by Amy Brent
“Smells like lasagna in here!” Ava called out.
“Logan!” Sarah squealed.
The kids ran and embraced before they stumbled up to her room. Already I could hear balls being thrown against the wall with Logan’s giggle ringing out in the house. If there was one sound that could fill my chest with pride, it was the sound of children giggling in this house.
Oh, how it filled my soul.
“So,” Ava said as she placed a glass of wine next to me. “Spill the beans. How’d it go?”
“Much better than I thought. He did recognize me, too.”
“Oh shit. He did? I bet he felt like an ass,” she said.
“He recognized me instantly, and I could tell he was uneasy. But it was nice talking with him.”
“Did you talk about what I asked you to?”
“I did. He was telling me it wasn’t my fault and that if I wanted to place blame, it was a bit Carl’s fault but a lot of the other driver’s fault.”
“See? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” she said.
“I know, I know. It was nice to talk to him, and he looked concerned. You know, like he cared about what I was going through.”
“He’s one of the most popular psychiatrists in the world. I would fucking hope so,” she said.
“Mom?”
“Yes, honey?” Ava called out
“Chocolate milk, please?” Logan asked.
“For dinner, honey. Not right now.”
“I can make that happen,” I said.
“He’s been on a massive kick lately. They gave it to him at school, and now that’s all he wants.”
“I guess it could be worse,” I said.
“So, did he agree with your doctor’s diagnosis?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. He said we needed to have a few more sessions for us to dig a bit deeper, which tells me he doesn’t quite agree. And I don’t, either. It’s not like I don’t function,” I said.
“You made another appointment?”
“For next week at the same time, yes.”
“You still have feelings for him, don’t you?” she asked.
“Nah. I don’t think so.” I could feel the blush rising to my cheeks, and I knew Ava saw it. I clocked her smirk out of the corner of my eye, but all I did was sip my wine. The lasagna still had a few more minutes to cook before I started making the salad, so I tried to occupy my mind with that.
But all I could think about was Brandon’s sweating body pounding into my hips.
“I think you still have feelings for him,” she said.
“I really don’t think I do.”
“I know you, Melissa. I know those looks. Those longing little looks you try to keep buried for reasons I still don’t understand. You did it with Carl, and now you’re doing it with Brandon.”
“I am not, Ava.”
“All I’m going to say is be careful,” she said. “You’re there to heal, not suffer more trauma. Work on yourself. For once, make the focus about you.”
“Okay.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise, all right?”
I took a sip of my wine as I drew in a deep breath. She was right. This appointment wasn’t about him or us or what we had. This was about me getting closure. Finding healing. Getting on some medication that would actually help me instead of hinder my ability to work and raise a child. I sighed into my glass. The alarm on the stove beeped, and Ava shooed me away while I gathered my thoughts.
“You start on the salad. I’ll get this thing out of the oven,” she said.
I was more than happy to obey.
Chapter 9
Brandon
I had to take the day off because of a meeting with my literary agent. I shifted all my appointments, and Michael stood in for the few that I couldn’t reschedule. Then I met him at a coffee shop not too far from my home. My newest book would be released on Friday, and that would kick off the book tour I was scheduled to maintain. I sat down with him and ironed out dates, confirming where I was going and what time I was going to be there. My agent wanted to get hotels and airplane tickets booked as soon as possible, and he needed my go-ahead on things.
I was more than willing to give it to him if it meant getting me out of that office for a little while.
I had him spread out the book tour a little more than normal. Instead of cramming multiple places within a three-week span, I had him spread it out over a two-month period. That meant I could still keep most of my appointments, be there if my son needed me, and still ride the three-month wave that usually comes with books from bestselling authors.
My agent wasn’t too happy about that, but I didn’t care.
The meeting ended early, so I decided to go pick up my son. There was an indoor playhouse in the heart of L.A. that had a bouncy house he loved, and I figured today would be a wonderful day to take him there. I picked him up from the house and told the nanny to put her feet up for a little bit. Then we started off toward the heart of the city I was born in.
“This is gonna be fun!” Max exclaimed.
“I’m glad. We can even get pizza while we’re there,” I said.
“Their pizza’s awesome, Daddy. Thanks.”
“Not a problem, kiddo.”
Max practically jumped from his seat as he took off across the parking lot. I yelled behind him, catching up with him just before he hit the road. I picked him up and slung him over my shoulder while he giggled into my skin. While I wanted to reprimand him for getting away, I simply couldn’t. I had been so busy with work and this damn book that I hadn’t gotten to spend a lick of time with him, and I didn’t want to waste it punishing him for his excitement.
Plus, I was going to have to leave in two weeks for my first book signing, and I wanted as much unadulterated time with him as I could get.
Max was too young to remember the first book tour, but I could remember his reactions to me when I got back. He had been with the nanny so much that he didn’t even want to come to me. He wouldn't listen, ran to her when he needed things, and it absolutely broke my heart. It’s why I put off writing another book until now. Part of me was hoping I could take him on the book tour with me, but I’d settle for him just being old enough to video chat with me so he didn’t forget who I was and didn’t forget that I loved him.
“Daddy! Look!”
I watched Max do a backflip before he landed on his stomach. I smiled and cheered, praising him for doing such a good job. The smile on his face was priceless, and I wanted to commit every single moment to memory. I put in an order for pizza while he was wearing himself out, and by the time it came to our little corner table, he was sweating bullets.
“Pizza! Yeah. Ranch?” he asked.
“You dip your pizza in ranch?”
“Uh huh. At school,” he said.
“All right. Sit tight and I’ll go see if they have some.”
I had no idea where he got some of his eating habits, but all it did was make me smile. He was blossoming into his own little person with his own wants and needs and personal likes. I couldn’t stand to watch him slather his slice of pizza in that white sauce, but he adored it. He hummed in contentment as he ate as much as he could, but when he was done, his eyes started to droop.
“Gettin’ tired, buddy?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
“Wanna go home and take a nap? Then maybe we could watch a movie afterward?”
“Movie sounds good.”
“All right, Max. Sounds like a good plan to me.”
I scooped him up in my arms, and he was asleep before I could get him into the car. I took him home and shooed the nanny off, opting to lay him down myself. I pulled the covers up over his shoulder as he rolled over onto his side, and I took in how peaceful he looked. My little baby boy was growing before my eyes, and the next time I blinked, he would be ready for college.
I kissed his cheek before I turned out his light, and the moment I shut his door, my phone
vibrated on my hip.
“House call?” the nanny asked.
“Yeah. Are you okay here for a little bit?” I asked.
“Oh, of course. Go on. Be a hero,” she said, smiling.
She always told me the same thing whenever I rushed over to someone’s house. I was anything but a hero, but it was better than no one cheering me on at all, so I took it. The times when I was at the house with her, I didn’t feel as lonely. The pang of falling asleep alone wasn’t so great if she was staying the night, like during the times Max was sick.
But the truth was I felt lonely. Every evening when she left for the day, I was lonely. Craving that adult attention. Someone to call my best friend. A soft woman to wrap my arms around and shower with love. It was easy, finding fake women who would give you an image of this if only to be treated to a nice dinner, but it was never the same.
Nice copies but never quite living up to the expectation.
I pulled into my patient’s house and saw her sobbing on the porch. I ran up to her and placed my hand on her back, rubbing it lightly as she sniffed. Her nose was dripping, landing onto the porch beneath our feet as her hands were wet with her tears.
I don’t know how long she’d been crying like this, but I knew exactly what had happened.
“I wanted to do it so bad,” she said. “It’s never been this strong.”
“Alicia, look at me.”
She slowly looked up at me, and I could see how vacant her eyes were. Even on the medications we’d tried and even with the three appointments we had each week, she looked absent. Even with her chest hiccupping with sobs and her nose dripping, she looked like she wasn’t even there.
And I knew it was time.
“It time,” I said.
“I don’t know if they can help me,” she said.
“This is the last step. The last thing I’ve got up my sleeve before Dr. Smith takes your case. We have to exhaust every avenue, and you have to try them. Really try them.”
“I don’t want to be checked into a looney bin. I’m not crazy,” she said.
“It’s not a looney bin. It’s a very professional establishment in one of the most beautiful parts of L.A. Your insurance will cover it. I’ve already called and checked. All I have to do is make a phone call, and they’ll be expecting you.”
“What about work?” she asked.
“I’ll talk with your boss. Alicia, this is serious. Suicide is nothing to joke about. You are no longer safe at home by yourself,” I said.
“I know,” she whispered.
“Do this for yourself. For once, deem yourself important enough to try one last thing. Just one. I promise you, I won’t stop until we find something that helps you.”
“I know,” she said, sniffling.
“Will you do it, then?” I asked.
“Will you go with me?” she asked.
“Of course. If you want, we can even do it tonight. I’ll make a call while you pack a few things in a bag, and I’ll drive you myself.”
She nodded her head and a feeling of relief washed over my body. Alicia was, by far, one of the worst patients I’d ever experienced. The level of legitimate depression she experienced on a daily basis was astounding, and she was still walking around and working. She was still taking on freelance work as a graphic designer, sitting at her computer all day and pushing through the pain. The tears. The searing pain that ricocheted through her mind on a daily basis. It was patients like this who inspired what I did. Their strength was unmatchable. It was patients like Alicia who fueled my passion for what I did, because for whatever the reason, they were always strong enough to push through.
They were just never strong enough to admit that it could get better.
I ushered her to my car and drove her across town. I called the front desk of the institution and told them to be expecting a new patient. I told them I would fax over her file as soon as I got into the office, but for now what she needed was rest. I dropped her off and waved goodbye to her before I placed a call to her boss like I said I would. Then I started the long drive home.
I hated house calls like this, the moments where your patients were clamoring for you in the lonely nighttime hours. It was moments like this where I wished I had someone to go home to, someone to hold and talk through the emotions this rose within me. I cared about all my patients and wanted the best for them. It killed me to see them the way I saw Alicia tonight.
I wanted my best friend. Someone who would hold me for once while I talked with them about the turmoil I felt inside. For once, I wanted to be the one in someone’s lap, talking through my own emotions like they listened. I wished I had a girlfriend, or a wife, or even a decent friend with benefits situation. Someone I could call who would offer an ear and a comfortable body for me to lose myself in.
I thought about calling Michael. Calling and telling him about what had happened, but it was never the same with him. He could offer advice or a joke to distract me. He could take me out for a drink, or even point out a woman for me to sink myself into. But it wasn’t the same. A woman would draw me in and hold me close. She would warm me with her skin while she whispered sweet nothings in my ear. She would run her fingertips through my hair as I talked and not judge me if I cried.
She would enjoy the emotion I felt instead of mocking it because it wasn’t manly.
I pulled up to the house and felt a heavy weight sit on my shoulders. Max was sitting on the porch waiting for me, a milkshake between his hands. I climbed out of the car, and he looked up at me, smiling as he took a big gulp of the chocolatey goodness.
“Ready for that movie, champ?” I called out.
“Yeah! Mickey.”
“You wanna watch Mickey again?”
“Uh huh,” he said.
“Well, come on then. Let’s go watch us some Mickey.”
I curled up on the couch with my son and kissed the top of his head. It was moments like this I committed to memory and moments like this I wanted to reflect on whenever I was working. I knew that when I struck up this book tour, the defiant Max would rear his head. I wouldn’t be home enough, and I’d have to pay the nanny overtime for pulling dual roles. I’d have to fight with him on everything because I wasn’t coming home when he wanted me to. It had happened when I was writing my book, and I was locked away in my office during late night hours, and it would happen when I left to start touring with my book.
I wanted him to know there was nothing more important to me in this world than him.
“I love you, Max,” I said into the top of his head.
“Love you, too, Daddy.”
Chapter 10
Melissa
“You told me this would be fun,” I said.
“What? You’re not having fun?” Ava asked.
“Not even in the slightest.”
Ava had convinced me to leave Sarah with my in-laws so we could go out. She thought we could use some time away from our motherly responsibilities while we found ourselves some entertainment. She told me it would be good for Carl’s parents to take her for some time, especially since Sarah was beginning to start asking about her father. Ava thought it would be food for his parents to answer those questions, and I knew they would enjoy the time with her anyway.
I figured we would go catch a movie, maybe hit up a restaurant for a nice glass of wine. Instead, I found myself being dragged into a bar with a scantily-clad Ava.
“So, who’s watching Logan?” I asked as we grabbed a drink at the bar.
“Believe it or not, his father.”
“Wait. What?” I asked.
“Yeah. He came back into town a few days ago wanting to make an effort. Handed me a massive check for child support he’s owed me over the years and said he wanted to try and be a part of Logan’s life. He was the one who encouraged me to go out,” she said.
“And that doesn’t make you nervous? Sarah’s with her grandparents, and I’m nervous as hell,” I said.
“I can tell by how fas
t you’re putting back the drinks. And yes, it does make me nervous. Hence why we’re at a bar. I can get my mind off it for a little bit and then go home a bit early and blame it on drinking too quickly.”
“Nice thinking. Sarah’s grandparents have her all night,” I said.
“Oh! Sleeping in. I miss sleeping in.”
“Maybe Logan’s father will get up with him in the morning or something,” I said.