Chapter 22 #2
Olympia has only been here a week.
And when she talks about her experience, she sounds new to it. Like she’s still getting used to the program. The sessions. The other residents.
I catch her glancing at Sadie when she makes this observation.
Okay, maybe I’m going to like Olympia too.
“I’m really glad I did the career assessments,” Olympia says quietly.
She keeps her gaze on the floor in front of Gwen, but once she begins, Olympia has a lot to say.
“It was a boring two days, but I learned a lot about myself…
I wasn't expecting that librarian would be a career match for me, but the more I think about it, the more the idea is growing on me.”
She’s soft spoken and plain, but when a shy smile transforms her face, the emotions rioting in me pipe down just a little.
Because I’m curious.
“So, yesterday, after individual therapy, I walked to City College Library.” She keeps her eyes downcast, but her smile warms. “It’s only a mile away.
Traffic was a little noisy, but I wore my Soundcores, and as soon as I stepped through the library doors, it was like the rest of the world disappeared. ”
Olympia looks up for a moment, and I’m not the only one smiling at her.
“I realized I hadn’t been inside a library for at least two years, even though I used the one at school as a sanctuary. It smelled so good… like stories and safety… I sat down by the reference desk and just watched the librarians for like an hour.”
I swear, the look on her face—it’s the one I make winding my bobbin.
“I looked it up. You need a master’s degree to be a real librarian, but you don’t need any special qualifications to be a library assistant.” Olympia shrugs. “Maybe if I tried a job like that, I’d feel like going back to school would be worth it.”
I might as well be rooted to my chair. I mean, being a librarian would be boring as hell, but for someone who needs quiet and order and purpose…
Purpose.
God, I want that.
And feeling like school is worth it? I’d give my eyebrows for that.
I won’t take my career assessments until next week, but now I’m not dreading them. I might even be a little excited.
But I’ll keep that to myself for now.
It’s not like I’m going to give Mom and Dad any updates. Even if I do get something out of being here.
It’s nothing compared to what I might lose.
Team Longing gains the advantage.
I haven’t talked to Beck. Not since I texted him in the wee hours Sunday morning after the knock-down-drag-out epic battle with my parents and before overwhelm knocked me out.
I know I could have called him, and he would have come to get me. I know he would have taken me home to the farm.
And I suspect that it could have been a turning point for us. Where I told my parents to fuck themselves and shacked up with my boyfriend.
God, I came so close to doing just that.
But how would that be fair to Beck? If I had nowhere else to turn, would he feel obligated?
I couldn’t live with that.
I’d love to move in with Beck one day. Live with him. Go to bed every night tucked up against him. Wake up every morning—with or without coffee and a hot bath at the ready—to be with him.
But when that happens, I want it to be a choice, not an escape route.
Besides, we’re not ready for that.
I love Beck. I’m totally fucking in love with him.
But this is too new.
And I know it’s too new because I can’t bring myself to tell him where I am or why I’m here.
Summit House.
Like their polished welcome video said, Summit House is a residential mental health program, specializing in a multifaceted approach to support young adults struggling with emotional dysregulation and interpersonal issues.
Our clients come to us with a variety of debilitating diagnoses and leave with the tools to find long-term success in life.
I just can’t tell Beck I’ve checked into a residential mental health program.
I can’t even say it out loud in a room by myself.
Much less give him the whole story. “Oh, I’ve checked into a residential mental health program to prove to my parents that I can live on my own.
In a townhouse they are providing. Because I can’t support myself with an actual job or career.
And they don’t think I’m responsible enough or competent enough to be in a sexual relationship with you, so they can’t trust me with my own place.
Because they think you’d extort me. Or we’d shag all the time.
Which actually sounds pretty great. Still want to be my boyfriend? ”
And even if I weren’t a terrible liar, I couldn’t lie to him either. “Oh, um… yeah. I can’t make it to lunch today—or for the next month because I’m…. a-at a… a… sewing camp! Yeah, that’s it. A sewing camp… learning… learning some… er…really complicated stitches…”
“Can you relate to that, Hattie?”
Gwen’s softly spoken question yanks me out of my sewing camp fabrication with the efficiency of a seam ripper.
I blink at her. “I-I… Relate to what?”
She tilts her head to the side, eyeing me closely. “What Jordan was just saying about it getting progressively harder to start a new job each time he tries… Did you hear that, Hattie?”
“I, um, I—” I glance desperately at Jordan who’s doing a damn good turtle impression. Was I just zoning out while he was sharing something difficult? That’s kind of shitty of me.
I replay Gwen’s words in my head and realize I can relate. I can totally relate. Even if I wasn’t paying attention.
“I know exactly what you mean,” I tell Jordan. He jumps a little in his seat. I take it as acknowledgement. “Honestly, starting a job might be worse than losing a job. At least, when you lose it, the hard stuff is over.”
The collective laughter surprises me. Everyone’s smiling now.
“Hattie, can you tell us what things have been hard for you when it comes to the workplace?”
I know it’s not mature, but I roll my eyes. “How much time do you have?”
More laughter.
Gwen shrugs diplomatically. “We still have forty-five minutes until lunch. Why don’t you start by picking one hard thing and we’ll go from there.”
Just one thing?
“Showing up early. That’s one thing. But also staying late is almost as hard.”
She nods. “Why would you say that showing up to work at an early hour is hard for you?”
Sadie snorts like this is a stupid question.
Okay, maybe I could learn to like Sadie.
“It’s really hard for me to wake up early and feel like I’m strong enough to face the world.”
A few heads around the room nod.
“One of the goals of our career counseling staff is to help you identify the work schedule and work environment that best suits you,” Gwen tells me. “You’ll get to that in the next two weeks, Hattie.”
I blink at her. “What if my ideal work environment and schedule is ten to two in my pajamas?”
“Then a part-time remote job it is.”
It takes me a minute to realize she’s not joking. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“I’m very serious.” Gwen’s smile is mild and professional. She’s not joking.
“But—that—that counts? If I just worked part-time from home? That counts as… as… being successful?” I scan the faces of the other residents. Nobody looks shocked. It’s just me.
Gwen doesn’t take offense to my challenge.
She stays unruffled and even. “I’m not saying ultimately that kind of job is right for you.
I haven’t seen your assessment results, but even given the short amount of time you’ve sat in our group today, you seem to have a lot of energy.
I’m not sure you’d be satisfied with only four-hour shifts in your chosen field. ”
My chosen field.
It sounds so… professional.
“Not all of our clients leave here and head to a full-time job.” Gwen gives a little shrug like this is unimportant.
“But I’d say, on average, most of them work around thirty hours a week once they’ve settled into their positions and use the strategies they’ve learned here to help them better manage their physical, social, and professional needs. ”
Thirty hours? I have to work to keep my mouth from falling open. I can’t even imagine.
“They’ve got to be so exhausted,” I say, sounding worn out just at the thought.
Her smile is kind, measured. “We keep in touch with every alum of Summit House with check-ins six months, twelve months, eighteen months, and three years after they leave.” She gives a little tilt of her head.
“Most of them report being satisfied with the balance they’ve found in their lives.
Sure, there are always periods of enhanced stress and demands.
Life is like that. People enter and leave relationships and jobs.
They have children. They suffer losses and experience life stress, but their satisfaction is consistently higher than before they entered the program. ”
I scan the five other faces in the circle. Either they’ve heard all of this before or they’re not paying attention. No one looks surprised or skeptical.
But I’m a healthy amount of both. And maybe this shows on my face.
“Charlie, why don’t you tell Hattie about the internship you’ve just started?”
Charlie nods and pushes his glasses up his nose.
“This week, I started training at a Mexican bakery around the corner.” He ducks his head, pushes up his glasses again, but this time the gesture looks like an attempt to hide the wink of a smile.
“It’s just a five-minute walk. I get there at 4:30 in the morning, an hour before they open, and I stay until 8:30, so I can get back here for our morning sessions. ”
I gawk. “You get to work at 4:30? When are you waking up?” This sounds like my worst nightmare.
Charlie’s smile stretches. “I can make it there by 4:30 if I get up at 4:00. Carrie helped me plan my evening and morning routines. I lay out my clothes the night before. Everything. Even my socks. I take a shower before bed, and I try to get to sleep by 9:00.” He glances around the room and smirks.
“That did not happen Sunday night. I was too nervous. But I still shot out of bed when my alarm went off.”