The Barrel House Series: Boxed Set: Bourbon Love Notes, Bourbon on the Rocks, Bourbon Nights, Bourbon Fireball

by Ryan, Shari J.

  “I didn’t do this to her on her wedding day. I was very laid back and easy-going the entire time.”

  “You also did a great job of delegating tasks to all of the other bridesmaids, sweetie. You don’t have any other bridesmaids, so she’s doing everything. Just remember that. She loves you.”

  Journey is a handful, but the best kind and I will gratefully hold her next to me for the rest of my life.

  19

  Marrying Journey was the easiest decision I’ve ever made, and I’ve felt extremely fortunate for the luck I’ve had over the last couple of years. I wasn’t sure how the transition between girlfriend, fiancée, and wife would be while raising a tween to a teenage daughter. There were times when I assumed the worst and imagined the nightmare of what could happen, but after a year of blissful marriage and surviving life with an almost fifteen-year-old daughter, I feel like I might be up for conquering the world.

  I’ve been waiting for the day when Hannah might hate me a little less, but nothing has changed with her attitude or mood swings since my divorce with Kristy. I’m beginning to wonder if the trauma of our family splitting up did permanent damage to her psyche, and if it did, how to fix it. I might be surviving life with a teenage daughter, but I fall asleep every night wondering what I’m doing wrong and how long before Journey becomes tired of the constant battles in the house. She tries to keep her thoughts to herself when Hannah is causing a scene, but I can tell she wants to jump in and help me. When Hannah isn’t sitting with us, we have long discussions about how to resolve the issues, but I worry about the life Journey has had to become accustomed to.

  I’ve decided to set up an appointment for Hannah to start meeting with a psychiatrist per her therapist's suggestion. She’s fought me on the subject for the last couple of years, but I feel it’s time to force the severity of these issues before turning a wrong corner we can’t come back from. Thankfully, I found someone quickly, and she had an opening due to a cancellation. Hannah didn’t say much after the initial appointment, but per the psychiatrist, we’re all supposed to attend the second session, including Journey. The pit in my stomach is real as we drive over to the office park. What if Hannah wants to tell Journey she wishes she wasn’t in her life? It’s not that she’s hinted at that, but Hannah retreats into herself, much like Journey does when she’s upset—unless she wants to voice her anger about something. Then she turns into a monster.

  Journey said there’s nothing to worry about, and she can handle whatever happens during this meeting. She understands Hannah in a way that I don’t, but I’m not sure why. I know Journey can be moody and connects with Hannah on that level, but I feel like I’m living on another planet than the two of them sometimes. I guess that’s where the whole Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus thing comes from. It makes sense now.

  Hannah has her earbuds in, and Journey is staring at me with silent thoughts as I lift the truck’s gear into park. “You don’t have to do this,” I tell her again.

  “Brody … without sounding cocky, I am a part of this family, and the therapist asked for us to both be here. I’m not going to sit this out because what Hannah might say. That would defeat the whole purpose of therapy. I can handle it and her. You don’t have to worry about me. I was just like Hannah at her age. I got this.”

  “Well, at least I know you turned out well …”

  “Is that how you see me?” Journey asks.

  “I see you in a way I don’t want to see my daughter, but uh—well, you know what I mean.”

  Journey shakes her head and opens the door. I twist around in my seat and glance over at Hannah, who is focused on her phone. I wave in her direction to grab her attention, and she pulls her earbuds out and silently steps out of the truck.

  Silence. It’s what I get the most from her these days.

  Journey walks ahead next to Hannah, and I watch her mutter something, followed by Hannah nodding in agreement. Are they planning to gang up on me? I see them having short chit chats sometimes when they’re alone outside or in the car, and I’m returning from a quick errand. I figure it’s just small talk, but maybe it’s more than that.

  I’m no stranger to therapy or psychiatrists. I’ve been going most of my adult life to cope with what I went through in high school and the anxiety that stayed with me after.

  The therapist, Dr. Shia is waiting in the lobby when we walk through the doors. Her smile is welcoming. She's young and dressed in trendy clothes. I can only hope that resonates on a positive note with Hannah. I need her to feel comfortable speaking to a therapist. She seemed somewhat pleased with her after the first visit, so hopefully this will continue to work out.

  “It’s so nice to see you again, Hannah, Dad, and—”

  “Journey,” she says, reaching her hand out to shake Dr. Shia’s.

  “What a cool name. I love it,” she says. Dr. Shia specializes with teens, which is evident by the way she speaks. “Come on in and let’s have a seat.”

  Her office is peaceful but not boring. She has cool beach colors and washed-out wooden furniture. It's comfortable and peaceful, not your usual medical office. Hannah makes herself comfortable on the couch, and Journey plops down next to her, leaving me to the matching chair to the left of them.

  “Thanks for inviting the three of us to meet together. I think it’ll be good for us to all be on the same page,” I say.

  “Of course,” Dr. Shia says. Her attention is on Hannah when she crosses her hands over her lap and smiles. “So, did we fulfill our assignment this week or decide to wait until today?” I didn’t know Hannah had an assignment. She didn’t say a word to me about it.

  “I—” Hannah glances over at me and back at Dr. Shia. “I wanted to wait until today.”

  What the hell? I get the feeling Journey knew about this assignment by the way she isn’t making eye contact with me.

  “No problem at all,” Dr. Shia says. “Do you want to start the conversation, or would you be more comfortable if I do?”

  Hannah begins picking at her cuticles—something she does when she’s stressed out or nervous. “I don’t want to be a burden,” Hannah says without looking up at me.

  I’m immediately confused by her statement. I have never made her feel like a burden. In fact, I’ve done everything humanly possible to avoid her feeling that way.

  Dr. Shia seems to understand what Hannah means by her statement with an agreeable nod. “Okay,” Dr. Shia says. “Dad, Hannah has been doing some online research and has come to a decision regarding her mother.”

  Hannah doesn’t talk about Kristy. She goes to her house every three weeks, comes home, and says they did nothing and there is nothing to talk about. I never push. Maybe I should have been pushing. Is it me? Is it Kristy? Maybe she wants to go live with Kristy now that she’s single again. “Oh, okay,” I say, questioning the topic.

  Hannah glances up at me, her eyes glossed with tears. “I don’t want to visit Mom anymore. I don’t want her in my life or to talk to her or see her either. It's obvious the feeling is mutual between the two of us and I can't deal with the discomfort of spending time with her anymore. I want to meet with a judge to discuss my rights.”

  I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched, and I’m not sure my lungs can pull in the amount of oxygen I need as I digest what she’s saying. My personal feelings toward Kristy have never been mentioned to Hannah. I didn’t feel it was appropriate, nor did I ever try to persuade her to end her relationship with her mother. I know Hannah doesn’t enjoy being shuttled back and forth between Connecticut and Vermont every three weeks, but I wasn’t aware she was this upset over the visitation rights. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees while I go through a list of possible responses. I want to high-five the kid, but that would be irresponsible and immature of me. I want to hug her and tell her it’s completely fine and we will handle it, but that’s allowing me to remove her mother from the picture. I should say we need to discuss this matter more, but she’s bringing it up
at a therapy session, which means she has thought about it a lot.

  “Why haven’t you mentioned this to me before?” I ask.

  “I thought you might brush the subject off because you’ve always said this schedule is what was set by the court, and we have to live by it.”

  I nod my head, agreeing to her statement because I have said that before. “Okay, but why do you want to cut off all contact with Mom?”

  Hannah drops her focus back to her fidgeting hands. “She doesn’t want me there. I’m home alone most of the time, and she hardly speaks to me. I feel likeI'm a stranger to her. It’s uncomfortable when I’m there, and it doesn’t feel like home. I start counting the hours until I can come home, the minutes I get there. She’s told me I’ve ruined her plans so many times. I don’t know why she doesn’t love me, but it seems clear compared to how you show me love.” Hannah still won’t look up at me even when offering me a compliment. I had no idea she was feeling this way, or for how long. Journey places her hand on Hannah’s back, confirming the secret they must have shared. I want to feel jealous and hurt, but the fact that she trusts Journey the way I do and felt comfortable enough to talk to her about this is the most important thing. It means she has a female figure, showing her compassion in a way that her mom doesn’t.

  “Did you know about this?” I ask Journey.

  “It’s not her fault,” Hannah says. “I didn’t know how to ask you or tell you I wanted to do this. I was afraid you wouldn’t be open to the idea because you always say you’re lucky to have the custody arrangement we have and that it could have been worse.” She’s right about that too. It could have been a lot worse for Hannah if I didn’t win the custody battle the way I did.

  “If you speak to a judge, it will not hurt the current custody situation we have, but I’m not sure it will help either.”

  “It will,” Hannah corrects me. “At age fourteen, I have the right to request guardianship rights.”

  Journey is staring directly at me, so I switch my focus to her for a brief moment. She inconspicuously nods her head, agreeing with Hannah’s statement. I wonder if Journey helped her find this information. I will thank her until my dying day if she did. I can’t handle the thought of Hannah feeling the way she does when she’s with Kristy. I want her to have a mother, but I don’t want her to feel like her mother doesn’t want her because I think that’s worse.

  “Hannah, you know I will do whatever I can to make your life perfect. I hope you have always known that, and I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t be upfront with me.”

  “We argue a lot,” Hannah says.

  I can feel the discomfort cross the room. Between Journey shifting in her seat and Dr. Shia switching her crossed legs from one to the other, it’s obvious there is more to this conversation. “We do. We don’t always agree on the things I think are important.”

  Dr. Shia offers a gentle smile. “Hannah and I spent a lot of time talking about this last week. At fourteen, it’s normal to be opinionated and want more control over your life, but at the same time, it’s important to know that our parents are looking out for our best interest.”

  “You never have reasons when you say no. You just say no, and it’s the end of the discussion,” Hannah continues.

  I didn’t realize I should be explaining my reasons for disagreeing with her sometimes ridiculous requests. “I think this issue can be easily solved,” Journey says. “I’ve noticed you can catch Dad off guard when he’s trying to get ready for work, or when he’s doing something around the house. If you wait until he’s not in the middle of something before talking to him, you may have a better chance of winning his approval ... on some things.”

  Journey has mentioned this to me … that I say no a lot. But, Hannah asks to go to parties late at night and even to get into cars with kids who are older than her because they have a friend or an older sibling with a driver’s license. The thoughts that go through my mind haunt me. “I see. I can work on this,” I tell her.

  “And just so we can get everything heavy off the table today, the last part of this discussion is something I haven’t spoken to Hannah about yet,” Dr. Shia says. “This is something I think we all need to discuss to develop a good plan of action.” What else could there be? I’m thinking of every horrible thought, and it’s making me sick. “After several questions and discussions last week, I went through my notes after the appointment, and I feel confident that Hannah is suffering from some moderate depression. My personal and professional opinion is that we may want to consider a small dose of medication to see if we can balance her ups and downs.”

  “I don’t want to be on medication,” Hannah argues.

  I’m guessing her immediate response is why Dr. Shia decided to discuss this with all of us together. Depression. Shit. She’s fourteen. Is this a forever thing? “Is medication a long term solution or—”

  “Everyone is different,” Dr. Shia says. “We try different things and then evaluate.”

  “Okay,” I respond. I see Journey clutching Hannah’s hand between their laps. I don’t think Journey expected this either, but the emotions are rolling through my chest when I see how much she cares for Hannah. It’s like she understands this pain and doesn’t want it for her.

  “I don’t need medication,” Hannah continues.

  “Is this something we can discuss at home and follow up with you about?” I ask Dr. Shia.

  “Of course. The decision is one you need to come up with together.”

  “If we don’t go the medication route, is there a risk?”

  Is there a risk my daughter will want to climb to the top of a tower and jump off to avoid whatever life brings her way?? How did this happen?

  “There are many methods of therapy, but I feel certain medication will help those methods work quicker.”

  “I see,” I say, swallowing a lungful of air down my throat.

  The room is silent. No one knows what to say or if anything should be mentioned. Journey is staring through the area rug beneath the coffee table, and Hannah is biting her lip as she picks at her fingers. “Everything will be fine, and we can certainly get through this,” Dr. Shia says. “Let it all sink in, discuss it, and let me know how you’re feeling about the subject when you’re ready.”

  I nod my head and stand up from my chair to reach over and shake the doctor’s hand. “Thank you for your candor today.”

  “Of course,” she says.

  Journey and Hannah stand up together and walk out of the room before me. It offers me a free moment to ask a question, if I could think of one, but I’m completely overwhelmed with Hannah’s diagnosis. I have to fix this. I have to fix my daughter before it’s too late.

  20

  A Year later

  If someone were to ask me how my life might turn out, I wouldn’t have guessed this. Not in a million years. My knees are bouncing, my heart is racing, and I’m short of breath. I thinkI’m too young to be having a heart attack at forty-one, right? No, it can’t be that. My phone buzzes for the tenth time in the last twenty minutes, and I pull it back out of my pocket, finding another text message from Hannah.

  * * *

  Hannah: Do you know yet?

  Me: Go back to class and put your phone away. I will text you when I know.

  Hannah: Ugh.

  * * *

  Antidepressants. We convinced Hannah it was the best course of action, primarily through the difficult period of severing her ties with Kristy. It wasn’t a quick process, and it took a toll on her. Kristy didn't put up much of a fight to Hannah's request, and I'm not sure if this factor hurt more or helped, but it was a tough road. However, I’ve seen the light in Hannah’s eyes return, and I don’t know if it’s the medication or the lack of pressure on her shoulders, but I’m hoping she’s turned a corner. The therapist said the drugs wouldn’t work overnight, and it can sometimes take months, but I tip-toe around her more than I should. She’s joined groups of friends that a father would rather his daug
hter not be a part of—the kind where dying her hair a fluorescent color, obtaining secret piercings, and wearing dark clothes and makeup remind me that I’ve lost control of my little girl who is old enough to get her license in a few months. And yet, here I am … still bouncing my knees, feeling like I’m about to have a heart attack while Journey stares at me with confusion.

  “Are you okay? You’re flushed. Did you eat breakfast before you left this morning?”

  “I’m fine,” I respond.

  “Did you eat breakfast?” she asks again.

  “I lost track of time. I’ll be okay. Seriously, it’s twelve. I’ll survive.”

  “Are you nervous?” she asks.

  I purse my lips and shake my head. “What’s there to be nervous about?”

  Journey snickers. “Okay.”

  I focus on the clock ticking above Journey’s head. It’s old-school, like the kind we had in the classrooms in high school. I can hear it from over here—a clear reminder that our appointment was five minutes ago.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Pearson,” I hear from behind.

  Journey stands up first, holding out her hand for me to grab. “I don’t need help standing up,” I say, cocking my head to the side.

  “I know your back has been hurting, and your feet are a little swollen. I was trying to help.”

  The woman holding the clipboard, waiting for us, stifles a laugh. “I hear this all the time,” she says.

  I give Journey a look, one she’ll understand as: there’s never a bad time for payback. However, I also know she is not afraid of my payback.

  I follow the women down the hall into a small room. “I’m Tricia,” she says. “Dr. Lincoln sent you over, correct?”

  “Yes,” Journey responds.

  “Perfect. You can have a seat on that stool,” Tricia says to me as she takes a seat in front of her computer monitor. Journey is already making herself comfortable on the table as if she’s done this a million times. She hasn’t. She’s had four doctor’s appointments, which have lasted a total of five minutes each. This appointment is different. Journey isn’t nervous, apprehensive, or uncomfortable in any way, and I can’t understand why because I feel like I might be sick.