36. Finally
Finally
For some ridiculous reason—between the training and the plotting and the planning—Grandma insists we continue with therapy.
I’ll admit that we’re making progress as a family, and maybe that’s because of things like therapy. But we’re doing some important shit right now.
Literally tomorrow, actually.
But it’s Grandma. So here we sit once again in Dr. Farrow’s house-slash-office.
“How were your holidays?” she asks. The tension makes the air in the room so thick I can’t believe it’s not butter.
Hazel—who has been sipping the let’s-share-our-feelings tea for five minutes—clears her throat. “The holiday itself was actually really nice. The best Christmas I think we’ve had as a family since Dad died.”
Not an incorrect statement.
“That’s a strong sentiment.” Dr. Farrow crosses her legs. “What makes you say that, Hazel?”
“Mom had such a heavy energy. She didn’t really leave room for any emotions other than hers. And hers were anger, resentment, unwavering sorrow . . . None of the emotions you’d want to associate with a happy holiday,” she says.
I’m still impressed with the balls Hazel has grown. She may have gone to bat for me with Mom every day, but she never went to bat for herself. And now? Now she is.
Dr. Farrow shakes her head, pen scribbling in her notebook thanks to that magical plant of hers. I’d pay good money to see what’s in there. “No, those aren’t emotions I’d hope for, myself. I’m glad you all had a lovely holiday.”
The silence is deafening. The elephant in the room is inflating until it sucks up all the air.
“How are things progressing with the plans to rescue your mother?” Dr. Farrow finally asks.
“Just fine, thank you,” I reply. I don’t know why I’m hoping that’ll close that conversation, but I can tell by the large huff of breath from Hazel that it did the opposite.
Cool.
“Laura is going to risk her life and I’m not okay with it,” Hazel says. She had been doing a good job for the last few weeks of keeping her mouth shut about all this, but that tea.
That goddamn tea.
“I had a feeling the task would be dangerous, but is it truly life threatening?” Dr. Farrow turns to me. I’m glad she actually trusts me to tell her the truth. That softens my walls a little.
I nod. “I’m risking my soul.”
“She’s risking becoming a giant husk as she’s tortured in Hell forever by souls wanting to use her as a bridge.”
Thank you, Hazel, for that clarification.
Dr. Farrow’s eyes widen. It’s definitely not what she was expecting, but to be fair, it’s not what any of us were initially expecting.
I just thought we had all gotten used to the idea by now. But apparently Hazel has been holding on to her doubt in a vise grip.
More silence.
“You’ve decided to proceed anyway, Laura?” Dr. Farrow asks. Her tone—surprisingly—isn’t judgmental or laced with I-know-better-than-you energy like Hazel’s. It’s just a clarifying question.
I look down at my fingers. “Yes. I have to try. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t. If it doesn’t work, I’ll pull back. But I’m going to try.”
Dr. Farrow leans in. “Why wouldn’t you be able to live with yourself?”
“Because!” I huff. “She literally trapped herself in Hell for us! While she wasn’t the mother we needed for most of our lives, she was the mother we needed at that moment. And she certainly seemed to show some form of self-awareness in her letter.”
“She didn’t do it for any of us,” Hazel says, practically slamming her empty teacup on the table. “I read the same letter you did, but I don’t trust a word of it. She did this because she’s obsessed with punishing Draven. She did it so she could take him down.”
I turn to her. “Maybe. But she still saved Noah in the process. I’m honestly surprised you aren’t a little more grateful.”
An angry gust of wind flares around us despite the window being closed.
“Girls.” Grandma’s weary voice comes from the other end of the couch. I almost forgot she was here.
“No, no.” Dr. Farrow puts her hand up. “I have a feeling a lot of these feelings are actively repressed. It may lead to conflict, but it’s good to get it out. As long as we stay respectful, it’s better to be open and honest.”
None of us know what to say to that. But I know she’s not wrong. A fight has been brewing for months. Years, probably. And I know it’s coming.
If the anger in Hazel’s eyes is any indication, it’s coming sooner rather than later.
We’re in the house about three seconds before Hazel rounds on me.
“She doesn’t deserve you risking your soul!” she says, wind whipping around her auburn hair.
“What does she deserve? Since apparently you’re the be-all and end-all of what people deserve. What do any of us deserve?” I snap. “Did Dad deserve what he got? Did we deserve the childhood we had? Did Mom?”
Belle mews from the top of the stairs but doesn’t come down. Smart cat.
“You deserve to live, Laura. I’ve spent my entire life trying to give you the opportunity to live.”
I laugh. It’s a humorless, angry thing. “So it’s not about you wanting to keep me safe. It’s about you wanting to feel like you haven’t wasted your life. Congratulations, sis! You did.”
“I never gave a fuck about me, don’t you get it? I spent my entire life fighting with Mom for you. Not for me—for you. To give you some sense of normalcy. A real life with friends and happiness.”
“I didn’t want normalcy!” I practically spit fire.
“I wanted attention. I wanted someone in this house to actually pay attention to me. Mom never spoke to me. She spent all her energy fighting you and then I got nothing. She may have never shown you love and compassion, you may have spent every day fighting with her. But there were times she wouldn’t even look at me for an entire week.
You got something from her, Hazel, and I got nothing. ”
Tears spring to her eyes but I plow on. The urge to hurt her, to swipe at her, is gone. But I need her to understand. I have to show Hazel the parts of me even I haven’t yet faced. I have to show her who I am.
“Stop pretending you and Mom didn’t fuck me up just as much as Mom and I fucked you up.
All I ever wanted was to be loved and seen, and instead I got the Pink Puke Mobile.
Whoop-de-fucking-doo for me. Do you know what happened when you left, Hazel?
She stopped. She stopped making dinner. She stopped doing laundry, she stopped going to the store.
She just stopped. Not before stealing my keys, forcing me to drop out of college, and turning me into her own personal pet hermit, of course.
But she stopped. Lucky me, now I know how to make dinner and wash a shirt, but it’s no thanks to you. It’s no thanks to either of you.”
The silence pours into the house like fog on a hazy night. The truth of how we both felt—how we still feel—seeping into our skin.
“No wonder you hated me so much when I left,” Hazel whispers. “I had no idea. I had no idea I ruined your life.”
“And I ruined yours. You forced yourself into a box so you could give me what you always wanted. And it took you leaving for me to realize how much you were doing to keep our lives moving forward.”
Tears flow freely down her cheeks now, hiccups lifting her chest. “We were just children.”
“We were just children.”
Hazel takes my hands. “She doesn’t deserve us.”
“No,” I say. “No, she doesn’t. But once the anger passes, we’re going to regret not trying.”
Finally Hazel and I see each other as who we are, and what we feel. We’re no longer trying to fit the person in front of us into the mold we expect them to be in. We’re on the same page.
Finally.