Chapter Eight
Two
She wants to interview my dads.
Is she insane?
As soon as class was over, I had to get the hell away from that maddening girl. It’s already dangerous enough having to interact with her in class, having been forced to pair up with her.
But to bring her home?
To the same house she almost got instead of me?
Fuck no.
I’m low-key looking forward to talking to Tate today. Not that I’m anywhere near confessing this shit to him, but it’ll be nice to distract myself.
When I arrive, I’m somehow not surprised that his Jeep isn’t there. Within seconds, though, he whips into the spot beside my car. I climb out and make my way over to the driver’s side to assist.
“Oh, hey,” Tate says, thrusting two to-go coffee mugs my way. “Can you carry these?”
Chuckling, I take them from him and wait by the doors going into the building. Once he’s grabbed his bag and keys, he rushes over to me to open the door. I follow after him, hardly noticing the intense smell of paint because the scent of heavenly butterscotch billows from the small opening on one of the lids.
“Grab a seat,” Tate instructs. “And for the love of God, get some heat going in here.”
I find my usual seat—the thought oddly comforting—and set our cups down to fiddle with the fireplace. Once heat is blazing, I hand him his cup and bring my own to my nose so I can inhale it.
“I hope you love it,” Tate says, watching me eagerly. “Making people love coffee is kind of my thing. My future brother-in-law was totally against coffee, but I converted him.” He beams at me. “Go on. If this one isn’t right for you, I’ll find an even better one.”
I blow into the hole and then take a tentative sip. Delicious, rich butterscotch and smooth coffee dance along my taste buds. Like Tate did the day we met, I can’t help but do a little appreciative wiggle because it’s that good.
“I knew it!” Tate cheers, offering me a hand to slap. “I’m really good at this.”
I give him a high five and take another sip. This shit is amazing.
“Now that the important part is out of the way,” he says, grinning at me, “tell me how your week’s going.”
“I got hit by a car in the school parking lot.”
His eyes widen. “What? Is the Rover okay?”
“The Rover is fine,” I say with a grumble. “My shoulder…not so much.”
“Wait? Someone hit you with their car? How are you here and not at the hospital?”
“It was just a bump. Knocked me on my ass, though.”
Concern etches over his features. “You should have gotten it looked at. What if you injured yourself internally or something?”
“I really am fine.”
Tate’s eyes narrow. “Are you, though? That must have been terrifying. Even if you just got bruised or scraped up. Getting hit by a car isn’t a small thing.”
“It was just a dumb girl not paying attention.”
“The same girl who called your car a hunk of junk?” he asks, head tilting to the side.
I blink at him in shock. He said he was good at reading people and pressing issues, but damn. Am I really that transparent?
“Yeah. How’d you know that?”
“You got the same exact tortured expression as you did on Monday when mentioning her.”
I do?
Blinking several times, I wonder what else is clearly written on my face. Knowing my thoughts are visible on the outside has my heart hammering inside my chest. The last thing I need is anyone seeing inside my mind. It’s a clusterfuck of pain and disappointment.
“And now you’re afraid,” Tate says gently. “You don’t have to be. I’m here for you. This is a safe space to confide in.”
Absently, I take another butterscotch-flavored sip of my coffee, wondering what’s actually safe to say and what isn’t.
“This girl. What’s her name?”
“Golden.”
He laughs. “Strange name and most likely fake, but I’ll bite. What is it about Golden that you don’t like?”
Tension coils around me, making me stiffen. “She’s just a spoiled brat.”
He nods, pursing his lips together, waiting for me to continue. Rather than spilling my guts, I bite on my bottom lip, refusing to say more. Finally, he gets the message and exhales.
“From what I know of Golden so far, which isn’t much, she doesn’t appear to be a spoiled brat. Could she have been teasing you about the hunk of junk comment? I’m sure her hitting you today was an accident. If it wasn’t, I can refer you to a police officer who you can make a report to.”
A laugh barks out of me. “She didn’t do it on purpose.”
“That’s relieving,” he says gently. “There’s more to this story. Why don’t you like this girl, Two?”
Let me count thy ways, Therapist Tate.
“She’s my partner in class,” I grunt out, avoiding the real reason. “She thinks she’s perfect and snaps at me a lot. Now we’re stuck for an entire semester having to do work together. It’s stupid.”
Tate nods as though he agrees, which makes me feel marginally better. “Working with someone you don’t like has to be uncomfortable. Have you spoken with your professor to see if you could switch?”
“Pederson already made it known that we’re not able to switch. The only way out of this partnership is if she drops.”
“Why don’t you drop?”
“Because that class is something I’m passionate about. It’s an elective for her. She can literally take anything else and I’m sure we’d both be happier.”
Tate takes another sip of his coffee, thinking in silence. Then he lifts a brow. “Do you want my honest opinion?”
“No.”
His laughter is light and airy. “Too bad. I think you’re being a bit hard on her. You barely know her. Perhaps if you took the time to learn more about her, your feelings of dislike wouldn’t be so intense. It would certainly help make the rest of the semester go by more easily.”
“It’s not that easy…”
He leans forward as if he can draw the real reason out of me. “Why not?”
“Because.” I take another blissful sip of my coffee.
“I didn’t like my fiancé at first,” he reveals. “He slammed the door in my face and fired me. It was humiliating.”
“Sounds like a real dick.”
“Totally a dick that day,” he admits with a grin. “But I persevered. Behind his snappy, rude behavior, someone vulnerable hid deep inside him. That person behind the outward mask of his was enigmatic. I kept feeling drawn to learn more.”
“Trust me. I don’t want to know any more about Golden. What I know is already too much.”
He nods, giving me a sad smile. “What if you’re wrong? What if what you think you know is only the surface but there’s more hiding beneath?”
Digging deep into Gemma Park feels like an exploration mission on Mars—dangerous and terrible and something that would suck the life out of me. Hard pass.
“My man was an asshole,” Tate continues, “until I saw that he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all what he’d presented himself to be. Once I saw a tiny glimmer of someone else inside of him, I liked that person. A lot. What started out as hate morphed into love. Serendipity.”
There’s that word again.
“Sounds more like stupidity if you fell for your enemy.”
Tate snorts with laughter, nearly dropping his coffee in the process. “Oh, you’d really like Jude. A couple of grumpy peas in a pod.”
“He probably wouldn’t like me. Most people don’t.”
His amusement dies and the concern is back. “Why would you say that?”
“People don’t get me. I’m too…weird.”
“Weird? Explain.”
“My hobbies, my clothes, my mood swings. People don’t understand why I tend to get self-absorbed, hyper-focused on my projects, or just completely withdraw when I’m feeling overwhelmed, unloved, and misunderstood.”
Tate nods like this isn’t one of life’s mysteries but something he understands. It gives me hope that someone in this world might get me.
“Two, have you heard of the Enneagram?”
“The what?”
He chuckles. “The Enneagram. It’s a personality test. I’m pretty sure I know which one you are, but I think it would be helpful to see if you come to the same conclusion. You could also study all nine personality types. It might help you put family and friends into their categories, which would help you understand how to interact with them better. You might even start with Golden. See where she fits on the wheel. Then you can learn why you two seem to have friction.”
“Sounds like another dreadful assignment.”
“Oh, stop, drama king. It’s not dreadful. It’s fun.”
“Says the therapist.”
He rolls his eyes, looking far younger than his twenty-eight years. “Do it. For me. You owe me since I bought you coffee.”
“Isn’t that like an abuse of power or something?”
“Maybe if you’re a normal therapist. We’ve established I’m not.”
He sets his coffee down to go fetch his laptop. “It’s actually enlightening, Two. Learning about what makes others tick is fascinating. Humans are all so different, but oddly enough, we all fall into these nine categories.” Once he locates the site to take the test, he hands his laptop over to me. “Take the test. Once we find out what you are, I’ll give you resources to first learn about yourself. Sound good? Now hold down the fort while I run to the restroom.”
Since I’m being forced to, I oblige him and take the test. He comes back ten minutes later but sits quietly at his desk in the corner. Once I’m finished, I add my email to get the results.
“Done.”
“Good. Check your email.”
I set down the laptop to fish out my phone. Once I locate the email, I open it.
“The Individualist,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “Whatever that means.”
Tate’s grin is huge as he sits back down beside me. “Congratulations, Two, you’re a Four.” He hands me a stapled packet of papers that says Type Four at the top. “I knew it. Guessing people’s Enneagram types is a gift of mine.”
I take the papers from him and skim over the first page. Sensitive, withdrawn, dramatic, temperamental. “Nice. I’m an utter joy to be around.”
“Absolutely.” He beams at me. “You’ll learn all about your strengths and weaknesses and how to interact with others. I think you’ll really enjoy this once you dig in. Ready for homework?”
“For fuck’s sake. A full load of college courses isn’t enough?”
“Nope. You can handle more, Two.”
“What then?”
“I want you to try to identify Golden, your dads, or anyone else close to you. You can even try to identify me. Sound easy enough?”
“When?”
“Friday. I’ll bring coffee again. Want to try something new?”
“Nope. Get me the butterscotch truth serum.”
He cackles with laughter. “I paid extra for a shot of that. Glad to see it worked.”
“For the record,” I grumble, “I don’t like this.”
“No one ever likes working on themselves,” Tate reveals. “It’s hard and uncomfortable. We learn things about ourselves that might be shameful to us or silly. However, when you put the work in, you grow.”
“Is that a nice way of saying, ‘Grow up, Two,’?”
“Again with the dramatics.” He winks at me. “It means, let me help you flourish. You’re closed up tight, wrapped up around yourself. We’re going to peel back your layers so we can see all the intricate and beautiful parts that make you you.”
“You worm your way in with people, don’t you? Is that what happened with your fiancé?”
He nods, eyes twinkling. “And once I’ve chomped my way through, there’s no getting me out.”
His teasing words are comforting. Not many people, besides my dads and Dax, have stuck around for the long haul, continuing to put up with my eccentric shit.
“What if I stopped paying you?” I ask, testing him. “What then?”
He rolls his eyes. “Nice try. I’d help you for free. Now scoot along. I’m about to meet with my bestie at the craft store so we can pick out wedding favors. You’re totally invited to the wedding since we’re friends now.”
We’re friends now.
Just when I thought I could barely handle the only friend I have, I’m pleased at the prospect of having another.