Chapter Eighteen #2
I opened my mouth twice but nothing would come out.
My brain spun like it did when I couldn’t write, like nothing it would come up with could translate to words.
“I alienated my mother,” I finally said.
“And I broke up with Lisa.” Before I knew what was happening, I felt the tears on my cheeks.
I’d talked about my mother, I’d talked about Veronica, I’d talked about Jackson Hardeman, but I’d never before cried in a therapy session.
I could tell that Catherine was very aware of that. She handed me the box of tissues off her side table and watched me with big eyes.
“I broke up with Lisa,” I repeated. Hearing the words out loud somehow made them more real and I hated them with a vengeance. “I couldn’t keep myself from the same shit. I couldn’t do it.”
“Did you have a fight? Did you want to break up with her at the time?”
“No.” My voice sounded as agonized as I felt. “I just had to do it.”
“Okay, which came first?”
“My mother.”
Catherine nodded. “Let’s talk about that first. Was this at the party?”
“Church the next morning.”
I saw her jaw twitch. “Okay.”
Over the next twenty minutes, I explained to the best of my ability what I’d done.
I managed to stop crying, but the story still came out in short, awkward chunks, partial thoughts, fragments of sentences.
Laying it all out there felt different from when I’d given Lisa an abridged version. It did not feel good.
Catherine sat very still, watching me with one of her more careful expressions. When I came to what felt like an ending point, she nodded. “I’m proud of you. Are you proud of yourself?”
“I don’t know. It kind of feels like shit.”
“Were you proud of yourself when you did it?”
“Maybe.”
“What happened afterward?”
“My brother came out and said he couldn’t believe I did it.”
“Was he critical or pleased?”
“Pleased. But shocked. Really shocked. Then I kicked the shit out of a cross memorializing an aborted fetus.”
Now, Catherine’s eyebrows jumped. “Oh dear.” For a second, I was certain she was trying to hold back giggles, but she kept her cool. “Was it substantial? Did you hurt yourself?”
I shook my head. “Little wooden thing about so big. The lawn was full of them.”
“Well, at least it wasn’t self-harm.”
I shrugged. “Positive, I suppose.”
“Have you hurt yourself since?”
I shook my head. “It feels like shit though. I mean, I stood up for myself and I stood up to that awful excuse for a man, but I’ve hurt my mother and it feels like shit.”
“Are you sure she’s angry with you instead of the church?”
“She won’t return my phone calls or texts.”
Catherine looked at me for a long time. I could tell what was going through her head: all those times my mother had hurt me and I hadn’t ghosted her. “This is a big deal for her.”
“That church is her life.”
“Her children should be her life.”
I stared out the window. “All I can do is let her cool off and see where things end up. That’s all I can do, right?”
“Are you okay with that?”
I shrugged. “I have to be.”
“So did you break up with Lisa right away?”
The next twenty minutes were devoted to more tears and self-loathing.
I told Catherine that Lisa hadn’t done a thing wrong.
That she was wonderful. That she’d said and done all the right things.
I just couldn’t keep from my usual ways.
I couldn’t stop being jealous of things that shouldn’t bother me.
I couldn’t believe she was being real when she showed she cared about me.
I just didn’t deserve her, and she certainly didn’t deserve the mess that I was.
“Time out,” Catherine finally said. I looked up at the clock, sure she was about to cut me off, but we still had five minutes left. When I looked back at her, she was flipping through my file. “You said this was after the church debacle. Did you feel any of this before that happened?”
“Before the party? A little maybe.” I searched the ceiling for an answer. “Yes.”
“I think we might need to tweak your meds.”
“Oh God. No. Please, no.”
She shook her head. “Don’t worry, I just want to nudge the antidepressants up a notch. You might just need a little push to get you through until things settle down with your mother, but you’re forty-six and we haven’t adjusted anything for four years.”
“Oh, now my hormones are fucked up too. Bonus.”
“Perimenopause,” Catherine said, smirking a bit. “I think this will really help. And if it doesn’t, we’ll go back to where we are now. Deal? I’ll call it in right away.”
I nodded. “I’ll go to the pharmacy today.”
“Good. You can get through this. Like I said, I’m very proud of you for standing up for yourself. That church has been such a source of trauma in your life. Things will be okay with your mother…It might take a while, but she will come around. She needs you in her life.”
“She’ll have to find someone else to needle in the interim.”
Catherine smiled. “Exactly, and they probably won’t be as fun as you. The number one thing I want you to do, though, is to talk to Lisa.”
“God. I can’t.”
“You can, and you need to. This was the first time I’ve seen you cry, Sam. You know you need this relationship.”
“I’ve fucked up this relationship. It’s gone.”
“That would seriously surprise me.”
I looked at my hands. “My time is up.”
Catherine sighed and stood up. “Two weeks, or do you need to come back in one?”
“Two is fine unless the med change fucks me up.”
“It will not fuck you up. Hang in there.”
For the first time, I did the walk of shame through the waiting room to the receptionist desk, trying to hide my tear stains by watching the carpet in front of me. Fortunately, there were only two people in there, and the receptionist scheduled me for two weeks without paying much attention.
I sat in the car outside for a long time.
I told myself it was to give Catherine time to call in my prescription so I could pick it up on the way home, but I knew it was really because I didn’t know where to go.
She would have liked me to go straight to Lisa’s but I wasn’t about to do that, and she was at work anyway.
An absurd scene out of some movie popped into my head of showing up at St. Mark’s and waiting in the doorway to her classroom until she looked up, locked eyes with me, and dropped her copy of Bryan the Backhoe to throw her arms around me.
In reality, she’d probably push her panic button and put the school in lockdown until the cops came to arrest me.
Go home, Sam. Go home and take a nap and when you get up, your new meds will be ready.
I woke up feeling a little better the next morning.
I was pretty sure the higher dose couldn’t have kicked in so quickly even though I’d swallowed a new pill the previous afternoon right after I’d picked them up from the pharmacy.
I stared out the bedroom window, watched the clouds and treetops.
Ollie was sound asleep at the foot of the bed.
I picked up my phone to check the time, and sat up with a jolt. It was Wednesday.
Fuck fuck fuck, my alarm hadn’t gone off.
My first class started in twenty-five minutes and it was a twenty-minute drive.
I threw off the covers, ran to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth, and grabbed the first clothes I saw.
Ollie blinked at me dolefully from beneath my comforter.
“Come on, boy. Out. Now. We have to hurry.”
Ollie hauled himself out of bed with a big stretch and yawn, then took his time walking to the kitchen.
I followed him, encouraging him to go a little faster, buttoning and zipping my pants at the same time.
While he was in the backyard, I took my meds and ran a brush through my hair.
By the time I had shoes on, Ollie was ready to come in, so I grabbed a handful of treats, scattered them inside his crate, and nudged him in.
I wished I had time to give him a decent breakfast, but it would have to do.
I was halfway to the college when I realized I’d left my purse at home. I had my laptop and binder, though, so I took the edge off of my speed and kept an eye on the rearview mirror for cops. I needed to get gas, but all I could do was hope it could wait until I was home again.
Classes were starting by the time I pulled into a parking spot, but several people were still going in. I wanted to run, but I joined them, walking as quickly as I could. I’d never been late before, and I knew my students would pick on me for it the rest of the semester.
Fortunately, it was December, because they were brutal.
Did I have a late night? Was I transfixed by my daily morning news show?
Was I having an intense breakfast with Mr. Dean from across the hall?
I told them flat out they were barking up the wrong tree, which made them even more gleeful.
I didn’t tell them that Mr. Dean was gay, too.
Once I was riled, it was hard to calm down.
I was twitchy through the entirety of my first class, then crashed hard in my second class.
I needed a cup of coffee. I needed time to clear my head. I needed a lobotomy.
I didn’t stop by to see Vera after class.
I sat in the drive-thru line at Starbucks for ten minutes before remembering that I didn’t have my phone either.
Of course, nobody paid it forward that day and there was a curb around the drive-thru, so I had to explain to the person taking orders, then the person at the window that I forgot my money and I was just stuck.
I kind of hoped they’d feel bad for me and give me something for free, but I returned home with my tail between my legs and made my own coffee.