“I don’t know if I’m worth all of this.” I sniffed and grabbed for my wine, desperate to coat my tongue with something other than bitter self-pity. “I think maybe Agatha made a terrible mistake basing her inheritance on who I might have become thirty years ago, rather than who I am today.”
Brianne didn’t reply. She watched me, somehow understanding I didn’t want placating. I needed to process everything I had kept pushed down. Now that I understood my words had power, something told me that saying the ugly part out loud would actually help me to heal. The thing was…
“I don’t deserve to heal. Deep down, I’m too ashamed of the choices I’ve made to move forward.”
Brianne’s sharp inhale forced me to open my eyes. Out of the corners, I could make out a strange orange glow. When I turned toward the glow, it escaped. I turned left and right in my chair, trying to catch it. But each time, it was just out of reach.
“It’s all around you, Sweets.” Brianne’s voice was heavy with a compassion I didn’t feel I deserved. “Tell me why you feel that you don’t deserve to heal.”
She would have made a great therapist. Repeating my words to me was a classic technique. The way she made people feel seen and validated…
It reminded me of my mother. Of the unwavering support she’d had for me before she died.
“I always dreamed of being the kind of mother that my mama was,” I managed to choke out. “And, clearly, the kind of mother you are. The kind who lets their child grow and be themselves.”
I drew my breath in deep. It was too ugly to hold in. Too ugly to let out. But it wasn’t giving me a choice.
“I failed my son, Brianne. I failed Gabe at every turn. Now, he won’t even talk to me. And I don’t blame him one bit.”
God, the heaving sobs returned. I hiccupped and shuddered. Tears and snot raced down my face. Brianne went inside, returning with a cool washcloth and tissues. She sat and drank her wine, letting all my ugly ooze out.
It was strange—unexpected, really. Like lancing a boil or sucking venom from a wound. There wasn’t anything Brianne could say to make me feel better. But her presence was all I needed to clear out the infection of my own making.
Having somewhere safe to be as raw and ugly as I needed to be. As a therapist, I should have understood that. After all, it was what I was supposed to do for my clients. It was what I had wanted for my son.
“Tell me about Gabe, Simone.”
At last, the waterfall slowed to a trickle. I blew my nose and wiped my face clean.
“He was a delightfully quirky kid,” I said. “Artistic and strange in all the best ways. He always asked questions, and sometimes they were insightful and other times they were just weird. One time, we saw thiswoman in a store. She was wearing too much perfume to cover up body odor. The smell was intense. Neither of us said anything, of course.”
I paused to laugh and take a shaky sip of wine.
“But when we got to the car, Gabe asked me if he was supposed to see squiggly lines around people when they smelled bad. He hadn’t seen any when we passed that woman, and he thought that meant something was wrong with his eyesight.”
“He sounds like an artist,” Brianne said with a chuckle.
“He is. Or he wanted to be. Jeff and I convinced him that graphic design was a more practical use of his talent.” I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. “I think we squashed some of his ambition without meaning to.”
“Is that why he’s not talking to you?” I wanted to damn Brianne for asking that question. I couldn’t stop crying. I pressed the washcloth to my face.
“No. We weren’t close, but we had a decent relationship,” I responded. “But a few weeks ago, when I walked in on Jeff…”
I didn’t want to relive that day. But Brianne waited. I told her the details, what I could remember. A meeting with Agatha that was still a blur in my head. Rushing home with a pounding headache. Finding him in bed with his physical therapist. Throwing up on her shoes.
“I ran out, driving around for hours with the music too loud and the windows open even though it was hot. When I ran out of gas, I pulled into a crappy station near my office. It was almost midnight by then.”
I paused again, drawing in breath, preparing myself. Sometimes, you just gotta dive into the ugly part.
“I was alone and angry and realized I didn't have a single friend I could call. So, I called Gabe. He’s in California, two hours behind us. It was Friday night, he’s a college kid, so of course he was at a party.” Another sob escaped. I let it. “But he still answered the phone like he’d been expecting me.
“I said horrible things about Jeff to him. Things a son doesn’t deserve to know about his father, no matter what his father’s done.” I leaned forward, certain I was about to heave. A cool washcloth landed on my neck. “And he got upset, which he had every right to be. Then I…”
My voice trailed. Let the ugly out, Simone.
“I told him he was obviously going to choose his father because he was just like him.”
“Oh, honey.” There was criticism laced in Brianne’s voice. I couldn’t blame her. “Did he respond?”
