There weren’t words to describe how grateful I was that Shannon shoehorned me into her schedule this morning.
All day yesterday, I’d been a wreck over Peyton. I hadn’t even been able to sit through the game because every time the camera landed on him, I wanted to fall apart. Both because I was hurting and because…
I mean, every time his face appeared on the screen, unless he was focused on a hockey play happening in that moment, the cracks showed. He was always so upbeat and lively, but this time it was like when someone was playing through a bad cold or a nagging injury—he just looked exhausted and…
Broken.
Fuck me, he looked broken.
I turned off the TV before the first period was over. The one bright spot of the night was that I resisted the temptation to drink. It was the first time since I’d gone into rehab that I’d wanted to get absolutely shitfaced, but I’d talked myself out of it. I was proud of that, even if I wasn’t proud of all the reasons I’d been a mess to begin with.
Today, I needed to talk to someone who wasn’t a complete disaster, and fortunately, Shannon was able to squeeze me in.
“Thanks for seeing me,” I said as I sat down in her office.
“You’re welcome.” She studied me, worry pulling her eyebrows together. “So, tell me what’s going on.”
I did. I’m not too proud to say there were some tears or that my voice broke a few times, but I got through it. I laid it all out on the table, all the way through yesterday and last night and this morning, and then I met my therapist’s gaze and whispered, “Where the hell do I go from here?”
“Well.” She seemed to think for a moment. “Let’s start with what Peyton was concerned about—that your love for him is rooted in gratitude and dependence more than affection.”
I winced, staring down at my hands. “Idolove him.”
“Of course you do. I don’t think anyone questions that, including him.”
“But he doesn’t think it’s…” I chewed my lip, not sure how to proceed.
“He’s concerned that you’re not in love with him the way a partner should be.”
I nodded.
“Do you agree with that?”
“No,” I said quickly, but almost as fast, I sagged back against the couch cushion. “I… I don’t think so? But what if he’s right?”
“What makes you think he is?”
I pressed my lips together as I tried to pull my thoughts into order. “I mean, everything has been filtered through grief since Leif died. What if… What if that’s all this is? That I’m jumping on being with him because it feels better than grieving over Leif?” I exhaled hard. “God, that makes me sound like such a dick. I’ll be sad for him until I start getting laid? Ugh.”
“I don’t think that’s what’s happening here, though.”
“You don’t?”
She shook her head. “Grief and new love are not mutually exclusive. The fact that you’re grieving as hard as you are for Leif just shows how much love you’re capable of.” She offered a gentle smile. “You can love Peyton while you’re still mourning the friend you lost.”
“But how do I know if I’m really in love with him, or if this is just gratitude for him saving me from myself.”
“There’s no reason it can’t be both.”
I stared at her. “But if it’s just gratitude, then it isn’t…” I chewed my lip, not sure how to finish.
“Well, let me ask you this, then.” She folded her hands on top of her notepad. “When you’re with him, or when you think about him, do you get butterflies?”
“Of course I do,” I whispered.
“Okay.” She tilted her head a little. “What about him makes you feel that way?”
I had to work to swallow. Staring down at my own hands, I said, “Everything, honestly. He’s funny. I’ve thought he was hot for a long time, but when we’re just hanging out together, I completely forget he was ever someone I had a crush on from a distance, you know? It’s like he’s… I don’t know. Like he’s been here all along. We just kind of… click, I guess? And he’s, um…” Heat rushed into my face, and I felt like a shy schoolkid as I added, “He’s an amazing kisser, too.”
