I cross one leg over the other. It’s oddly comforting that even here in this surreal place, with D-list celebrities in white robes wandering the lawn and waves lapping in the distance, Dr. X is still the same. Her no-nonsense approach has always grudgingly reminded me of someone.
As we study each other, it finally,finallyhits me. Fuck. Dr. X reminds me of my mother.
She raises her eyebrows. “Why do you look vaguely nauseated?”
Oh god. This whole time, I’ve sought advice and caretaking from a woman who subconsciously reminds me of my mother. I’m going to need a whole session with the shrinks in here to unpack that one. I clear my throat. “Never mind. What were you asking me?”
“Why cling to your imaginary sister?”
“Right. Well, Doc, I don’t know how you grew up, but I was taught that if you want something badly enough, and worked hard enough at it, you could will it into being. I know that’s one of those ‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’ things my parents drilled into me and Ginny because they wanted us to work our way up, seize the American dream, et cetera. But it turns out that stuff really worms its way into your brain. Part of me honestly felt like I could will Ginny back into the world.”
“No offense,” Dr. X says, “but thinking it was on your shoulders to save your sister from death is one of the more narcissistic things I’ve heard you say. Though I suppose that’s not the worst track record, considering you’re a musician.”
“I’d prefer to be addressed as ‘Grammy-nominated narcissist’ from now on, please.”
“Let’s agree to stop using humor as a deflection, yes?”
I swallow a sigh. “My parents told me Ginny was planning to leave the band before she died. Guess what she was going to do instead?”
Dr. X waits patiently.
“Go to med school.” I say it with a scoffing laugh that fails to cover the hurt.
“Isn’t that what your mother wanted her to do all along?”
“Turns out, Doc, it’s whatGinnywanted all along. I had this whole narrative in my head that she chose me when we were young and we were best friends and soulmates, us versus the world, but . . . I don’t know.” My voice catches. “Maybe I did something wrong, or our life just wasn’t enough.”
The fact that Dr. X asks me this with a straight face says a lot for her. “Is Ginny here in the garden with us right now? Can we ask her?”
“No.” I wipe my nose. “I know the ghost of Ginny didn’t really exist. I was talking to myself the whole time.”
“Does admitting that feel like you’ve lost her all over again?”
“A little. But it’s weird.” I scratch my leg through my Atone-branded sweatpants. I own five sets of these now, all in soothing colors like “Mentally Stable Mint” and “Blissful Blue.” “Remember how I thought I was building a monument to her with the new album? I thought I was writing all those songs to keep her alive and with me. I mean, I told the world that on a late-night show.”
“But?”
“But now that the album is finished and released . . . Doc, I think I was building a tomb.”
She tilts her head. “Monuments and tombs are often the same thing. At least, historically speaking.”
“I poured my heart and soul into those songs. Told Ginny how much I loved and missed her every way I could.” I press ahand to my chest. “And now all the weight I was carrying . . . I can feel it leaking away. It’s terrifying.”
“You weren’t trying to, but you worked through your grief with your art,” says Dr. X. “You laid Ginny to rest. That’s nothing to be frightened of.”
Slowly, I nod. I’d so hated that my sister was forever trapped in that awful cemetery that I’d tried to take the essence of her and put it in my music. Maybe now that the album was out everywhere, all over the world, Ginny could be free. No longer stuck in the ground, but floating through the air.
“You don’t look happy,” Dr. X observes.
I exhale. “It feels . . . unfinished.”
“Hmm.” She settles back in her chair. “What if you said a more formal goodbye?”
“You want me to bring back ghost-Ginny?” “Just one more time. You never got to say goodbye to her in real life. It could be important closure.”
“I don’t know. I feel weird about it now. I thought I knew Ginny well enough to picture how she’d act and what she’d say. But she was keeping things from me. Maybe I didn’t know her well.”
“Hannah.” Dr. X’s voice turns sharp. “Will you consider an alternative narrative? It’s going to sound wrong when you first hear it, because you’re so used to thinking otherwise, but I’d like you to mull it over. Do you agree?”
