The Tea Series

by Sheila Horgan

  “Okay. I heard that Suzi is going to take over my place. Before I go, I’ll take the box apart and clean it real good.”

  “Box?”

  “The air conditioning unit. I’ve smoked in that apartment for years. The management here isn’t going to clean it right. I don’t want all that shit blowing on the baby.”

  “That’s really nice. I’ll tell Suzi. Thanks.”

  “Talk to you later. I’m kind of psyched it’s moving day. I really thought this ol’ dog would die alone. Never thought I’d find me a woman again. Not at this point in my life.”

  “I’m happy for you. And for her. You’re a great guy. There’s no way you were going to end up alone. Any girl would be proud to be with you.”

  “You weren’t knocking down my door.” He winked at me.

  Although he said it in a funny way, you could tell that there was hurt behind it. Why is it that the nicest guys are always the last ones to get picked?

  How do you answer that? “You deserved better than me.”

  “You’re quick. A liar, but quick.”

  There it was again. A liar. Maybe I’m being overly sensitive, but I need to think about that.

  The furniture guys still hadn’t arrived when it was time for me to go to my appointment. I seriously thought about calling and cancelling. I just couldn’t justify cancelling. It is so rude to cancel at the last minute without a real reason. It would be different if my leg fell off or something, but to cancel just because I’m a chicken would be wrong.

  Right?

  I took a deep breath. Grabbed the envelope off my counter and carried it over to Connie.

  Procrastination is a good thing when you can frame it as being considerate.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t really have time to talk to me, so I handed him the envelope with the tip for the furniture guys and an extra key to the front door, got in my car, and drove toward scary.

  Why it’s scary to see a counselor I’m not really sure, but I’m a little bit terrified.

  Maybe it’s because I’m seeing all these signs of my life not really being what I thought it was.

  Between Sinead’s comment about me being the family martyr and the whole lies and secrets thing, maybe life isn’t as good as I always thought it was.

  I hate this.

  Even with my attempt at procrastination I got to the office twenty minutes early. I couldn’t decide if I should wait in the car or go in. What if she saw me drive up? Then she would know I’m waiting in the car.

  I’m such a doofus.

  Get a grip.

  What is wrong with me?

  I’m early to everything. Have been all my life. I’m kind of proud of that. If the counselor wants to read something into that, let her.

  What is going on with me?

  Why so whiny and insecure?

  What do I fear?

  This is just crazy.

  I walked into the counselor’s office. It seemed to be a shared reception area with a shared receptionist and a bunch of doors going in different directions.

  I took a deep breath and walked up to the receptionist.

  I started to ask for the counselor when the woman behind the counter smiled warmly and said, “You must be Cara. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Vicky. Please, come on back to my office.”

  She seems really nice. Warm. Friendly. She could be my friend if I weren’t here in the capacity of patient.

  Patient?

  Really?

  She’s not a doctor. I need to think of a better term for this whole thing if I’m going to see a counselor. Not that there is anything wrong with it. I think all this stuff is a great idea.

  Just not for me.

  I know that a few years ago it was all about everyone seeing their therapist. Just about every kid I went to school with was seeing a counselor for something.

  I know this stuff.

  But the truth is, if Morgan hadn’t suggested that I go to a counselor, I never would have thought about it. Actually, she kind of bullied me into it. She did it in a loving and wonderful sister kind of way, but she wasn’t going to let me get away without taking care of myself.

  I never would have come to see a counselor without her doing that.

  All an O’Flynn needs is a good cup of tea and Mom. She doesn’t know everything, but she knows enough to figure out what’s going on in the lives of her kids. There isn’t a single problem we have ever had that she couldn’t make better. Not all problems are fixable, but all problems are better-able, and better is what my mother is best at.

  The only reason I’m here is so that I don’t hurt Morgan’s feelings. I’ll be here one time. I’ll tell Morgan I kept my promise and gave it a shot.

  How bad can it be?

  Vicky led the way to her office. It was really nice. Light and airy. There was a couch on one side of the room and a chair facing it.

  No desk.

  No storage.

  This must be the interrogation room.

  I sat on the couch. Vicky sat in her chair. She put her hand down to one side, and a pretty leather writing pad holder seemed to materialize. With it was a really beautiful pen.

  “It is a pretty pen, isn’t it?” She laughed as she saw me checking it out.

  “I’ve never seen one like that.”

  “When I opened my office, I wanted to look professional, and I figured a really nice pen and a really nice cover for my pad would do it. I was kind of insecure about this whole counselor thing. I talked to my mom about it. My mom knows everything about everything. She found this wonderful place online. The pens are like forty bucks, but they look a lot more expensive than that. My parents got me this one as an office-warming gift. I now buy them as gifts when I want something personal and beautiful for someone really special.”

  “I’ll have to look for that.”

  “Just Google ‘beautiful pen.’ Choose images. You’ll see it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You are very welcome.”

  “So, how does this work?” Now that I knew Vicky had a mother like mine, and a beautiful pen — you know how much I love my cheap purple pen for writing my to-do lists — and she seemed just the slightest bit self-deprecating but still confident, I decided that I might as well participate fully. I’m going to have to report back to Morgan, and, you never know, I might just learn something an O’Flynn hasn’t come up with.

  “Well, Cara, how it works is kind of up to you.”

  “I don’t know anything about counseling. I never would have thought of making an appointment, but my sister-in-law Morgan suggested that I give you a call.”

  “I’m aware of that. Morgan called me and gave me permission to talk about her should I find it helpful.”

  “I really don’t want to get in the middle of Morgan’s business. She was raped. Nothing like that happened to me. I don’t see how getting into any of the details of what happened to Morgan is going to help me deal with what happened to me, because compared to what happened to Morgan, what happened to me is so insignificant.”

  “What did happen to you?”

  “I’m sure if Morgan called she filled you in. She would do that to make it easier on me.”

  “I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

  “Well, I got the crap kicked out of me by my old roommate’s husband.”

  She didn’t say anything, which I took to mean I had to talk some more. Which is pretty much why I didn’t really want to come in the first place. I know I talk all the time. About everything. But I talk to people I already know and trust about things they already know about me. I’m not really good at telling new people new stuff.

  That’s what Teagan is for!

  By the time my time was up, I’d told Vicky everything I could remember about Barry beating me up. There are still a few fuzzy spots. The doctors said that’s pretty normal.

  Some of what I reported to Vicky was actually what I remembered of what other people told me. I told her when that was th
e case.

  You never know, maybe my brain is just blocking some things out. She assured me that it was perfectly normal not to remember every detail, and not just for psychological reasons. The brain is a wonderful thing, and it protects you and itself. While Barry was kicking the crap out of me, my body, including my brain, went into survival mode. That’s good.

  I told her all about when I freaked out on Seamus. I explained that he was just coming in to tell the family the good news that his wife was pregnant and I almost passed out.

  Teagan is convinced that it was because Seamus came toward me in a hurry and I had some kind of flashback.

  Morgan is convinced I’ve got some kind of post-traumatic stress thing going on.

  Unfortunately, Vicky wasn’t as interested in what Morgan and Teagan think as she was about what I think. I’m just not sure what I think. I’m also not really interested in figuring it out. As my grandma used to say, some things are just better left to wilt on the vine.

  By the time I’d told her my story and filled out her paperwork, the clock had run down, and it was time to go.

  She asked if I’d like to make another appointment.

  I don’t know why, but when she asked me that, I kind of panicked. If I’m honest with myself, although I kept saying I’d only go to counseling one time, I didn’t really expect to go talk to her just one time. People don’t go to counselors one time. What would be the point?

  But when it was time to commit to the next time, I didn’t.

  I told her I’d think about it and give her a call.

  She stayed her normal nice self and told me she’d look forward to it.

  My heart was pounding so hard when I left that I thought it was going to explode.

  Weird.

  When I got home, the furniture was in the house. It was pretty much where I wanted it. A.J. and I would be able to push it around later and get it perfect. Normally I’d do something like that by myself. I’m the type that moves all the furniture when I vacuum, so moving furniture into place has never been a big deal for me, but not anymore, or at least not right now. My ribs are mostly better, but every once in a while when I do something stupid, I pay a high price. Moving furniture might be one of those stupid things.

  My neighbor Connie brought my key back and rushed off to finish the last of his packing and cleaning. I offered to help, but he said he had it well under control.

  As much as I’m looking forward to Suzi being so close, I’m gonna miss my neighbor with the “big blue balls” welcome mat. He’s been the kind of neighbor everybody should have. Nice. Polite. Never nosey but always willing to help. Never forcing himself into your business but always aware of what’s going on.

  I’m really good at all of those neighborly things, except for the never nosey part. I’m working on that.

  Ever have one of those moments that doesn’t feel like a memory, but it’s not déjà vu either?

  I’m suffering with a lot of those lately.

  Why say suffering?

  Because it feels like one of two things. Either I’m just repeating the same stuff over and over in my life, and that’s why everything feels so familiar, or I’ve got this supernatural thing going on that I don’t understand and my mom isn’t here to explain to me.

  I guess there are other options, like a brain tumor or maybe mental illness, but until it is proven to be something else, I’m thinking that it’s the whole doing the same thing over and over problem.

  Mom used to tell us all the time that the only difference between a rut and a grave is depth. How many mothers tell their children to go out and do something different? Something exciting. Something outside their comfort zone. My mom was telling us that when we were three and continued until we moved out of the house.

  At the time all my friends thought it was so cool. When their mothers were still trying to hold their hands while they were crossing the street, my mother was telling us to walk down two blocks and cross at the light. There was a crossing guard there. We’d be fine.

  When we were in grade school she’d give us a couple of dollars and send us to the grocery store to find something she needed to cook dinner. We never knew that she was right behind us or one of the older kids was spying on us. We thought we were a big deal. We usually traveled in pairs; Teagan and I were usually together on these adventures, but because there were no adults, we thought we ruled the world.

  My friends weren’t allowed to do stuff like that, and when they told their mothers that we were doing it, their moms would shake their heads and look at us like we were orphan children with no parenting at all.

  Now that I’m older and wiser and have seen my mom in action with my younger brothers and sisters, I am fully aware that my mother never really wanted us to go out and join the circus as she suggested; she wanted us to get all of our rebelliousness out of our systems before we were old enough to do much more than cross the street.

  Tricky.

  If you rebel when rebelling means that you play army instead of hopscotch, you identify rebelling with little kid stuff.

  When all my friends were doing all kinds of stupid stuff in high school, I not only had no interest in doing it, but I thought virtually all of it was stupid and immature. I thought they were acting like little kids because being rebellious for no reason is a little kid thing to do.

  At least it is in our family.

  I know there are times that Teagan and I sound like we’re twelve, the stupid fights we have and the whining and all that, but if you look at the big picture, you see that we’re actually pretty conservative, and if anything, we act really old for our age. I don’t drink. I don’t party. My bills are paid on time. I have a savings account. I even have medical insurance, and I’m the only person I know my age — without any family or medical problems — who has actual medical insurance.

  Maybe the counselor was better than I thought.

  Why am I thinking about all this stuff if she didn’t stir stuff up in my wee little brain? And now all the junk that had safely settled to the bottom is agitated to the top.

  Or maybe it’s because my own sister called me out for being the family martyr and says I’m delusional.

  And Teagan didn’t exactly fight her on the point.

  Seems like things used to be a lot simpler.

  I sound like one of those little kids who say “when I was little” or “I never did that in my whole life.” It always makes me laugh. All of the sudden it isn’t so funny.

  FOUR

  “OKAY, DINGLEBERRY, WHAT’S going on?”

  “What?”

  “I called you and called you, and you haven’t responded. I had to get in my car and drive all the way over here to make sure you weren’t on the floor bleeding again. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  “I just walked in the door.”

  “They have this new thing, all the rage in Europe, called a cell phone. You don’t have to be home to answer it.”

  “Teagan — hello? — look at me. I was getting my hair done. I decided I wanted the color changed.”

  “It looks great. I never, ever thought you would walk around with such a vivid color. I like it.”

  “It’s semipermanent. She said it will completely wash out eventually.”

  “Dingleberry, you are wearing your hair so short right now, what difference does it make? Even with your slow-growing hair, if you cut out all the color, it would only take a few weeks to replace the length. That’s the advantage of clipper-short hair.”

  “The disadvantage is that you have to go in and pay a small fortune pretty regularly to get it done.”

  “Use clippers on the short part yourself. Let the longer part go for a while. Color it yourself.”

  “I’m not even going to try that.”

  “Anyway, that is no excuse for not answering the phone.”

  “They frown on it when you grab your phone and put it to your yucked up ear. The phone warranty people probably wouldn’t like it either.
I’m sorry, ma’am, but peroxide eating the skinny little wires that hold everything together inside is not covered.”

  “Wires? Really?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “You could have called when you were done.”

  “I was driving, and my Bluetooth wasn’t charged. What’s the emergency?”

  “You are.”

  “Why am I an emergency?”

  “Two reasons. First, you went to counseling, and you didn’t tell me.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Morgan.”

  “Remind me to thank her. It’s not that big of a deal. Besides, you’ve kept a few secrets of your own lately. You let me walk right into the whole thing with Sinead, and now she’s mad at me and thinks I’m delusional.”

  “She’s thought that you are delusional for a long time. She’s not mad, Cara. She’s scared shitless.”

  “I don’t blame her. I’d be crazed. She’s awfully young to be doing this. She and Howard haven’t been together all that long. What happens if he just walks away?”

  “She made me promise not to talk to you about it.”

  “Great. Then why did you bring it up? Just so I can go nuts thinking about something I can’t talk about?”

  “I said she made me promise not to talk about it, not that I wouldn’t talk about it. You just need to be aware that I made the promise so that you don’t go shooting off your big mouth again. Besides, what was that whole thing about you were really asking me if I’m pregnant? Thanks a lot.”

  “Really? That’s what you’re going to focus on?”

  “For a minute. Do I look pregnant?”

  “Oh. My. God. I can’t believe you. I can’t believe that you, of all people, just asked me that question. Of course you don’t look pregnant. You’re the only curvy girl in the whole world who can eat anything she wants, as much as she wants, wear anything she wants, and still look completely not pregnant.”

  “Completely not pregnant?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Good. Now, where’s my tea? You haven’t even put the kettle on. I swear this family is falling apart.”