Chapter 40 – Kat
FORTY
KAT
I sit at my desk, fidgeting with the miniature figurines and trinkets scattered across its surface, including a framed picture of Jenna and me freshman year at Flash Fest with a corn dog in each hand. My laptop is open in front of me, displaying the virtual therapy session that will begin in mere minutes.
Janet, the therapist I’ve been seeing since summer, appears on the screen. Despite our previous sessions, I feel a wave of anxiety wash over me as I realize I will have to confront and share my feelings for the first time in months.
“Hello, Kat. I was so happy you called to schedule.” Janet smiles softly.
It’s admittedly weird to be talking to her through a webcam, but it was either this or find someone in Kent, and the idea of having to find a new therapist made me feel sick.
“Hey, Janet,” I reply politely as I sandwich my hands between my legs and lean toward the screen.
“So, tell me—what made you want to schedule an appointment? The last time we spoke, you said you planned to look into on-campus options but didn’t seem too keen on it. Explain to me what brought you here.”
I proceed to tell her everything. Well, mostly everything. I recount the conversation between Elijah and me earlier in the semester and how that ended—what he said to me and how it impacted me. We discuss the letter I received from Patrick, how I wrote him back, and how, despite everything, I can’t shake the invasive curiosity when it comes to my father.
“Would you ever consider talking to your brother about connecting with your dad?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know, probably not. I mean, I spent over twenty years trying to get that guy to want a relationship with me. So, I’ve just decided I no longer care.”
“Kat, it is completely okay to admit you care. Your ability to care has to do with you, not him. It’s a completely human response and I wouldn’t blame you if you were still curious about him.”
“Well, I’m not,” I snap.
“Understood.” Janet jots something down on her pad of paper. “Are you open to meeting your brother?”
That very thought has recently invaded my mind on more than one occasion. I know it’s not my brother’s fault what our father did, nor does it sound like he even likes the guy, but I can’t shake the lingering resentment over the fact that my dad left me to be Patrick’s dad. Is that fair to Patrick? No, I know it’s not, but it’s the truth.
“I don’t know,” I admit, “maybe. If he asked, I would, but I’m not going to be the one to bring it up. I’ve spent enough time trying for that man.”
“You tried to have a relationship with your father. Patrick isn’t your father. ”
I obviously know that—I’m not a fucking moron. Patrick isn’t to blame for anything our father did, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a part of him. To a degree, he represents him, at least to me.
“I’d consider it,” I respond, desperate to change the topic.
“And what about you and Tanner?” Janet asks.
“What about me and Tanner?”
“How is that going? I know he was an important support system for you over the summer. How has it been living in the house with him?”
“It’s been great,” I say simply. Great is an understatement, but the idea of telling my therapist that one of my best friends has now given me multiple mind-blowing orgasms feels weird. So I keep it relatively neutral. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together. He’s a great friend.”
Apparently, the flush in my cheeks at the mere mention of Tanner transmits to her screen and she fights a smile. “Just a great friend?”
“Yes.”
I have never been this snippy with Janet before. Even during our first therapy session last summer, even when she pried into my relationship with Elijah, I was never this defensive.
I’m just tired of the implication that Tanner and I are more than friends. Jenna does it constantly even though I told her the sex is nothing but an arrangement we made to fill a need. However, the more time passes, the more I find myself questioning if I’m trying to convince others, or if I’m trying to convince myself.
“How has it been since your fight with Elijah? It can’t be comfortable living in a house with someone who hurt you like he did.”
“It’s been fine, actually. He hasn’t been around as much as I would have expected. His dad is up for reelection, so he’s been back in Columbus a lot.”
She nods, making more notes. “That’s good. You seem to be doing a lot better than the last time we spoke, but Kat…”
“Hm?”
“I hope you consider meeting more often than once in a blue moon. While I realize this semester has been a lot less painful than the spring semester, it might not always be like that. Think of therapy as preventative medicine. It’s there when you’re in crisis, but it’s also there to help you through the less hectic days so you can handle the harder ones a little more easily. Everyone can benefit from regular therapy…even you.”
Letting out a sigh, I say, “I know.” Because I do. Despite my invasive desire to avoid my therapist like the plague when I’m not in crisis, if the last few months have taught me anything, it’s that even the most mundane issues can result in needing to talk to someone.
“Thanks, Janet.”
“Of course. And Kat?” She sets her pen down and gives the camera her full attention.
“Yeah.”
“Over the next month, I want you to focus on being kinder to yourself. You can’t change what your dad did, nor can you change what Elijah did. You can only control what you can control. Give yourself some grace. You’re only one person—you are inevitably going to mess up—but if you surround yourself with people who know your intentions…it’s not so bad. ”
I nod, really taking her words to heart. “I will work on that, I promise.”
“Good. Well, we are about out of time, so is there anything else you wanted to discuss while you had me?”
“No, I think we touched on everything.” Ya know, other than the fact that I’m terrified that I think I’m slowly descending into madness and I’m actually moderately falling for my best friend and will absolutely send my entire life nuclear if I don’t figure out a way to get that under control.
With a speculative expression, Janet looks at me, but doesn’t say anything. She isn’t necessarily the prying type, at least not since learning that I don’t exactly respond well to that sort of therapy. “Well, I hope you have a lovely birthday, and I will see you in a month.”
“See you next month.” I sigh as the screen goes black and I close my laptop.
Despite the fact that the house is normally and consistently chaotic beyond reason, when I go downstairs to grab the mail, I’m surprised to find it almost completely silent.
Weird.
Once I’ve collected the mail, I start shuffling through it. It’s mostly junk mail, a few letters from the university—one for Brendan and one for Regina—and a pale blue envelope. I tear it open immediately.
Hey Kat,
I was happy to receive your letter. I’ll admit, I wasn’t entirely confident I would even hear back from you and I would have completely understood if I didn’t. To be frank, our dad is an absolute asshole. But I really would like to get to know you. While letters are great and all, I think we would benefit from not communicating solely by snail mail. I’ve attached a separate piece of paper with my number, email, etc. I hope you reach out.
Patrick
As I pull the additional scrap of paper out of the envelope, the familiar sound of someone clearing their throat carries from the kitchen doorway. I’m hopeful it’s Tanner, or Brendan—or, honestly, anyone besides who I know it to be.
“What?” I grunt, looking up from the paper to find him awkwardly standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets.
Elijah clears his throat. “Can we talk?”
I look back down at the paper in my hand, barely paying any attention to it as I respond. “Nope.”
“Kat, c’mon. You have to talk to me at some point.”
I slowly lift my gaze to meet his, but instead of the familiar rush of love, I feel nothing but resentment. I used to think that just seeing him would make my heart skip a beat, but now it’s filled with a newfound sense of liberation. It’s a strange and unexpected freedom, this emancipation from my own heart.
I shake my head. “No, actually. I don’t. I may not be able to help the fact that you live here, but I sure as hell don’t have to talk to you.”
“What I said during welcome week was fucked—I’m not going to deny that. But don’t you think this is a bit ridiculous? I mean, fuck, Kat, we’re roommates. Shouldn’t we at least get along?”
“Nope.” I clench my jaw and force my way past him, deliberately avoiding eye contact. I’m exhausted from constantly trying to appease him and avoid his disapproval. But I don’t care anymore. If he hates me for not pretending everything is okay, so be it. In fact, part of me hopes he does hate me now.