She lets out a breath, like she’s ready for what’s to come, but also not. “Okay, then. Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me, Dawson?”
We spendfifteen minutes walking down winding paths of the hospital’s campus until we settle on one of the benches along the trail that leads from the hospital to my office building.
People mill about, coming and going as Emory and I take a break. A tall, overreaching willow hangs above us, offering us shade from the late summer sun. A soft breeze pushes through here and there, tangling Emory’s hair and swishing it around in a way that almost mesmerizes me, even if I’m not looking at her directly the entire time.
I chance another glance her way, watching as she lifts a Styrofoam cup to her mouth. We stopped at a coffee truck a little way back—the same one I go to every day. I ordered my usual coffee, but she wanted a hot tea.
I find now is as good a time as any to breach that mind of hers. “So, do you want to tell me what has you so worked up today?”
I look away before she looks over, knowing my question is going to get a reaction out of her. Whether she’s aware of it or not, she reacts to everything. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fascinated by that. By the way she subtly works through her thoughts.
“It’s my job to know when something is bothering you, Emory,” I say before she has the chance to respond.
She sighs, resting her cup on her lap. “My fiancé and I… We’re having issues.”
My stomach jolts at the news. I don’t want Emory to have relationship problems with her partner. But, at the same time, there’s a part of me that isn’t surprised—though that could have a lot to do with my own experiences. With Emory struggling the way she is, I can’t help but ask myself if she’s getting what she needs.
If she feels heard and understood. If she has a supportive outlet outside of therapy.
I walk a fine line in my questioning, knowing how sensitive of a topic this is. Ineedto stay professional. I don’t want her to feel like I’m pushing her into a corner, but I do want her to know that she deserves to have someone there who can be a sounding board when needed, as well as someone who can absorb the hits and blows of whatever emotional struggles she faces.
“What kind of issues?”
She gives a short shake of her head. “We used to be close. I used to be able to go to him with whatever was on my mind, but now… It just seems like there’s so much distance between us. We’re not who we used to be.”
“Is anyone?” I ask. “You’re never going to be the same person you were yesterday or even three years ago. Who the two of you were when you first started dating isn’t going to be who you are ten years from now.”
Ultimately, I just want her to be happy, but I can’t lie—it hits deep knowing that she could spend a lifetime with someone who doesn’t fill her cup.
“He’s just been so…indifferent.” She runs her fingertip over the rough side of her cup. “Then again, maybe he’s just reflecting what I’m giving him. I don’t know…”
“Have you talked to him about it? Perhaps he needs to hear how you feel and vice versa. Having a steady foundationof support around you is important. Even without challenges, people need community, to feel heard. They need that safety and sense of inclusion.”
“Do you know what I wish?” She asks it suddenly, abruptly. Like we aren’t already in conversation.
Her hair is shielding her face when I glance at her again. I refrain from reaching over and pulling the silky curtain back so I can see her lips move as she speaks. “What’s that?”
“It’d be really nice to go back to life before I fell into that water. And not just right before, but like, months before that. Everything felt so much simpler then. Easy.”
I stretch a leg out and do the same with one of my arms, resting it over the back of the bench. “There are always going to be challenges in life. There will be battles you can choose to fight and ones that you’ll have no option in the matter. It’s what you make of both that matters most. Whether you have someone at your beck and call in the early morning hours or not.”
She looks over. “What did you make of the aftermath of your accident?”
Her question catches me by surprise. Just like it did when she pointed out the scar on my neck. I wonder what she’d do—think—if she saw the ones on my back and side. Would she trail her finger over the puckered skin and be disgusted? Or would it act as a bridge that brought us closer together—the opposite of what happened between my ex and me.
My gaze dances between her eyes, and it’s almost disgusting how drawn I am to her. “The outcome of my situation was messy in its own ways. I’m not sure it’s good to compare it to?—”
“I’m not asking you to compare.” Her voice wavers, like she isn’t sure if she should keep talking or not. “I just want to know…if this is normal. If it’s common for it to feel like everything in life is falling apart when something traumatic happens to a person.For things to feel put together one day, and then to feel like they’re in pieces the next.”
Her words pull at the muscle in my chest, which is the best explanation for what I do next. “I was in a steady relationship at the time of my accident. The process it took to heal afterward…” I pause, not quite sure why I’m opening up to her like I am but knowing that I need to do it. For her. For me. For this hole I’ve felt inside of me since it happened.
I collect my thoughts and finish. “It was more than anyone could have expected. It took a lot out of me, and because of it, I didn’t know how to be with someone while I was trying to figure out the dynamics of what I’d been through.”
“What happened?”
I lift my head, looking ahead as cloud coverage blocks half the sun. “I turned inward and stopped talking in the ways it mattered most. It’s not just yourself you have to help through the experience you go through. At some point, you have to help others make sense of it, too. The people who you’re close with and around most. And, well, I… I struggled with that.”
“So she left.”
