“I never fit in with the rest of you.” I stroke Riley’s chubby toddler cheeks in the photo. She couldn’t have been more than two years old. “Because Dan hated me.”
“What?!” Brandon jumps up off the couch, like I revealed some big secret. But it’s been a fact of life for me for so long, it’s still hard to doubt it, despite what I eavesdropped on a few weeks ago. “Dad has never in a million years hated you. Why would you think that?”
I ignore the question, Mia’s words from the night of the party swirling in my head. “Remember the girl I brought to Mom’s party?”
“Yeah,” he says, brows knitting at my change of subject. “Mia, right?”
“We were talking on the way home. She made me… question some things. Between that and the conversation I overheard the other week between Mom and Dan…”
“What conversation?”
“He said—” I swallow, the words hard to get out. “He said Mom kept me apart when you and Dylan went to visit him.”
“Yeah,” he says easily, like he’s waiting for me to finish the thought.
“You knew?”
His brow furrows down. “You didn’t know?”
“No.”
He sits back down heavily on the couch. “So what, you just thought… you thought we didn’t want you around?”
I shrug, glancing away from him, and Rochelle squeezes my arm comfortingly. I can’t remember her ever touching me before tonight. Maybe I just never put myself close enough?
“Mom did this to you,” he growls, nostrils flaring. His wife puts her other hand on his leg, stopping him from whatever else he was about to say.
“I know you’ve had your issues with her in the past, but we’re moving on from that,” she says to him quietly.
I stare at the two of them as Brandon slowly relaxes. “You had issues with Mom?”
“She broke up the family,” he grits out.
“No, I did that.”
They both turn to me, Rochelle with confusion on her face, Brandon with dismay. “Tyler, you were a baby. How could you be responsible for Mom’s actions?”
“I—” I glance between them, suddenly feeling foolish to say it out loud. “The way Dan always looked at me. Like he blamed me. I was the reason they got divorced.”
“They divorced because he found out Mom cheated on him and kept it a secret that you weren’t his biological son.”
“Well, yeah, but…” I don’t really know where I’m going with the thought. When he states everything like that so baldly, the perspective seems different.
“I bet you all those times you were home with Mom while Dylan and I were at Dad’s, she was turning you against him.”
“Brandon,” Rochelle warns. “You’ve worked hard to repair your relationship with Lynn. Don’t throw all that work away and turn Tyler against her too in the process.”
He grips her hand tight, blowing out a breath until he seems calmer.
“I never knew you had a problem with Mom.”
“It had nothing to do with you.”
Didn’t it have everything to do with me, though? I shake my head. “But when we were older, once they got married again, it’s not like we were all one big happy family.”
“You’re right. I was still resentful towards Mom. Dylan tried to be the peacekeeper between us. And you always liked being alone. At least, I thought you liked it. You isolated yourself in your room, usually reading or something.”
I sit back, processing everything Brandon’s said. “I—I should go.”
“No,” they say simultaneously.
“Please stay,” Rochelle adds, wrapping her arm around mine. The action is soothing, consoling a part of me. Did Mia open up some kind of need for physical affection within me? I’ve never particularly thought of Rochelle as family, but I guess she is my sister-in-law and all. If there’s any girl I could lean on besides Mom, it would be her.
Since Mia’s not mine to do that with.
I try to focus on the memory of Mia’s voice repeating the biofeedback techniques, aware my heart rate is higher than normal, my shoulders tense. I do what I can to consciously relax my body, breathing in and out deeply. “If you want me to stay, I will.”
“Yes, we want you to,” Brandon says. “Jesus Christ, she did a number on you,” he mutters to himself. Rochelle pokes him in the stomach and glares at him, but he ignores her. “You should talk to Mom about all this.”
The thought makes me break out in a cold sweat and I immediately shake my head. But in some weird way, I feel better knowing Brandon has dealt with anger issues his whole life the same as I have. We’re more alike than I ever knew.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Rochelle says, using us as leverage to get herself up off the couch as a timer from the kitchen dings. She walks through the arch toward the kitchen and Brandon smiles fondly after her.
“She’s acting like she’s already too big to get up from a sitting position by herself, but she’s only six weeks along.”
“Have you told anyone else yet?” I ask, grateful for a change in topic. I can’t handle any more family revelations.
“She told her sister. She said there’s no earthly way she could keep the news from her.” He leans back, then looks over at me seriously. “I’m glad we got to tell you next. Dylan will be a fun uncle, but he doesn’t live close by anymore. And Riley’s too young. You’ll be the one the kid turns to.”
“You really… trust me that much?”
“I do,” he says, staying serious. “I think it’s time to stop whatever self-imposed exile you’ve been putting yourself in. Agreed?”
I nod, not wanting to get into it with him. But it’s not a matter of changing everything I’ve believed my whole life with a snap of my fingers.
Rochelle calls us to the dining room then, but halfway through dinner, she has to excuse herself.
“I guess morning sickness can happen anytime of the day,” Brandon explains.
She’s able to join us again as I finally take my leave, promising to visit again soon.
Rochelle unknowingly asks if Mia would like to come too next time, sending a short burst of pain through my chest. I don’t bother to deny our relationship any longer, but nod my head noncommittally.
I walk outside, the cool air pleasant against my skin, and pause before I unlock my car, something about the thought of asking Mia to join me here filling me with hope after my talk with Brandon. They’ve never hated me this whole time. Maybe I didn’t fuck things up as bad as I assumed I did with her either.
I get in my car and pull out my phone, but stop short at who’s just below her in my contacts.
Mom.
If there’s anyone I need to talk to, it’s her.
I press her name and the green phone icon before I can second-guess myself.
“Tyler,” she answers, happiness in her voice. “What a nice surprise.”
My throat is blocked, unable to form the words of accusation, of disappointment that want to come forth. That Brandon put in my head.
But just because he felt them doesn’t mean I have to too.
“Mom,” I stutter, deciding at the last second I can’t say anything about this over the phone. It’s not as black and white as Brandon made it out to be. I’d heard true regret in her voice when I’d overheard her speaking to Dan. And if he could forgive her…
“Mom,” I repeat, searching for something to say. “What did you think of Mia?” I blurt out, immediately regretting speaking the first thing that came to mind.
“Well, I just thought she was wonderful,” she gushes. “Polite. Smart. Nice. She brought out your fun side. Softened you. Are you thinking of asking her out?” She’s practically salivating over the phone in her eagerness.
“I—I might.”
“You like her?”
“I do.” I squeeze my eyes shut at the admission, waiting for a bolt of lightning or something to strike me, but nothing happens. I’m still sitting here, alone, parked in Brandon�
�s driveway, talking to my mom on speakerphone.
“That’s great, honey. I think she’ll say yes,” she whispers, as if it’s a secret. “And see if you can get her cupcake recipe. They were just to die for.”
Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Hey, Mia. Remember how I rejected you the other week? Yeah, I was wondering if you want to go out and also, can I get your cupcake recipe for my mom?
“I have to go,” I tell her, wiping my palms on my jeans.
“Stop by for dinner soon. I’ll make enough for you to bring home leftovers.”
I hang up, trying to reconcile the loving, caring mother I know with the woman who kept me from my brothers, from Dan.
I can see how Brandon would feel betrayed, especially as the eldest. It probably seemed like a rejection of him just as much as his father. A sign that she wasn’t happy with whatever kind of life they had together, the four of them.
I know I need to talk to her about it, Dan too, but I need to get my head in order first.
It’ll require more than I can do myself, though. Something I’ve been avoiding for a long time.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tyler
I stare at a painting of flowers in tones of muted blue and green, trying to decipher what exactly it is about it that makes it so bland. The colors? The subject matter? The genericness of it all?
The colors remind me of the walls of the lobby area of the Stress Lab. Mia said once she found it soothing, but all I can describe it as is boring. Then again, I’m in a therapist’s waiting room now. It’s not like you want to excite the people here.
“Tyler?” The psychologist pops her head out of her office, a warm smile on her face. “I’m Dr. Friedman. Or you can call me Candace.” She moves to shake my hand, her grip firm. “You can come in now.”
I stand and follow her in, taking a seat in a plush, oversized chair. She has a matching one on the other side of the small room. They’re both in a neutral blue-green, matching the waiting area. If it had been some kind of chaise lounge she’d expected me to drape myself over, I probably would have turned around and left.
“Thanks for seeing me so quick,” I tell her, tapping my thumb on my knee in short, staccato bursts.
“It was lucky my regular client at this time is on vacation this week.” Her voice is calm, outward appearance one of serenity—long hair braided back off her face and dressed in some kind of tunic and wide slacks. She reminds me of the description Mia gave me of the woman who helped train her on biofeedback. It’s why I picked her off the photo on her website. Speaking with her yesterday on the phone sealed the deal, her voice as melodic and reassuring as Mia’s is when she’s in the lab talking to her participants.
Being a psychology student myself, I’ve always theoretically understood the benefits of therapy, but never thought it applied to me. I was too strong for that.
Well, look at me now. Turns out I was stubborn, not strong. And it’s time for a change.
She flips open her notepad and scans the page before looking back up at me. “We spoke a little yesterday about why you chose to come here, going through the basics about your family and a girl you’ve been seeing, Mia.”
She says it neutrally, no judgment, which is exactly what I need right now. That was one of the things I hated about the therapist my mom made me see in high school. I always felt like he was scolding me.
How different would my life be if my parents had gotten me the right person to speak with to begin with?
I nod, forcing my leg to stop jiggling, breathing in and out in long, slow breaths.
“I got the sense Mia seems to be the more pressing issue for you.”
I nod again. “I, um, I’ve always been pretty closed off.” Yeah, that’s an understatement. “But we started getting closer. And I kind of... sabotaged it.”
I fidget in my seat when she doesn’t say anything in response, waiting for me to continue. “Then I got drunk the other night. Which is not a regular occurrence, trust me,” I add, before she starts questioning me about alcohol abuse. “I called her and told her all this stuff. Things I’d never say otherwise.”
Her brow creases. “Bad things?”
“No, good things. Things I’ve hardly admitted to myself before. I—” I close my eyes and wipe my palms on my jeans, my heart racing. “I think I love her.”
Silence fills the room, and when I finally open my eyes, there’s a small smile playing around her lips.
“What?”
“It seemed obvious from the first time you mentioned her yesterday that you love her.”
“It was?”
She nods, her face filled with kind understanding. “How did she respond to these things you said to her?”
My brain is still fuzzy. Apparently, the revelation of these feelings is only news to me. “She said none of what I said counts. It only means anything if I say it when I’m sober.”
“And do you think that’s fair?”
I wipe my palms on my jeans again. Does she have the heat cranked on in here or something? “Don’t I get credit for saying it at all?”
She tilts her head. “What do you think?”
“No,” I mutter.
She smiles, asking, “So what’s changed between then and now to make you want to repair things?”
The knots in my stomach as Mia had fled down the stairs in the psych building, her voice controlled as she had corrected me that I wouldn’t change, not couldn’t.
Seeing the cautious hope in her eyes as I’d told her those drunken things, even as there had been wariness. She was right to be wary around me.
Sleeping next to her, having her up close, breathing in her sweetness. I want that again. Even if it costs me something I wasn’t willing to give before.
“Would it help if we had this discussion with Mia present?” she asks when my silence continues.
I break out in a cold sweat. “You want her to come here?”
She sighs. “I think the larger issue is the relationship you have with your parents, but you kept turning the topic back to Mia yesterday.” She rests her chin on her hand, looking at me. “Why did you reach out to me?”
I stay silent, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest.
She looks back through her notes.
“You spoke about a fight you had with Mia. Where she said you only wanted to be alone,” she reads off her paper. “Was that your driving force for making the appointment? The realization that you didn’t want to be alone?”
I nod warily.
“But you need to feel you’re her equal first? Equal in what way?”
“I—” My instinct is to clam up. To tell her it doesn’t matter. But why am I here if I’m not going to do the work? I close my eyes, finding it easier to admit it if she’s not looking. “I’m scared of emotional intimacy. Being close to someone. Letting them in so they can hurt me.”
“Do you think Mia would hurt you?”
“No. She’s too nice for her own good. I feel so… regretful of the way I treated her. She didn’t deserve that. And I don’t deserve her.”
She leans forward in her chair. “Why do you believe you don’t deserve her?”
“She’s good. And I’m a bastard.”
“Do you mean that in the literal or figurative sense?”
I shrug. “Both.”
“Tyler, the circumstances of your birth do not define who you are. You get to choose who you are. And you also get to choose if you want to shift the dynamic of your relationships with others. You don’t have to stay in the same patterns you always have. You can choose to respond differently. Now, that doesn’t mean that others will necessarily accept those changes. But you can change your part at least.”
I nod. I can do that. That’s not so hard, right? Making myself emotionally open… to those that could hurt me the most… Yeah, not terrifying at all.
“Don’t you think the fact that you’re here, trying to get help, means anything? That you’re actively making an attempt is
a huge step in the direction you’re aiming for.” She taps her pen against her notepad, her eyes warm on me. “You’ll never make progress until you at least try. Can you do that, Tyler?”
I take a deep breath. “Yes.”
“So what are you wanting to do? Sincerely apologize and leave it at that? Or hope she’ll forgive you and move forward?”
“The second one.” I look at her pleadingly, as if she’ll be able to give me the secret answer, even though I know it’ll take work on my part. “What can I do?”
She pauses. “I want to make it clear first, it’s her choice whether she chooses to accept your apology, whether she can trust you again. You can show her with your words and actions, your sincerity, your commitment to change, but she may be gun-shy based on your previous interactions.”
I swallow thickly. “I understand.”
She smiles at me. “You know what you have to do, Tyler. You’re very self-actualized. You just needed to work it out aloud to someone. Reach out to her. Tell her you’re taking steps to adjust your past thoughts and ideas.”
I nod, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees.
“Scary, isn’t it?”
I look up at her and crack a smile. “Terrifying.”
“We’ll get more in depth with your parents during our next session, but I hope this is a weight lifted off you. And even if she’s not as receptive to your apology as you’d like, at least you know you’re moving in the right direction.”
“Yeah.” I don’t seem capable of anything larger than a one-syllable response. What if I go to Mia and lay myself bare for her and she rejects me? Tells me it’s too late, that I blew it?
“Keep moving forward, Tyler. Don’t dwell on what could go wrong. You told her you don’t want a girlfriend before. Have your thoughts changed?”
I take a deep breath. “Yes.”
“Make sure to tell her that. I assume it’s what she wanted to hear in the first place.”
I glance at the clock on the wall, seeing our time is nearly up. “I’ll do that. Thank you, Dr. Friedman.”
Under Pressure (Lessons Learned Book 1) Page 21