Chapter 15 Mile Fifteen
MILE FIFTEEN
TRUST
“Why can’t I trust him?” I whine, falling back against the cushy couch in Dr. Nor’s office.
It’s our last session of the year. Tomorrow, I head to Solvang with Anker and Garrett for Christmas before I head off with Kayla and Catherine for a ladies’ trip to the Bay Area. My sessions are on hiatus until after the new year.
“Why do you think you don’t trust him?” she says in her always calm tone.
Pouting, I cross my arms over my chest. “Don’t doctor me. Can you just tell me what the issue is?”
“Me telling you the answers isn’t how this works.”
“Can’t we make an exception? It could be my Christmas gift from you?” I grab one of the pillows from the couch and hug it to my chest.
“Too late. I already gave you homemade fig thumbprint cookies,” she quips. “You may think you want me to give you the answers, but you know that doesn’t help you in the long run. Therapy is about you using the tools we work on to figure your own shit out. I’m just your guide.”
Guide? I roll my lips together, taking in that word. I swirl it around inside me like newly-poured wine, debating on how it tastes.
She’s right, of course. Damn me for having a smart, capable therapist. Dr. Nor is my guide to figure things out. Just as Garrett is my guide to run a marathon. A marathon that I’m using to… Figure things out, I release a hard breath.
“Garrett’s my guide, too.”
“Mmhmm…” she says, a smug smile evident in her cheekiness. “And do you trust Garrett?”
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” I repeat, sitting up straight. “There’s no reason not to trust him. He’s never done anything that warrants distrust.”
“But yet your actions indicate that you don’t… Not really. You trusted him when you were in a familiar place. A place where you knew you didn’t truly need him. I’d imagine anywhere on campus, you could figure out how to keep yourself safe, correct?”
“Yes.” I pull at the pillow’s fringe.
“But the moment you were somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere you didn’t have a plan B for, you stopped trusting him.” She clicks her pen. “Or you stopped trusting yourself.”
It’s like a one-two punch to my heart. Trust. In Garrett. In myself. It knots inside me, making it difficult to pull apart. No matter how much I know I trust Garrett, it’s clear that I am not able to.
“What’s the first incident that comes to mind of the last time you were in an unfamiliar situation, and had to trust someone?” She tilts her head.
“Undergrad.” I shift in my seat.
“The incident at the fraternity house?”
“Yeah…” I say, emotion thickens my throat.
“What feelings did you have that night?”
“Scared. Stupid. Worthless.”
It aches to say those words. Memories of that night swirl around me.
Music so loud that it vibrated through me.
The air thick with the stench of alcohol and too many bodies pressed together dancing, or around tables playing beer pong.
Back pressed tight against the wall, its coolness anchoring me, I stood alone, straining for any familiar voice. For anyone to rescue me.
“What other times did you have those feelings after having to trust someone?”
“Chase. Miles.”
“And are those the same feelings you had with Garrett last night?”
“Sort of.” A furrow dips my brow. “But it’s not the same.”
“Your body may not know that.” She softens her posture, painting the impression of a tender gaze locked on me. “Trauma imprints itself, so that the body remembers and can keep itself safe. Even in situations that aren’t unsafe. Your body doesn’t know the difference.”
“But how do I teach it to know the difference?” I question.
“You can’t. We can’t control how our body reacts. We can only recognize it and deal with it by learning what presents real danger versus perceived… Who are the real threats and who are not.”
“And how do I do that?”
“Trust.” Her wry expression is audible. “And before you give me a quippy response, I’ll give you some homework to help. Step one is recognizing those feelings and the way your body reacts. Let’s start there.”
Later, as I sit at my desk finishing up the day, I mull over Dr. Nor’s assignment. Garrett. Miles. Chace. Everett. High school and college friends. Interactions with each play like a grainy motion picture in my head.
A muffled ping pulls my attention from my thoughts.
With a heaved breath, I pull open my desk drawer and grab my mobile.
I still keep it tucked away so it doesn’t distract me while working, but I now leave the sound on if I’m not in a meeting or with students.
Opening the message app, my mouth ticks up at my phone’s robotic voice reading out a message from Garrett that he’s here.
“So, you can check your phone.” Garrett’s low bass steals into the room.
I tilt my head toward the entryway to my office space. “Did you just send that to test me?”
He says nothing.
“That’s so creepy, even for you, Stalker Darcy.”
“In truth”—he moves fully into the space—“I did it to mess with you. You looked all too serious for a woman about to go on a two-week vacation. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah… I’m fine.” With a shrug, I start to gather my things.
He stops me, his hand resting on my upper arm. “You sure?”
“Just ready for a break.” I force a smile. “Like you said, I’m a woman about to be on vacation for two weeks.”
“Okay.” His murmur sounds as unconvinced as I am.
“Let’s head out.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and grab my cane.
“Are you sure you’re okay? I know last night didn’t end like we thought.” He places his hand on my shoulder, stopping my steps.
“Yeah… It’s good, though. Just a long week.” I offer a weak smile. “Nothing that butt-warmers and your off-key singing of Christmas carols can’t fix. Remember, it’s my turn to pick the music.”
I’m fine, but I’m not. And I don’t want to talk about it. Wednesday night rattled me, and my session with Dr. Nor only brought more questions. I worry I’m wasting his time, and mine. It’s only been six weeks, but we’ve already invested so much energy into this. What if I can’t push past this?
“I have something for you,” Garrett says, opening his passenger door.
“You do?” My brows knit.
He lifts a small gift bag from the passenger seat and hands it to me. “It’s your Christmas present.”
I take it, running my fingers along the thin tissue paper poking out of the bag. “Why not wait until Solvang to give this to me?” Face scrunched, I tip my head up to him.
He rubs his nape. “I’m not coming.”
“But… You can’t miss Christmas?” My words come out rushed and strangled.
For the last four years, he’s joined us for the holidays.
He’ll hide in the corner while my uncles and Dad argue about who gets to carve the turkey each Thanksgiving.
He doesn’t fight my mom when she makes him help decorate cookies on Christmas Eve, even though he’s worse than me at frosting them.
And he sneaks out of the house with Anker and I during our family’s Christmas Eve party to drink gingerbread hot chocolate from Mom’s nutcracker-shaped thermos as we stroll along Solvang’s main drag, taking in the Christmas lights.
It hurts to think about him not being there. To imagine him here, alone on Christmas. Unless….
“Did you decide to fly to Chicago to see your parents for Christmas?” My tone brightens at that idea.
“No… One of our doctors got the flu, so I’m staying back for coverage.”
“But you’ll miss Christmas.”
“You know Christmas happens everywhere. Even in Seal Beach,” he says wryly.
“Yeah, but you won’t be with me…” I clear my throat. “…I mean you won’t be with Anker and me. With us… We’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too… I’m sorry,” he says softly.
“No…” I cringe. “I’m sorry. I’m being bratty. The hospital needs you, and knowing you, you’re doing this so that none of the other doctors sacrifice time with their families.”
He says nothing.
“Just as I thought.” Humor underscores my tut.
“Still sorry that I won’t be there,” he says.
“Me too, but I understand.” I offer a cheeky grin. “Hopefully, this gift makes up for it.”
“Hopefully.” His chuckle is warm. “Here. Let me take that so you can open it?” His hands swipe over mine, wrapped around my cane. His palm’s warmth makes it so easy for me to let go and give him the cane.
If only I could have done that last night. Just lean into my body’s normal reaction to Garrett, like a cozy sensation of sliding beneath blankets fresh out of the dryer. The warmth and fresh scent ensconcing you in safety.
“Thanks.” I release the cane to him.
As he folds my cane and places it at the base of the passenger seat, I dig into the bag and find a small envelope.
Opening it, a large smile takes over my entire face.
It’s a card, which is normally difficult for me since I can’t read them without a video magnifier.
This one, though, is braille. I run my fingertips across the Merry Christmas printed in raised dots above a tactile shape of a Christmas tree on the front of the card.
Inside is a personalized message that causes me to snort.
“May the season be bright and your butt be warm?”
“It felt fitting.” A boyish grin plays in his timbre. It’s sweet and endearing coming from this man who oozes virile confidence.
“This is adorable.”
“I found a woman online who makes tactile and braille items. She even has sweatshirts and tote bags. She worked with me to customize the card,” he says, almost bashful.
“This is so sweet,” I whisper, emotion thick in my throat.
I can’t think of the last time someone got me a braille card.
Anker used to do those recorded audio message cards when we were teenagers but stopped as we got older.
Braille cards aren’t readily available in the greeting card aisle, so it’s not unexpected not to get them.
Most people just don’t give me cards, or if they do, they have to read it to me, or I take it home to look at it under my CCTV.
Slipping the card back into the bag, I pull out a pair of gloves. I run my fingers over their soft fabric.