“The band seems lovely,” she assures me. “But Hannah . . . honey, I’ve seen someone in a spiral firsthand. Before your dad left, I knew there was something wrong, that he was battling demons. I just didn’t know what to do about it, and then it was too late.”
I’m so surprised I find myself stuttering. I’ve never heard this version of the story before. “Dad was s-s-struggling? Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“You were thirteen, Theo. And you were already so hurt when he left. I didn’t want to put more on your plate. But the point is, I don’t want you to be where I was, watching a train wreck unfold in slow motion, helpless to stop it.”
My defensive instinct triggers again, but this time in defense of Hannah. “Okay, sure, the Saints are a challenge. I hear you on that. But if you’re paying attention to the news, then youknow this band is also my biggest success to date. Mom, I think they have a shot at a Grammy nomination. They’re incredibly talented under the dysfunction.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she says. The pity in her voice confuses me. “But just because someone’s talented doesn’t mean they don’t also need professional help. I wish I’d realized sooner that what your father was struggling with was beyond my capacity to manage. But it’s not
too late for you.”
“Mom . . . ” I’m grasping at straws. “I care about these people.”
Her small laugh manages to sound sad. “Oh, honey, I know. Your feelings shine out of your eyes. They always have, ever since you were a little boy. I see it when you’re sitting across the table from her, and all the way from Virginia, in the tabloid pictures of you swooping in to protect her. The caring is the problem.”
I shake my head. “Where is all this coming from?” This brunch was supposed to be my chance to apologize, fix things long broken with my mother. It wasn’t supposed to be her opportunity to stage an unnecessary intervention.
“You’re my beautiful, sensitive boy, Theo. I’ve watched you throw your heart into everything you’ve tackled your entire life. Watched you get swept up in art and music and people and it’s agoodthing, really it is. You have an emotional intelligence your father never did, and I’m so grateful. But I’m worried you’re in over your head with this band, and eventually they’re going to crush you.”
My heart squeezes. “Mom, I’m not the kind of person who walks away.”
Her face softens. She looks older than her years as she sighs. “I know. And I understand why that’s so important to you. But I say this with love, honey: you’ve got to stop letting what happened with your father dictate so much of your life. Release him.”
The air is thick with tension. I feel leveled by this conversation and desperate to escape it, envisioning faking a work emergency and fleeing the restaurant, running back into the safety of distance, missed phone calls, busy schedules. Avoidance.
And then what would I tell Hannah? I swallow hard, pressing my thumbs into my knees, trying to displace the discomfort. Hannah would be disappointed in me for squandering this moment, wasting this time with my mom, when time is precious and fleeting, when she would give anything to sit next to her sister, Ginny, even just to fight again.
I let out a long, low breath, closing my eyes. “Okay, Mom. I think I can work on that.”
I feel warmth and open my eyes to find my mother holding my hands in both of hers. Her eyes are shining. Over her shoulder, Bruce makes his way back into the dining room, then spots us holding hands and does an abrupt about-face. Maybe he’s not my dad, but he’s a good guy. I can give him that.
“Now what was it you wanted to say to me?” my mom asks.
I picture Hannah watching me from across the table, her eyes nudging me along. Then I square my shoulders and, for the first time in years, tell my mom the truth.
Chapter 34
Hannah
Friday, July 19, 2024
I must confess, I was surprised to get your request for a session,” says Dr. Xavier. “You’re not contractually obligated to see me again for another two weeks. Should I assume you missed my warm and sparkling personality?”
I blink a little longer than necessary. “Is that supposed to be a joke?” Ginny snorts from the other end of my couch, but doesn’t return my tentative smile. She’s been annoyed with me since New York.
Dr. X sighs from the laptop screen. “I’ve been told I need to work on my delivery. Comedy aside, what prompted your request?”
“Well.” I draw my legs up on the couch. I’m not sure how to tell Dr. X that things seem to be spinning even more out of control than usual. “I guess with everything going on lately, I thought it might be smart to check in.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say Dr. X looks proud. “I’m happy you’re learning to reach out for help. Should I assume ‘everything going on lately’ is a reference to . . . ” She waves a hand at her own perfect blunt bob. “I saw the pictures fromright after you shaved your head. They were on my Yahoo current events page.”
I bite back the urge to ask Dr. X what the hell she’s doing using Yahoo in 2024 and simply say, “I hardly think my haircut counts as
a current event.”
“How did it happen?”
Reflexively, I reach up to touch the shaved side of my head. It’s been almost a week and I’m still not used to the strange stubble on my scalp. Bowie swears I look badass, but Kenny and Ripper told me it looks like I got a lobotomy. “It was after we performed onSNL. We were at the after-party, and one thing led to another, I guess.”
