But there were never any ducks or ice cream. And Steve, Mario, or whoever she’d conned into loving her in that moment was always the same—temporary.
Sabine, my therapist, texts me back almost immediately, and within a few hours, I’m in my home office, talking through my shit over Zoom.
I tell her about Hendrix coming to the club and how I hid in my office, watching him all night on the security camera instead of going down to say hello like I probably should have.
“And how are you feeling about that decision?” Sabine asks. Her gray hair is pulled back into a loose bun, and she’s wearing a dark-purple sweater. She always wears a sweater. I’m beginning to think she’s a knitter, but I’ve never asked. She never talks about her private life anyway.
I lean back in my chair and let out a nervous laugh. “I thought it would be fairly obvious given the fact that I requested a last-minute session—something I never do.”
She doesn’t offer a response and instead just waits for me to elaborate. I feel a little like a child being reprimanded, but it’s probably justified. I’m not what you would call an easy patient.
“Okay, fine. I’m feeling…a lot of things.” Too much. I feel too much, I want to say. But I leave it at that.
She’s silent for a moment, then she says, “Have you considered you’re feeling this way because you’ve been harboring some unresolved feelings regarding the Creeds?”
Uh, yeah. A lot of them, in fact. That’s why I just keep stuffing them into that metaphorical closet.
I don’t say that either. Instead, I reply with a simple, “Maybe.”
I swear she can sense my bullshit from her office all the way across town. But she doesn’t call me on it. Instead, she asks, “Do you think some of those unresolved feelings might have been addressed if you confronted Hendrix last night?”
I allow myself a moment to consider the question, and I come to the same conclusion as I have every other time I’ve thought about it over the last twelve hours. “I don’t know.”
She tilts her head, like she’s pondering something. “What would you have said? If you had spoken to him?”
“We’re assuming he remembers me in this scenario?”
A wry smile tugs at her lips. “Yes, Hollis. Let’s assume that.”
I try to picture walking into Velvet’s swanky VIP lounge and approaching my former best friend, but instead of Hendrix standing there…it’s his sister.
Presley.
I can almost smell her vanilla lotion, hear her goofy laugh, and see her lunging for me, tears streaking her cheeks as I walked out that final time.
I swallow hard and blink a few times.
“Ah, I don’t know,” I reply, my throat suddenly thick with emotion. “I think I regret a lot of things—about how I left. About what was said. What wasn’t.”
Who I hurt in the process…
“Perhaps you should write a letter expressing those thoughts,” she suggests.
“A letter?” The way I say letter makes it sound like she’s just suggested I clean out a litter box or stick my hand down a dirty garbage disposal.
She laughs. “Okay, how about an email then, or you could even send a text? How you do it isn’t as important as the actual exercise itself. Putting your thoughts and feelings into words can be incredibly helpful when you’re unable to communicate face-to-face with someone.”
“But then what do I do with the letter? Or email or whatever?”
“Erase it,” she suggests. “Or print it out and rip it up. It doesn’t really matter. The words are for you and your closure—not the person you’re addressing it to.”
“Okay, I guess I could give it a try,” I say, and then, before I can stop myself, I ask, “What if I wanted to send it? This hypothetical text or email?”
She shrugs, completely unfazed by my random question. “Then send it. I can’t tell you what to do with your life, Hollis. My job is only to guide and support. If you think sending the email is a good idea, then that’s your decision. Just make sure you’re prepared for whatever comes next, good or bad.”
Her words resonate, and as we wrap things up a few minutes later, I can’t help but reach for my phone. When I left home after high school graduation and changed my number, I deleted most of my old contacts.
All except for a few, and they all had the last name Creed.
