“Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry.”
“When I was twelve. I’d begged them to let me stay home without a babysitter. They went out to a party and the weather turned bad. From snow to ice. If someone had been with me, they would’ve stayed wherever they were. But they came home because of me, even though the roads were murder.” She coughed as she recalled her culpability, a cold sound without humor.
“I hope you’re not saying it’s your fault.”
“They called me right before it happened. They told me how bad the roads were.”
“You were twelve. Just a kid.” Phoenix wiped at his eyes. “Orchid, be kind to yourself. Your parents made a tragic judgement call. It’s not your fault.”
Coming from Phoenix, the words landed. Like no one else, he saw her. “Thank you.”
Yet, she didn’t let anyone into this particular space.
Her vulnerability erected a fortress. An absence of emotion followed. Nothingness wasn’t even relief. Her view of the highway shrank to a narrow band. Phoenix’s lips moved. She heard no sound. His actions were detached from hers. She was alone, as she had been that night. Except, instead of screaming and tearing at her pajamas, she was in a car with a kind man and incapable of speaking. And this man by her side was trying to soothe her through her emotional fog. She stared at the unending pavement, refusing to cry. Refusing sentimentality. It was what it was. Her cross to bear.
There were physical scars. Those were bad enough, the puckered skin and twisted flesh telling a permanent story of action gone awry. At least, those rips heal.
Then, there were the invisible hurts. Deep injustices, daggers flung by those closest, or offhand remarks from near-strangers that continued to burrow into an unexpectedly tender place. Emotional wounds, she had long ago discovered, could be far worse than physical wounds.
Phoenix cupped a hand over hers, the warmth of his palm like a connection to all their memories: sun on her face at the beach, the scent of a coffee shop, music echoing through an awards hall, the familiarity of her office, his family’s beach house. And now, the intimacy of this moment, ensconced in the leather of his sports car.Love you, she thought.Oh no. Orchid refuted the idea.
“You okay?” he asked.
His presence was comforting.
“I’m okay. You drive.” She squeezed his hand and then removed hers. “Christ, you’ve been through a lot.” He gripped the steering wheel with both hands.
“You, too. We all have our hardships.”
“Not like that, Orchid. Not at that age.”
“There’s always worse. I refuse to feel sorry for myself.”
“Do you know the concept of self-compassion? Researchers like Kristin Neff say this is more important than self-esteem. Think what you’d say if this happened to your good friend. What would you say to Mandy?”
She thought of her best friend’s cheeks pulled down by loss. “I’d say that it’s terrible, what happened. And that it’s actually made her a more empathetic person.” The tightness in her chest loosened.
“There we go,” Phoenix said, his voice low and kind as he nodded in her direction.
Therewego, Orchid noted. His nod felt encouraging, as if confirming that what she’d been through was terrible, that it forged empathy into her every fiber, and that he was right there with her.
It was such a relief to be no longer alone. Despite her ground rules, she was falling for this handsome, big-hearted entrepreneur.
CHAPTER10
DEAR INTERIOR
Orchid
Courage. Encourage. In courage.
Bolstered by Tammy, and strengthened by the ghosts of a thousand Chinese ancestors, Orchid vowed to try the practitioner Tammy had recommended.
His office’s waiting area soothed with sienna walls and brown pillows lining velvet sofas. A gentleman appeared in the waiting room who matched the photo Orchid had seen on the therapy website. As his lips lifted, the droop at the corners of his eyes became more pronounced. Did this lead to him being a therapist, the fact that he naturally looked sad?
“I’m Todd,” he said, and offered a soft grip. They shook hands.
“Dr. Todd, I’m Orchid.”
