. Her dark hair is gathered in a braid, and in her hands is a jar filled to the brim with red-tinted cabbage.
“Hi,” I say.
She holds out the jar to me. “I promised your mom I’d bring her some kimchi the next time I made it.”
I take the jar, clutching it to my chest. “Thanks. I’ll make sure to let her know.”
“Eomma?” Caleb says behind me.
Her gaze drifts to him. “I thought you were home studying?”
He blushes, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I just brought Bec her homework.”
“Ah,” she says with an annoyed glint in her eye.
It’s no secret she blames me for getting Caleb in trouble throughout the years. She swears he’s the most well-behaved boy until he steps onto my radar.
“Anne, is that what I think it is?” Mom says, appearing out of who knows where.
I take a step back, feeling claustrophobic from being caught in the center of everyone. I want to go upstairs.
Mrs. Park smiles. “Of course.”
Mom wraps her into a hug. “Thank you. I know you’re busy, so I really appreciate you taking the time to do this.”
“Oh, don’t mention it. I’m always happy to share.” She stares at Caleb again. “Ready to go?”
“I don’t have that much homework—”