Carla asked what I meant by that, but I managed to move the conversation from boredom to board games, and despite her best attempts to coax me back around to why I was there, my verbal gymnastic skills are even better than my actual gymnastic skills used to be. I’m not sure how therapy is supposed to work, but I’m pretty sure avoiding all of Carla’s more probing questions by talking about thrifting is not it.
Today I straighten in the plush armchair, fidgeting with a unicorn earring as I brace myself for Carla to jump right in and ask me about my boredom again. The only way I force myself from the car and into this chair each week is by thinking of Ollie. I imagine seeing him at Jo’s wedding, and him asking me what I want, what I see our life being, just like he had that day at Cork Harbour.
If I stand a chance of getting him back, I need to know the answer.
Every week I promise myself thatthistime I’ll do the work. I’ll spill my guts.
And every week I talk about nothing until my hour is up.
“I like your earrings,” Carla says.
My fidgeting stills. I drop my hand into my lap. “Thank you.”
“I’ve noticed you wear them to every session. Do you wear them every day?”
“They’re my signature item,” I say. “I only take them off to shower and sleep.”
“They’re cute.” Carla drops her gaze to the notebook in her lap. “Where’d you get them?”
“A friend gave them to me a long time ago.”
“How long ago?”
I sigh. “Oh, I don’t know. Ten years?”
“They must be a good friend if you still wear them every day after all these years.”
“I don’t think we’re friends anymore,” I say. “Sometimes I wonder if we were ever just friends at all.”
Carla doesn’t say anything, but I feel her watching me. She’s probably worried about scaring me off. The worry isn’t unfounded. This is the most vulnerable thing I’ve said to her in nearly a month of therapy.
The moment of silence stretches on. It’s as if I’ve dipped my toe into freezing water and am waiting to adjust to the temperature before submerging the next body part.
Perhaps that’s how change happens. Dip in a toe. Work your way up to a foot. A calf. And eventually, you’re able to submerge yourself completely. Maybe a moment of bravery is as powerful as a moment of hesitation. Maybe it’s enough to change the course of my life.
“What’s your friend’s name?” Carla asks.
When I turn to the window, one of the earrings grazes my cheek. “Oliver,” I say. “But he doesn’t like it when I call him that.”
26
November
Two weeks before Jo and Alex’s wedding, I linger at work once the guests are gone, then make my way up to the wheelhouse and knock on the door.
“Come on in,” Xav calls.
I clutch the paper I’m holding tighter, trying to keep my hands from shaking, but it’s no use. Instead of the voice in my head, I hear Carla’s telling me to ground myself. I pause before stepping inside. I notice... my reflection in the door handle. I hear... whatever awful music RJ is playing out on deck. I smell... the ocean.
“Hello?” Xav calls.
I’m calm enough to open the door. I know this is what I need to do, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Nothing I’ve done over the last three months has been easy. With Carla’s help, I’ve picked through the junk I’ve been carrying around inside me for years, finally clearing enough space to loosen my grip on my current life and, for the first time, consider what other possibilities are out there. Every morningwhen I wake up, I think of those questions Ollie asked me and try to answer them. At first I didn’t know what I wanted other than Ollie, which was a given. Every therapy session I open up a little more. About gymnastics. About my parents. About Ollie. About all of it.
A few weeks ago, I woke up and had my answer. I could see a picture of the life I wanted in my mind. It isn’t complete or finished, but the life I want is vibrant, full of possibility and risk. It excites me.
I don’t know if it will be enough for Ollie to give me another chance. I don’t deserve one.
Carla helped me make a list of all the changes I wanted to make—big and small alike. The big ones were the hardest, of course. I didn’t renew the lease on my apartment. I downsized my belongings to three suitcases. I sold my car. I bought a one-way ticket to Ireland for two days after Jo and Alex’s wedding. But this... this paper in my hands is the last big thing. It’s also the hardest.
