“I thought you were supposed to be gentle with me and my feelings, Amelia.”
“You know very well I’m not that type of therapist. You chose me for a reason, and it’s because I know you can handle it. We’ll talk soon.”
It was another five days before he screwed up enough courage to try again, in part because he had therapy the next day and he knewAmelia would ask him about it—and he didn’t want to fail his assignment.
Goddamnit, that was why she’d phrased it that way, wasn’t it? She knew he had to win at school. He was competitive and had always been at the top of his class for a reason.
He never liked feeling like a failure. He didn’t wear it well.
Last week’s debacle was certainly an abysmal one. Couldn’t even go into acoffee shopanymore?
What the hell would his dad think of him now?
You’re not dead yet, kid.
Stop acting like it.
My son’s brave, not whatever this is.
Was he brave? Had he ever really been?
Another pang of guilt rippled through him at the thought, a fresh wave of grief right on its heels. But Theo glanced at the Post-it note he’d stuck to the bottom of his mirror last week after his conversation with Amelia and tried to shake off the feeling.
He’d rolled up the towels on his mirror just high enough to reveal his mouth when he crouched so he could at least see while he flossed—oral hygiene was important, after all—and he’d slapped the words there as a morbid reminder, the ink shivering and shaking across the ironically cheery yellow backdrop in this new version of his handwriting:
TRY NOT TO KILL YOURSELF TODAY
The second half of that reminder was one he hadn’t actually been able to bring himself to write:
Dad would never forgive you if you did.
He drew in a deep breath and gripped the edge of his bathroom counter while he steeled himself. “Right,” he muttered at the faucet. “Try not to kill yourself today, Theo. You can think about it againonce you’ve had some coffee. Just go get some fucking coffee. It’s not that hard. You used to do it all the time.” He zipped up his hoodie, tugged the hood over his cap, and pulled a mask onto his face before stepping out into the summer sunshine to try again.
Just like he did every day.
One halting step at a time.
When he arrived at the coffeehouse he’d picked out without Diego hovering over his shoulder, he hesitated on the sidewalk, eyeing Déjà Brew cautiously from the outside. It was clean and modern and had a good design. It was smaller than the first one. He liked the logo. The reviews were excellent. And it didn’t seemtoocrowded.
Plus, it was only about a fifteen-minute walk from his house.
His hip still ached, and he still limped, but at least he was leaving the cane behind more now. It was doable. His physical therapist would be happy with him for exercising.
Maybe Amelia was right. Maybe things would be easier now that he’d broken the seal.
Maybe that was the hard part.
Theo steeled himself and pushed open the door. Instead of too-loud alt-rock music, soft, soothing lo-fi played over the speakers. There were some tables open, not all of them completely monopolized by remote workers, and everyone whowasworking wore headphones and typed quietly. And there were only two baristas, one working the machine, and the other at the register. He couldn’t see their faces through the line to order, but he could tell that much from the matching aprons they wore.
He waited, shifting nervously on his feet. The middle-aged bleach-blond woman in front of him turned and glanced at his mask, scowling slightly up at it, but she didn’t say anything. That was fine. As long as her eyes didn’t linger on his face for too long, he could live with that.
And then it was his turn.
The blonde stepped away from the register, and when she did, Theo was finally able to focus his attention on the woman working it.
And all the breath was immediately knocked out of his chest.
He might as well have been hit head-on by another semi.
