32. Cassidy
cassidy
. . .
D inner with my family is always lively. I try my best to stay present, but the urge to run back to the bedroom to hide for another week is sounding more appealing by the minute. While I appreciate them being here, my social battery is drained.
Once dinner is done, Ingrid and Ashlyn insist on doing the dishes while all of the dads play a board game with the kids. Travis waffles our fingers together and leads me onto the porch. I take a seat on the swing as he fires up the space heater. As he sits, he drapes a blanket over both of our legs, and it feels like yesterday that he brought me here, eating premade salads.
I tuck into his side and rest my head on his shoulder. He lets out a content sigh, almost as if I give him the same peace he brings me. I still can’t believe he made me my own she-shed, but I shouldn’t be surprised; Travis is by far one of the most thoughtful people in the whole fucking world.
“Ingrid told me about the appointment,” he says quietly as he rocks the swing. “Would you like me to drive you? ”
“Oh, that’s okay, I wouldn’t want to waste your time.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I thought it was a waste of my time,” he counters. “I have an appointment around the same time so I could drop you off and pick you up.”
“You don’t have an appointment.”
“I do. A very important one.”
I turn to face him, cocking an eyebrow. “What kind of appointment?”
Travis takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing my lips to his to avoid the question. Since the fire, his kisses have been sweet and gentle. I miss being consumed by him, if nothing else than to feel something other than emptiness.
I push for more, nipping at his bottom lip. It earns me a growl and I love the zing of satisfaction it gives me when he gets like this. Under the blanket, I slide my hand over his thigh and palm his cock through his clothes. “Cass,” he warns, but I do it again. He grips my wrist to pull me away. “I love you, but we shouldn’t do this.”
“My doctor cleared me for light physical activity.”
Travis slides his hand into my hair as he roughly kisses me. I whimper against his lips, desperate for more. He doesn’t give in like he did the night after the fire. As he pulls back, he rests his forehead on mine. “It’s not about that. Your lungs may be doing better, but I want to be sure your heart and your mind are also healed. Since you won’t talk to me, I’m glad you’ll be talking to someone about it. I’ll be starting therapy too. It’s important after what happened.”
“Is that what your appointment is? ”
As he sits back, my eyes search his, and a small smile tilts his lips. “No, but it’s equally important.”
He pulls me closer, and silence marinates between us for several minutes before the sliding door opens. “Hey, you two,” Ingrid sings. “Cay and I are going to head home.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Travis offers and I join him.
As everyone files out, the house is quiet. While Travis locks up, I make my way to the bedroom. After brushing my teeth, I slide under the covers, and a few minutes later Travis joins me, wrapping me in his arms from behind. He presses soft kisses on my shoulder and neck, murmuring sweet praises.
Drifting off to sleep, I whisper into the darkness, “I love you.”
“I love you so much, baby.”
T ravis drives me to my appointment and still hasn’t divulged where he’s going. It could be anything from a dental exam to renewing his driver’s license. After I check in, I take a seat in the waiting room and scroll my social media app to pass the time. Idle hands are a devil’s plaything.
The door opens, and a woman with a warm smile asks, “Cassidy?” I nod and follow her into the next room. “Please have a seat wherever you’re most comfortable.” Taking a deep breath, I sit in one of the brown leather armchairs and she joins me in the one beside it. “Today, I’d like to take time to get to know you. As you know, therapy isn’t a Band-Aid, it rips off the Band-Aid. So, let’s start by talking about you. What do you do for work?”
“What don’t I do?” I huff a laugh. “I’m a nurse, working overnights at the hospital, I pick up shifts at a bar, and my boyfriend bought a floral shop that I’ve been managing until…” My eyes fall to my lap.
“It’s okay, we don’t need to discuss the accident today. Of the three jobs, which one brings you the most joy?”
I chew on my lip. “Before the accident, I was thinking about cutting back my night shifts. I love gardening, so the shop was a great creative outlet for me. It’s low stress. But…” She nods in understanding. “Anyway, Travis is still working with insurance, but it should be good as new in a few short months.”
She writes something in her notebook. “You mentioned your boyfriend owns the shop?”
“Yes. My friend Dani owned it, but when she needed to leave for her family, she sold it to him. He, uh, well… He bought it for me.”
“I see. And he’s not your husband or fiancé?”
“No.” My shoulders drop. I sigh, then recount the details of my marriage pact with Travis. She listens intently, nodding every so often and jotting down notes. I explain the condensed version of everything that’s happened since that pact—we can leave my mother’s death for another day.
“In your mind, what does your perfect life look like? Who is in it? Are you married, children? Are you working at the floral shop or nursing? Where do you live? Take a moment to think about it and I’ll re-ask each question.”
“I feel guilty, selfish even considering it,” I admit.
“No matter how selfish you deem it to be, where do you live?”
I reply without hesitation, “The lake house.”
“And are you married? Do you want children? ”
“Yes. But I don’t deserve him.” My eyes fall to my fidgeting hands.
“Why don’t you think you deserve him?”
“Fuck, I hate therapy,” I grumble and she chuckles to herself.
“It’s okay, I get that a lot.”
After blowing out a deep breath, I answer honestly, “My father and brother are decorated veterans. I went to college, but I kind of fell into nursing. I never thought as a kid, ‘I want to be a postpartum nurse when I grow up.’ I did it because I like helping people and need to stay busy. Pop is supportive; I could’ve said I wanted to be a penniless musician, and he would’ve been in the front row to watch a performance. I never felt like I was directly in competition with my brother, but I also wanted to make my family proud. They served their country, so I felt I needed to do my part.”
“Let’s back up a little. You mentioned you need to stay busy. Can you elaborate on that a little? What happens when you aren’t busy?”
“If I’m not busy, I feel guilty, like I should be doing something, anything. I’ve been this way since I can remember. When I was a kid, I begged to play every sport, joined every club in high school, and I’ve always read a lot. When I’m not working, I can easily finish a four-hundred page novel in a day and start another one.” I shrug. “If I’m busy, I can avoid everything.”
Except, when I’m with Travis, nothing else exists. I don’t feel like I need to be busy. I was in bed for weeks, and he met me where I was at, made sure I was safe and healthy—or as healthy as anyone can be in the middle of a spiral.
“You have a history of diagnosed depression, and I see here that you’re currently taking an SSRI. Are you taking it regularly?”
“Yes,” I reply with a nod. “I notice when I don’t take it, so I’m religious about it.”
“These past two weeks, has it helped?”
“No, but I also haven’t been to work.”
“I see.” She writes in her notebook, and I understand why Caleb hated this part of therapy—even if she isn’t outright judging me, it still feels that way. My last therapist did it too, but I didn’t notice it as much. “Does anyone in your family have a history of anxiety or a neurodivergent condition, like ADHD?”
“No.” I shake my head, then pause. “Well, my brother has PTSD. I don’t think I have anxiety. I feel restless, but I wouldn’t say I’m anxious .”
She takes a paper from the desk and hands it to me. “Do any of these symptoms speak to you?”
I look through them: trouble concentrating, feeling irritable, tense or restless, trouble sleeping… “These could be anything.”
“Exactly. Which is why I’d like to do thorough testing to narrow it down. Those were part of a list of symptoms some may experience with generalized anxiety disorder, depression, as well as at least ten other conditions. Once we find the best fit, I can refer you to a great psychiatrist to prescribe appropriate medications, should you want to go that route. For now, I would recommend reaching out to your general practitioner about your SSRI dosage. They may decide to adjust it. If they do, it’ll be a Band-Aid, but it could help until we can work through everything. ”
I sigh and shake my head with a light chuckle. “Why do I feel more broken than when I walked in here?”
“You’re not broken, Cassidy. You’re an overachiever and it’s very common. Slowing down isn’t easy, but it sounds like you have a strong support system. You mentioned you don’t deserve Travis, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Based on what you’ve described, he sounds like a wonderful partner, but it’s hard to love someone if you don’t love yourself. That’s where we’ll start—loving yourself. Our mindsets don’t change overnight. I’ll be sending you home with a list of books I recommend. It’s going to get harder before it gets easier.”
She writes down the titles for me and we end our session. She’s right. No matter how much I love Travis, this ghost is going to haunt me until I do the work.