Chapter 52 Two Things Can Be True Simultaneously
Two Things Can Be True Simultaneously
Connor
“Tell me more about this Maisie,” Donny, my therapist, says.
He’s resting comfortably in his wingback chair as always. We each have a mug of hot tea in our hands. He keeps all the supplies for tea, coffee, and hot chocolate in his office—but today is the first time I took him up on the offer, so he decided to join me. He takes a sip, awaiting my response.
“She’s…my best friend, but also a lot more.
She’s fun and playful, but she cares deeply about others.
About me. She knows me and wants to know me in a way no one else has before.
She’s brave and beautiful. I want a relationship with her, but she’s just getting out of a shitty one.
” I shift my weight on the couch, ever uncomfortable thinking about Karsen.
“This ‘shitty’ relationship…it was with the guy you punched?”
“That’s the one.” I heave a sigh.
“Has that impacted your relationship with her? Have the two of you talked about a committed relationship?” he asks, and it feels like a punch to the gut having to voice this out loud.
“She says she doesn’t know if she can trust herself, her judgment.
” I stop to take a sip of tea. It’s just barely cool enough to drink.
I take a healthy gulp. Donny mirrors the action.
“That she isn’t ready for a relationship.
That she doesn’t want to ruin our friendship, but she wants…
” I eye everything but Donny for a moment.
Still not meeting his eyes, I get out, “She wants to be physical, though.” I flinch like I’m going to get in trouble.
When my gaze finds Donny’s, he’s still as neutral as ever. As soon as he’s sure I’m not going to add anything else, he inquires, “Do you want to be physical without a relationship commitment?”
No. The word blares through my thoughts like a foghorn. No. No. NO.
“I’d prefer a relationship, but I won’t pressure her.”
“You could still be friends. You don’t need to have a physical relationship just because she asked for one. If you’d prefer to keep that part separate unless there is a commitment involved, there’s nothing wrong with that.” He says it so simply. Cuts right to the heart of the thing.
My wants matter too. What a world-rocking statement. Even so, I’d rather have whatever Maisie will give me than go back to being only friends.
“I don’t think I could go back to just being friends,” I tell him.
“All right. Then I encourage you to be honest with her. Not in an ultimatum way, but let her in. Let her know how important being in a relationship is to you, especially with being physical. You can still acknowledge her desires while expressing yours.”
Two things can be true simultaneously. It comes back again. The thought of baring myself like that and being rejected sounds worse than drag suit practice, but now that the idea is in my head, I’m not sure I’ll be able to let it go.
“I think you’re right, like always.” Now to work up the courage to actually tell her.
A smile breaks through as I laugh, and he lets his own mouth tick up an inch. A small sense of pride ripples through that I got him to show emotion.
“How is swimming going?” He sets his mug on the small wooden table to the right of his chair.
“It’s…going,” I hedge.
“Care to elaborate?” He quirks an eyebrow, which essentially means he’s calling me out.
“It’s fine. I guess. I show up, I swim, I go home. It’s familiar.” I scratch at a loose thread in the couch.
He waits a minute again before asking, “Do you like it?”
“Uh, yeah, sure. As much as always. I enjoy seeing my friends. I like getting exercise. I like watching Maisie dive.”
He lets out a soft hmmm.
“What?” I ask, incredulous. My chest tightens in anger. I take a few calming breaths.
He waits, then says, “What made you angry just now?”
“I’m not angry, I’m just—” I ball my hands up. “I’m just doing what’s expected of me. I’m fast and win races. I work hard. It builds character. I don’t have to love it.”
Again, he waits. I release my balled hands.
His calm voice rings through. “Okay, maybe you don’t have to love it. Maybe it’s what’s expected of you, but is it something that honors what you’d like to do with your time and energy?”
My eyes feel heavy. I let my head fall to the back of the couch. “My dad wouldn’t ever talk to me again,” I say, feeling disconnected from myself as I do.
The fourteen-year-old boy version is raging, telling Donny, We can’t do it!
We can’t let that happen. He needs to love us.
If we swim, he loves us. Even when he’s not there anymore.
Present me, the one who ignores my dad’s calls, the one who is working through the anger that lingers in his absence, is quietly saying, Maybe not swimming isn’t such a bad thing.
Maybe we shouldn’t have to do anything to earn our dad’s love.
“How would that make you feel if your dad stopped talking to you if you quit swimming?” Donny breaks through my thoughts.
Complicated. Which feels—“Shitty,” I say out loud.
“Tell me more about that.”
“Shitty because I’ve been doing it for so long. All those years. I can’t tell what was for him and what was for me. Shitty because I don’t want to talk to my dad, but I also don’t want to disappoint him. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, really.” I shrug.
“It makes sense to me,” he says. “You have a complex relationship with your father, and it has wound itself around swimming. It makes sense that it’s hard to untangle what you want on all fronts. More than one thing can be true at once.”
“Thank you.” The rest of the tension in my body loosens slightly, and I sit up.
He nods. “You’re welcome. Unfortunately, that’s all the time we have today. Are we still good for next week?”
“Yep, I’ll see you then, Doc. Still a lot to untangle in this web of shenanigans that is my brain.” I knock on my head for emphasis.
He chuffs a polite laugh, and I grab my backpack and head out the door. But everything we talked about continues to rattle around in my mind.