24. Wren
TWENTY-FOUR
WREN
“Do you want to talk more about your family dynamic, Wren?” Maisy asks, smiling warmly at me.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Is it relevant?”
“Most likely, yes. Our experiences in childhood shape who we become as adults. What is your father like?”
“Gone. He left when I was young, so I don’t really remember him.”
“No contact?”
“No. My mom won’t talk about him either.”
“How does it make you feel that your dad left and your mother won’t talk about it?”
I shift in the armchair, folding my arms over my chest. “I don’t think about it much. He’s an asshole for leaving. My mom’s life was really hard after that.”
“In what way?”
“Hard to make ends meet and raise two kids by herself. She tried to find other men, but they never stuck around too long either.”
“Mm-hmm. How do you view your mother’s attempts at relationships?”
“She’s not good at them, but that’s a family trait. My sister’s had two quick marriages that ended in divorce and my mom can’t keep anyone around longer than a few months. She’s hard to be around. They both are.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mom seems to get off on making me feel bad for wanting more from my life. They don’t live far from me, but they act like it’s thousands of miles away and if I don’t come over I’m ignoring them. But I hate visiting them. All they do is make me feel like shit for being who I am.”
Like I took an invisible lid off my thoughts, I spill all about my childhood and teen years—the endless jabs about my feminine traits and lack of interest in supposedly manly pursuits.
The teasing when I would get caught looking too long at a man, my mother’s attempts to “make me straight” by buying me men’s magazines with nude women inside.
The crying and praying, my sister teaming up with my mom to bully me into doing what they wanted, but mostly, the guilt trips over looking like my father, as if I had anything to do with that.
“It seems like it’s possible your mother has projected her resentment of your father onto you as the male representation of him.”
“But it wasn’t my fault he left. It’s not my fault I look like him.”
“No, it’s not your fault. What would it look like for you to talk to your mother and sister about how they’ve made you feel?”
I scoff at that. “Not happening.”
Maisy nods, silently watching me for a moment. My thoughts drift from my mom to Trent and my chest tightens as my jaw drops.
“Shit,” I whisper.
“What’s on your mind, Wren?”
A sinking feeling settles over me as realization seizes me. “Oh god. Trent is just like my mom.”
“Tell me more about that.”
“He used my weaknesses against me to keep me close. Made me believe I needed him. My mom did that too. She would tell me I was so lucky to have a mother like her who prayed for my soul. Trent would tell me I was lucky to have him taking care of everything so I could chase my silly little dreams of being a chef. Every time I tried to pull away, he would love bomb me and convince me he loved me, and I fell for it so many times.”
“What do you think you might have been chasing with Trent?”
The answer stabs my chest like a thousand daggers.
“Love. Acceptance.” My eyes well with tears.
“But it was fake. It was control and it was just like what my mother did, wrapped up in something that seemed like salvation. Trent gave me a haven from my mother and I thought that meant something different than it did. He saw my weakness and he exploited it.”
Tears stream down my cheeks as the truth swirls around me.
“I left one abuser for another one. Not just Trent either. There were others like him. He just lasted the longest.”
Maisy nods. “How do you feel seeing these similarities between your family life and dating experiences?”
“Stupid.” I grab a tissue and wipe my nose. “Scared.”
“Of what?”
“Repeating it. I’m seeing this guy now who’s amazing, but what if he’s not? What if I just want him to be? Like I wanted all the others to be? What if he’s waiting to take me down a notch?”
“How long have you known him?”
“A year and a half, but we’ve only been seeing each other for a few months. It started out casual, but I think it might be more than that now.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I see him every day. I live with him. Not just him; a bunch of us live in a big mansion, and he’s technically one of my bosses, but it’s a unique experience.”
“Tell me more about that.”
“I heard from others that he had a crush on me, and one night, I was thinking wouldn’t it be amazing to be with someone who wasn’t Trent. Physically, you know?”
She nods.
“So I asked him if he wanted to and he did. I thought it would be a few times maybe and we’d just chalk it up to a little fun, but I couldn’t stay away from him. I feel good around him.”
“In what way?”
“I think he sees me. Me. He’s funny and thoughtful. He’s kind and he’s a good friend. He’s sexy too, but he makes me feel like I’m somebody who matters. He looks at me like I hung the stars.”
“Has he shown any red flag behavior? Any controlling ways?”
I shake my head. “He’s so chill. I can’t imagine him being that way.”
“But you’re still worried he could be?”
“What if he’s just holding back until I fall for him? What if he does what all the others have done? I could lose everything.”
She shifts slightly. “What do you think he could do to prove to you that he’s not hiding a dark side?”
I shrug.
“Think about it.”
I sit quietly with my thoughts, searching, but the persistent answer pinging around my head is that I already know he’s not like that. There’s no way.
“Why am I so scared of him when I know in my heart that he’s not a jerk?”
“Trauma. You’ve been hurt by people you trusted and it’s a scary thing to trust again, but I’m hearing you say that you know in your heart that this man is not like your ex, so there’s a part of your instinct still intact, yes?”
Releasing a shaky breath, I nod, wiping my damp cheeks. “Maybe I want him to be bad so I have a reason to hide my heart.”
She smiles, as if she was waiting for me to get here.
“Why would I want that?”
“Familiarity,” Maisy says. “Even though you’ve been hurt in the past, it’s what you know. Being loved is new and scary.”
“He doesn’t love me.” Even as the words leave my lips, the tug in my chest tells me I wish he did. “Dammit.”
“What?”
“I think I might have feelings for him. I was so determined that I wasn’t going to let that happen.”
“Emotions don’t really work that way.”
I laugh as more tears fall. “I see that.” After a deep breath, I ask, “What if I’m the only one who falls?”
“It would hurt, but it’s a different kind of hurt than what you’ve experienced. What’s your man’s name?”
“Ridley.”
“Do you trust Ridley to talk about your feelings?”
I nod without hesitation. “I trust him, but I don’t want to tell him. I’m not ready yet.”
“That’s okay. You can take your time. You’ll know when you’re ready.”
“How?”
“Because it’ll just happen.”
“Okay.” I pick my cuticles for a second. “I’m really pissed off.”
“About?”
“That I have this amazing person in my life and because of my mom and my sister and all the assholes I’ve dated, I have to deal with all this shit.”
“It’s not very fair.”
“No.”
“You mentioned you don’t want to confront your family, but what about Trent?”
“God no. I would never give him the satisfaction.”
“Think about what you would say if you did talk to him.”
A thousand thoughts enter my mind.
“Some people find that writing a letter to the person helps. You don’t have to send it. You can even burn it when you’re done, but it’s a way to get the feelings out.”
“That doesn’t sound bad.”
“Consider that during this next week and we can talk about it in our next session.”
I leave the therapist’s office feeling drained emotionally but lighter. All I want to do is get to Moby’s and see Ridley again, which is probably more telling than I want it to be.
By the time the rideshare drops me off in front of the restaurant, the evening crowd is starting to fill the place. I step through the back door and head to the office to get my chef’s coat, waving at Carlos as I pass the kitchen.
After putting my coat on, I walk out to the main area, glancing around for Ridley and finding him at the bar, chatting with Oakley. With all the confidence I have inside me, I march over to him and tap him on the shoulder.
He turns around, his smile growing when he sees me. “Hey.”
I lean in and press a kiss to his lips, firm and strong. “Hey,” I whisper.
“You okay?”
“I am. It’s okay if I come to your room again tonight?”
“It’s an open invite. Maybe I can get out at the same time tonight and walk you home.”
“I’d like that.”
“Me too.” He brushes his thumb across my chin. “You sure you’re okay?”
There’s no way Ridley isn’t the guy he’s shown himself to be. I have to believe that. I have a few mountains to climb still, but hopefully he’ll be waiting for me on the other side.
“I’m positive.”