Chapter 72
HARLOW
Therapy is a bitch.
I equal parts hate and love it.
I hate it because it exposes my deepest insecurities and the fears I’ve buried way down, and I love it for those same reasons, because it makes me confront the things I’ve been avoiding head on.
Drying my tears with a tissue, I lean my car seat back. I need a moment to gather myself before I pull away.
Today was particularly draining. I talked about how much I struggled after Roe was born. I didn’t feel like being a mother came natural to me, and it was incredibly frustrating.
But Dr. Michaels, Spencer’s therapist, is helping me see things in a new light.
Reminding me that I was young and postpartum depression is not the fault of anyone who deals with it.
Still, I’ve always blamed myself for it.
Worried that part of the reason Roe cried so much as a baby is because she subconsciously felt that I wasn’t good enough.
A knock on my window startles me and I let out a yelp. I peek to my left and find Spencer outside my window.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, bringing my seat up again and roll down the window. “What are you doing here?”
“Dr. Michaels was my therapist first,” he reminds me. “I was about to go in and saw your car.” His eyes narrow on me and I’m sure my face is pink and blotchy from crying. “Are you okay?”
“Just dandy,” I reply with a thumb’s up. “It was a rough session.” It’s only my third time seeing the doctor, but it’s been surprisingly easy to open up to him.
“I’m sorry.” His lips turn down in a frown. “Is it helping?”
I appreciate the fact that he hasn’t bugged me about therapy beyond setting up my first appointment.
“I think so,” I reply, cranking my AC up. “I still feel like a worthless piece of shit, but we’re getting there.”
He cocks his head to the side. “I hate that you think that way about yourself.”
“It’s the truth,” I say. “Someone halfway decent wouldn’t have cheated on their fiancé a day after he proposed.”
He flinches. “There’s a lot that’s complicated about our relationship.”
“That’s true,” I agree.
“I better head in, but I just wanted to say hi since I saw you.”
I look at the clock and groan. “I have to get to work.”
He nods in understanding. “I’ll see you tomorrow to pick up Roe.”
“Yep. See you then.”
He walks away and I roll up the window. After laying all my emotions out there with Dr. Michaels, work is the last place I want to be, but I need money, so I have to suck it up.
Luckily for me, my shift goes by quickly and after picking up Monroe we stop off at the grocery store to pick up supplies for a movie night.
I let Monroe pick things out which means we end up with dinosaur chicken nuggets, barbeque chips, and cupcakes for our snacks.
“What movie are we going to watch?” she asks, bursting inside the apartment when I’ve barely unlocked the door. “I was thinking Coco.”
“Sounds like an excellent choice to me.”
I set the groceries down on the counter and go to work unpacking everything.
“We both need to shower first,” I tell her. “And get in our pajamas.”
“I hate showers,” she whines, letting out a dramatic groan.
“A bath then,” I reason, sticking the milk in the fridge.
“I hate that more.”
“Shower it is. Hop in and get it done. And I will check your hair so don’t even think about only getting it wet and calling it a day. Shampoo and then conditioner. You hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she sasses, holding one hand up and flapping it like a mouth. “I hear you.”
I should probably scold her for being sassy, but I like her to feel safe to say how she’s feeling—even if she’s being a bit naughty. I don’t want her to grow up and think she has to censor certain thoughts and feelings from me.
The shower turns on just as I’m pulling out the pan for the dinosaur nuggets.
Popping them in the oven, I finish putting the rest of the groceries away before I go to check on Roe and make sure she washes her hair like she’s supposed to and gets all the shampoo and conditioner rinsed out.
When she finishes, I help her brush out her hair and then she runs off to pick out her pajamas.
After my own quick shower, I take the dinosaur nuggets out of the oven and plate some up for each of us with the barbeque chips. Is it the healthiest dinner? No. But this is a movie night treat, and these are the things she wanted to eat.
We settle on the couch with our food and drinks, and I start the movie.
The opening credits are almost done when she asks, “Does Jameson not like me anymore?”
That question absolutely guts me. I explained to her after it happened that Jameson and I had decided not to be together anymore and that meant she wouldn’t see him, but she’s young and I didn’t expect her to fully understand.
As curious as she is, I’m a little surprised it’s taken her this long to ask.
“Of course, he still likes you.”
She dips a nugget in ketchup. “I didn’t break up with him. I still want to be friends with him. I miss him.”
Fuck.
How do kids always know the exact thing to say to stab you in the heart?
“I’m sorry, sweetie, but when people end relationships, you don’t usually see them after that.”
“I understand,” she says in a huff. “But I didn’t ask him to stop being my friend like you did.”
Explaining this in a way for her to understand is harder than I thought. “Yeah, but Jameson was my boyfriend and not just my friend. That complicates things.”
“Whatever,” she says in a huff. “I don’t think it’s fair.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” I brush her damp hair off her shoulder. “I really am.”
She turns watery eyes to me. “He doesn’t hate me, does he? Is it because I didn’t say goodbye?”
“Aw, Roe.”
I’m suddenly wishing this is something I’d brought up in therapy, but since she hadn’t questioned things up until now, it hasn’t been something I’ve dwelled on.
Taking her chin in my hands, I tell her, “There’s no world in which Jae would ever hate you. Do you hear me? You are a wonderful, kind, smart, and amazing girl.”
“Will you text him and tell him I miss him and I’m sorry I didn’t say bye?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I haven’t had any conversations with him since he packed up his stuff and left and certainly didn’t plan on it.
I feel guilty enough over how things ended as it is without talking to him and dredging everything up.
But I can’t deny Monroe this request. Frankly, it was wrong of me to assume she’d be okay with him being cut so wholly from her life when he’s been such a huge part of it for the last two years.
“I’ll text him for you.”
Her eyes widen with excitement. “Right now?”
The lone dinosaur chicken nugget I ate sits heavy in my stomach. “Yeah, sure.”
Monroe grabs my phone off the couch cushions and hands it to me. “Here you go. Do it now.”
I set my plate down and type out a message, reading over it five or more times before I’m brave enough to click send.
Me: I know this message is coming out of the blue and I’m not expecting you to reply, but Monroe was telling me how much she misses you and she’s worried you hate her because she didn’t get to say goodbye.
I told her there’s no way you could ever hate her, but I think she’d feel better hearing it from you.
I truly expect no response for him, figuring he has my number blocked, but a few minutes later my phone rings and a selfie of the two of us together in his car fills the screen.
I hate that I debate on answering it, but I do, because I’m terrified what hearing his voice might do to my well-being. But I can’t do that to Roe.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Can I talk to her?”
He doesn’t sound angry, he sounds … normal. Like himself. And somehow, I think that’s worse, because he sounds so familiar. Like my favorite blanket I like to cozy up with.
“Roe, it’s for you.” I hold the phone out for her.
She takes it from me, pressing to her ear. “Jae?” she asks, her eyes widening when he speaks. “You’re not mad at me, are you? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you bye. I didn’t know I wouldn’t see you again.”
The deep rumble of his voice reaches my ears, but I can’t make out the words.
“I miss you, too,” she says. “Can we hang out?” She listens to whatever he’s saying.
“That’s what my mom said, but that doesn’t make any sense to me, because I didn’t tell you I wanted to stop being friends.
” She pauses, listening again. “Oh. But you’re not mad at me, right?
” He says something else to her. “Okay. I love you, too, Jae. Bye.”
She hangs up the phone and puts it back on the couch.
“Are you glad you got to talk to him?” I ask her.
“Yeah. I feel better now.”
I laugh softly. I love how simple and easy things are for kids. I’m glad she could get some clarity, though, since I hadn’t realized how bothered she was by the whole thing.
I find myself having trouble watching the movie as our evening goes on.
My eyes continue to drift to my phone, and I know, I fucking know, that I don’t deserve to talk to Jameson.
I know I’ve received the only closure I deserve.
But man, do I wish I could hear his voice one last time and tell him again how sorry I am.