Dr. Paxton isn’t the worst person. In fact, she’s pretty chill. I started seeing her when mom got sick. Not that I told you. Who knows why I kept it a secret? Then, after you were gone, she was there for me. To help lift me out of the holes I kept digging for myself. But when Mom lost her job... Dr. Paxton was gone too.
I got through it. I was strong enough. But now I’m worried. What happens if I crack when I see Paxton? Does that mean that I’ve been lying to myself this whole time?
Maybe I’m not as strong as I think I am. 9:43pm
Message Failed. Number not in service. 9:43pm
“It’s so good to see you again, Thomas.”
The backs of my legs are glued to the black leather couch, and it’s sure to hurt like a bitch when I get up. Dr. Paxton sits across from me in a cushy green chair that looks far more comfortable than the stiff, lumpy thing I’m sitting on. She hasn’t changed much in our time apart, which I appreciate. Only a few new wrinkles from six months of laughing. Or maybe from age. Who can tell?
“Do you not share my sentiments?”
Her gray hair is cropped short, chunks sticking out at random places. It gives her a more youthful appearance, which I’m sure is helpful when you’re an adolescent psychologist. Her glasses are the same too, frameless lenses that sit low on the nose. Dr. Paxton’s office has always been a reflection of herself. Modern. Minimalistic. A little cold. Three of the placards on the wall have shifted, likely to make room for awards or certificates that she’s won in our months apart. But other than those her office is the same as the last time I was here. The same dark wooden desk in the corner. The same watercolor art hanging above the couch on the wall behind me. The same gray rug that could double as a Rorschach test. And in almost every way, Dr. Paxton’s the same, too. So why do I have this gnawing feeling in my gut? am I the only thing that’s different?
“Thomas?”
I blink, dialing back in from my nostalgic diversion. “Sorry, I missed that question.”
“It’s all right,” Dr. Paxton says, lips spreading with a warm grin. “It seems as though you aren’t particularly enthusiastic about being back in my office.”
I don’t answer. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Which is dumb, I suppose. You used to talk about therapy all the time. It never changed my opinion of you. So why am I ashamed to be here?
“Are you gonna tell her about me?”
“You’ve had a rough year,” she continues stating obvious things. “We could talk about that if you’d like? Our sessions ended so abruptly. There’s bound to be a plethora of things you want to discuss.”
“You should tell her about me.”
“Give me a second.” I mutter.
“Pardon?”
“Oh, um… well, Mom’s job got dissolved after the last campaign season. That’s the reason my sessions ended.” I leave out the part about me being secretly relieved that I didn’t have to come back here. “She jumped around some odd jobs for a few months, but after chemo started, she didn’t have the energy.”
“You and your mother are so close. Seeing her at her lowest must have been unsettling.”
I lean forward, the shifting weight making the leather squeak. “Yeah. Scary as hell is more like it. Mom always tried to play down the pain, the side-effects, all of it. I can’t tell you how many times I woke up to her puking her guts out.” I nod, rubbing the end of my nose. It’s not a day I like remembering. “One night, she’s sprawled out on the floor, head sunk in the toilet, and she looks up at me, with tears streaming down her face and there’s this fear in her eyes. That was the worst part. I’d never seen my mother afraid of anything.”
Dr. Paxton makes a sympathetic noise, then says, “Tell me about her surgery.”
“There was a tumor on each side. She went in for surgery two days after the diagnosis. Double mastectomy. Thank God her insurance was still in place. Her doctor was worried that one of the tumors was getting close to her lungs, so they rushed her right in. We spent three nights in the hospital in Atlanta. You ever slept in one of those terrible hospital chairs? I could double for Quasimodo after that.
“I drove us home after the third night. My first time driving on the highway and I get to do it with a doped-up co-pilot who kept asking me where her waffles were. Did wonders for the nerves, let me tell you. I didn’t stop shaking till the next morning when Mom woke me up with her moaning.”
“How did you manage your anxiety during this time?”
“I didn’t. I mean, I still had some of my meds, but…” I strum my fingers on the armrest, taking in a deep breath in hopes my hammering pulse will slow. “And after last summer, it tore me apart. Everyday.”
Dr. Paxton shifts in her seat.
“I’m guessing that wasn’t the answer you were looking for.”
Her smile fades to just a fraction. “It’s not the ideal situation, that’s for sure. But I appreciate your honesty, Thomas.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Doc. Not about things that matter.”
“Do I not matter?”
“Are there things that you think don’t matter?”
It’s my turn to shift and my legs make an audible sound as they separate from the sofa. “That’s not what I meant,” I answer to both.
Dr. Paxton nods, waving her hand to brush the subject away like a gnat. “How is your mother now?”
“Better. She’s almost a hundred percent again. And annoying the hell out of me. They say she’s in complete remission.”
“That’s wonderful,” Dr. Paxton says with a chuckle. She uncrosses her legs then crosses them in the opposite order. “How’s the relationship? It’s often a difficult transition for parents to be under the care of their children, and even more so for the child to relinquish that control when the time comes.”
The back of my neck prickles. “It’s okay.”
“Okay? Care to explain?”
I sigh, folding my arms over my chest because I’m going to vibrate out of my seat if they aren’t contained. “It’s like this. For fourteen months, I’ve been essentially self-sufficient. Mom’s been taking care of herself just fine, for the most part, but she couldn’t handle anything else. So, I kept things moving.”
“It sounds like your mother was well taken care of.”
“Yeah, whatever. The point is, now that she’s working again, she wants to take on too much. She wants me to quit my summer job because she feels guilty that she was out of work for so long. Oh, and that’s the best part of this whole debacle. We were so hard up, she decided to jump at the chance to work for Satan incarnate.”
That gets a chuckle. “You have strong feelings about the senator.”
“I have strong feelings about boxer briefs. This is more than that. Let’s just say if I had to choose between standing in the same room as him and being mauled by a rabid zombie-weasel, I’d pick the latter.”
Dr. Paxton grins wider. “You have such a unique perspective, Thomas.”
My cheeks are warm. “Whatever. Needless to say, Mom and I had a knock-down drag-out fight over her defecting. You know what really got me, Doc? It’s not that she’s working for a right-wing psychopath. Or that she wants to control every part of my life. It’s that she didn’t understand why it bothered me so much in the first place. How fucked up is that? My mother used to be able to look at me and know exactly what I was thinking. Feel every ounce of anxiety. Now she’s an antenna trying to pick up satellite radio.”
“It’s important to remember what your mother has been through, Thomas. That kind of experience tends to change people at their core. It twists the things we love about them, but it can also reveal new and wondrous traits too.”
The heat in my cheeks smolders, growing till it flickers into flames. “That’s not the worst part.”
Dr. Paxton gives me an encouraging nod. I clench my fists tighter against my ribs.
“During our fight, she asked how I could hate the Senator. This man I’d never met. His flaws are a list a mile lon
g. I could have taken my pick. But instead, I resigned to let her in on my secret. The elephant in the room, so to speak.”
I have to stop and swallow the lump of words in my throat.
“So, I came out to her.”
Dr. Paxton’s trained poker-face doesn’t betray a thing, but behind those dark eyes, cogs are turning. She processes this new information then asks, “What was her reaction?”
“Shock, at first. Like she stopped mid-sentence and her mouth was hanging open. Then there was hugging and tears and all the mushy stuff I’m sure is supposed to happen, but I could have lived without.
“Look, deep down, I’ve always known that my mother would accept this part of me. But I needed her to understand why I was upset she was going to work for that man.”
“You’re referring to the Senator’s bill.”
“Nope, his stance on the trade treaty with China—of course that! Brilliant reasoning, Doc. But you didn’t need twelve years of school to figure that out.”
Dr. Paxton chuckles and I pull out my phone to check the time. Any second now…
“Thomas?”
“Our time is up.”
I stand, ignoring the pain of separation from the sticky sofa. My shoulders feel lighter, like I’ve shrugged off a sack of coffee beans.
Dr. Paxton stands as well, clasping her hands in front of her. “It seems you’re correct. Time flies when you're catching up, doesn’t it?”
“Sure. Whatever you say.” I head for the door.
“I’ll be speaking with your mother this evening, Thomas.” Dr. Paxton crosses to her desk then sinking into the cushy chair. “But I thought you’d like to know that I won’t be recommending more sessions. That is, unless you’d like to continue.”
I pause at the door, turning back to face the doctor. “Why’s that?”
Dr. Paxton smiles, looking over her glasses at me. “You have a very firm grip on reality, Thomas. Be sure to hold onto that.”
“Oh, thank goodness! For a second there, I thought you were losing your marbles.”
I nod and leave before I say something I’ll regret.
“Oh my God, I wish you could have been there, Nicky. It was insane. I was like, this close to him. He could have spit on me.”
I roll my eyes.
“Hey! I saw that!” Reese eyes narrow into slits.
“Shit.” Busted. I minimize the recipe page on my computer and pick up my phone off the desk, spinning as I get up from my chair. “I forgot you video chat me. Sorry, Reese. I just find it hard to believe that Shawn Mendes would be in the same Waffle House as you.”
Reese pouts her lips. “It was late. Maybe he was out clubbing and got hungry.”
“The timing is not the issue here, dear. I’m more concerned about how he got from Australia to Atlanta so quickly. Check his Instagram.”
Reese huffs before her face disappears behind a gray haze. The click-clack of her typing makes me smile. It doesn’t take her long to admit I’m right.
“Okay, fine. But this guy could have been his twin, I swear to God.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, sweetheart. At least you’ll always have the memory of sharing your hash browns with your Waffle House Shawn Mendes.” I hop on the bed, propping myself against the pillows and headboard.
“He made me feel so special. I even kept the fork we both ate off of.”
“Okay, that’s gross. And also theft.”
“You wouldn’t say that if it really were his saliva blessing these metal prongs…”
My eyes dart to the door. It’s closed, just like I left it. I can’t help it. It’s a force of habit whenever I’m about to talk about boys with Reese. Can’t have Mom popping in for a rare face-to-face only to come face-to-dick with whatever piece of man-meat Reese is shoveling my way.
“Yeah,” I admit, breathing out some of the tension between my shoulders. “You’re probably right. I would have done the same.”
“See? Don’t act all high and mighty. You’re just as smitten as the rest of us.”
“Guilty.”
We laugh, but then Reese is staring at me, a devilish grin stretching her lips.
“What?” I ask.
“So… how’s the selection up in them thar hills?”
“Oh. That.”
And even though I’m behind a closed door and I’m sure Mom has slipped into her ambien-induced coma by now, my heart kicks into overdrive.
“Yes, that. Spill it, Nicky. I want all the juicy details.”
“Well the details have all been very dry so far.”
“How dry?”
“Like somewhere between that gross wine your dad drinks and the Sahara Desert.”
“Damn. That bad, huh? Is there at least some decent eye candy at work? I mean, the troglodytes that you work with excused of course. But enough people vacay up there. Hasn’t there been at least one or two attractive socialites bopping around?”
“Actually, speaking of the guys I work with, you know one of them.”
“Oh really? How so?”
“Remember the guy from the river? The one that almost stripped in front of us?”
“You mean the cutie with the curls? Yes, I remember him! He was adorable in that I-just-fell-into-the-water kind of way. Wait, so you work with him?”
I nod my head. “His name is Tommy. He’s… kind of really cute, actually. Not that I think he’s even given me the time of day. But I keep catching him staring at me. And he’ll look away like he’s pretending he isn’t doing it. I dunno, Reese. There’s just something about the way he looks at me.”
“How does he look at you?”
“Like he’s seen a ghost or something. He even mutters to himself sometimes. Look, he’s cute and all, but if I end up missing in a couple of weeks, I’d look in the trunk of his car first, if you catch my drift.”
“Roger that. Well, what about your patrons? Any potential summer flings?”
“I honestly haven’t had time to notice,” I say, running fingers over the prickling at the nape of my neck. “The job keeps me too busy.”
That’s a lie, of course. There’s been a few here and there that have caught my eye. But I want to get off this topic. It’s not like anything will happen this summer. Especially if my Dad ever decides to show up.
“Lame. It’s official, your life sucks the hardest.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well with that snooze-fest done with, let’s get back to the party last night. You’re never going to believe who showed up—”
I lean back into my pillows as Reese drones on.
In the brief moments between her rambling, I try not to miss her too hard.
“Do you think that Mel likes Nick?”
I can hardly hear Rod over the whirring of the coffee grinder. It doesn’t help that he’s a notorious mumbler.
“Why do you care?” I ask my own question, tamping down grounds before locking the portafilter in place. After a few seconds, a stream of steaming espresso pours into the glass underneath the spout.
“No reason,” he says, but continues to stare at the two of them standing at the counter, heads bowed in a hushed conversation.
“Doesn’t she have a boyfriend she never shuts up about?” I ask.
“They broke up three days ago. Didn’t you see her Instagram story? It was like, four minutes of her sobbing into a Hershey’s bar, and then another ten minutes of her going off and calling him out.”
I shake my head. I have enough trouble keeping up with the two people I actually follow.
Being stuck at work is one thing, but listening to Rod talk about Mel’s love life is not my first choice in how I want to spend my Friday night. Which, as you know, is to binge something mind-numbing on TV while eating carbs. Doesn’t matter what shape they come in. Pizza, potatoes, maybe a pint of Ben and Jerry’s? Or I can go for the holy trinity of all three. Perfection.
…Nothing? Come on, Chase. You haven’t talked to me in days.
“Yo
u gonna pour that?”
I blink away the splendor of starches. Rod is staring at me. I guess he got sick of fawning over Mel and has moved on to ensuring I don’t fuck everything up at the barista station.
“Y-yeah.” I tip the glass into a white mug, swirling it slowly—just like he taught me—to bring the créma to the surface. The rich, warm brown colors settle on top of the dark espresso. Once that’s done, I take the pitcher of steamed milk and pour it, fast at first then slower as the cup fills.
“That’s it, now rock your wrist.”
I loosen my taut muscles, allowing the weight of the pitcher to swing back and forth, creating a fanned design in the foamy cap. The deep, chocolatey browns meld with frothy white, leaving layers in between each shade.
I really want to take a picture of this.
“Nice.” Rod exhales, his posture relaxing. “That’s your best one yet.”
“Fuck yeah,” I say with a grin as I place the mug onto a saucer and slide it over the counter. A girl with a streak of blue in her hair mutters a thanks as she scoops it up, heading back to the corner where she’s amassed a pile of books around her chair like a wall to hide her from the outside world.
I envy her right now.
Rod props himself against the counter, unleashing his crazy curls from their prison long enough to scratch his head. “You’re really getting the hang of things, man. Before long, you’ll be running this place by yourself.”
“Right,” I snort. “That’ll be the day Mel decides to swear off boys.”
“Never mind. I hope that day never comes,” Rod says, shoving my shoulder with a laugh. “You’ve gotta have more faith in yourself, young padawan. This Jedi still has a few things to teach you. We’ll make you a master, yet.”
Rod is always speaking pop-culturese at me. I only understand about half of what he says, but today’s been all Star Wars references which I can hang with. Mom and I have a Star Wars ritual every May 4th. As long as he doesn’t compare me to Jar-Jar Binks, I won’t have to go Boss Nass on his ass.
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