Chapter Twenty-Five
As we prepared for Emilia to return to work, I was slowly gaining confidence that she was being honest with me. But I wasn’t all there yet and had to remind myself not to be a dick to her when my anxiety spiked. I took that as my cue to start some online research, make a few phone calls, and set an appointment. I was a little too self-conscious to let my assistant in on the fact that I’d be seeing a mental health professional. And while I was unsure of which way things might go, I was also simultaneously hopeful that this might be a good thing for me—and for us.
And, if I was being honest, my heart harbored no small amount of doubt that this was going to help the fucked-up feelings, the dark, icy fear that now resided deep in my gut twenty-four-seven.
I found a therapist who looked promising. A woman whose office wasn’t far from mine in Irvine. I bit back my own fear and forced myself to make the appointment. Then I had to come up with something not-embarrassing to pencil into my calendar to block off the time so Maggie wouldn’t double-book me by accident. That took some thinking, but I finally settled on TR, which stood for Temporal Reduction, a fancy way of saying head shrinking. I’d have to switch it up every month or so, maybe juggling lessons next?
And it was about as weird as I was expecting. At least at first.
Her office was upscale and streamlined, all white and glass and chrome. And thankfully, she didn’t have the cliched therapist couch.
“Mr. Drake, great to meet you, come in and sit down.” I chose the white armchair facing her, thankful that it was more comfortable than it looked.
The therapist was kind and professional—about Kim’s age, I’d guess, with close-cropped copper-colored hair and a tiny frame. I’d be surprised if she stood much taller than five foot even.
“I’d prefer you call me Kendra. My pronouns are she/her. And how would you like me to call you?”
I cleared my throat, fidgeted a moment, and returned her gaze. “Adam’s fine. He/him.”
The first part of the appointment was a standard questionnaire where I replied to her rapid-fire questions with clipped, concise answers.
Then came the point where I was on the spot.
“So why have you decided to pursue psychotherapy, if there is a specific reason?”
Ugh. Not twenty minutes into this and I was inwardly cringing and regretting my decision already.
I blinked, taking far too long to answer the question as I shifted in my seat.
She seemed to sense my unease but gave me the time to formulate my reply regardless.
“I’m facing a bunch of massive changes in my life...in the process of them, really. And I just need to get rid of these dark feelings going on inside. I don’t even know if that’s something you can help with.”
Her mouth quirked up at the corner and she tilted her head. And then she nodded. “Yes, yes, that’s exactly what I can do.”
I left the office more assured. Yeah, it had only been an intake appointment where she’d asked me a lot of questions and took a lot of notes. But I felt like I could work with this person.
The next challenge would be keeping this a secret for now, even from Emilia. I felt mildly hypocritical about that. Especially since I’d berated her for withholding her morning sickness from me. But despite coming out of this initial appointment feeling generally positive about this course of action, I didn’t want to get Emilia’s—or anyone else’s—hopes up in case I ultimately failed.
And in the same vein of self-improvement, we enrolled in parenting classes. Because our schedules were so crazy busy, we’d opted for online courses with consultation from an on-site personal parenting coach at different stages throughout the course.
And as usual, we turned working through that course material into a game between us, competing against each other based on our progress through the modules or our automated quiz scores to check comprehension.
And when the course material—like the videos—got boring, we opted to do those together, sometimes heckling the video presentations Mystery Science Theater 3000 -style.
The other big project at hand was the question of the house, and I’d done the majority of the footwork on that. Connecting with the realtor Dom had recommended, I looked into the canyon communities that Dom had suggested, reading up on this idyllic-sounding Canyon Hollow place. From its description, it seemed like a tiny quaint hamlet, an island surrounded by the rushing sea of some of the densest suburbs in the country.
Well, we could start looking there, and if Emilia hated it, we’d turn our search to other areas of the county.
Our first approach looked promising, after exiting the freeway and taking the long road that narrowed down into a two-lane highway. The not-quite-rugged Santa Ana Mountains grew on the horizon as the road followed the land, snaking around old growth groves of California Live Oaks which arched elegantly over the road. They created a dim, green corridor all around.
It felt like traveling to another world, really. One that was close enough to commute to work. “It’s beautiful,” Emilia breathed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been back here.”
The road curved up again briefly before dipping back down and we caught an uninterrupted glimpse of the iconic twin peaks of Saddleback Ridge, a prominent landmark that towered over inland Orange County on clear days. The drive itself was relaxing—a scenic stretch of hills and valleys and wooded areas tucked into giant pockets of undeveloped backcountry that made up the eastern edge of the county.
Canyon Hollow was a community adjacent to the Silverado and Black Star canyons and not far from neighboring Modjeska and Trabuco, named by Spanish explorers who made their way through these parts hundreds of years ago.
Meeting us at the mouth of the canyon and escorting us in, our realtor gave us a rundown of recent and local history of the tiny communities. We drove by hodgepodge and mismatched homes, some mostly hidden behind high hedges, others littered with eclectic and unusual yard décor and nonfunctioning automobiles.
There were giant, gorgeous new homes near tiny dwellings that looked like they were once weekend cabins built during the turn of the century. They were all over the place.
Our realtor had four homes to show us, and while I could see, with some work, any of them working, Emilia did not care for them at all.
“I have one more place. It’s tucked up right against the Cleveland National Forest. The property needs some TLC, but we can swing by if you’re interested in having a look.”
We glanced at each other. “Why not?”
The mail carrier, a middle-aged, stocky man was just finishing putting mail in the neighbor’s box when we got out of the car. He turned to us with a wide smile.
“Hello there,” he grinned widely.
We replied with a smile and a wave and that was enough for him to walk over and start a chat with us. He knew the realtor already. “Hey, Alan. You catch that latest picture? A stunner, isn’t it?”
“Oh hey, Miguel. How are you doing today?”
“Pillars of Creation—better than Hubble’s shot from ‘95, of course. Incredible.” Our realtor, Alan, seemed to want to herd us away from the mail carrier but before he could, the amiable-seeming mailman turned to us. “You two follow the James Webb telescope images?” He shook his head. “They caught one in the Eagle nebula 6,500 light years away. Stunning photo.”
Alan threw us each a sheepish glance. “Miguel is our letter carrier, and he’s also an amateur astronomer up at the observatory.”
I quirked a brow, suddenly interested. “There’s an observatory?”
“It’s actually not far—up the hill from the wildlife sanctuary. This property butts up against the sanctuary, just across Saddleback creek.”
“We don’t get many dark skies out here anymore, with civilization encroaching,” Miguel added.
Observatory. Wildlife sanctuary. Creek adjacent to the property. Quirky local populace. I was liking this place more and more. I threw Emilia a sideways glance. If she didn’t like any of these existing houses, maybe we could purchase some property and have one built.
But that would take time, and the baby was going to be here in less than half a year.
But it took just one look at the house—which had been vacant for a few years—to realize that the property was unique.
“It’s going to take some work to fix up. And update.” I said looking around and sending a glance at Emilia. It was once a lovely home, large, built in the 1920s with beautiful details and built-ins. But it had been neglected and the fixtures were old.
But the property it sat on was where it truly shone. It was nearly two acres of wooded clearing bordered on one side by the creek far below—and just far enough away that there was no concern for flooding.
We toured a part of the property and stood at an overlook above the slow-moving creek. “Kinda small, even for a creek,” I remarked.
“It’s southern California, and this is dry coastal chaparral climate. The creek is just a trickle now, but the winter and spring weather makes it a respectable body of water.”
“It sounds relaxing just standing here listening to it,” Emilia said in a quiet voice. She seemed affected. Could this be the right place for us?
What clinched it, however, was when, just as the sky was darkening and the sun had sunk below the high canyon walls. Alan hushed us suddenly and said in a quiet voice. “Look up but don’t make any sudden movements.”
And just across the creek, near the base of the steep canyon wall, a mother deer and two fawns grazed peacefully in the brush, paying us no attention at all. Wow.
Emilia looked at me and I saw it, then. It was cinched—this was the place, as far as she was concerned.
We wrapped things up shortly after that and I told him I’d be in touch.
But within twenty-four hours, we submitted an offer on the house.
My next calls were to a contractor that Jordan knew and trusted whom I hired to do the home inspection and start the process of the renovation. We hired a decorator, too.
Soon, we’d be leaving the beach to become canyon dwellers, and I was here for it. Because, as some famous dead philosopher once said, the only constant in life was change. And when the Drakes did change, they did it in a big way.