Dr. Ford sets down her notepad, a different look on her face than I’ve seen before. She waits again, assuming I will expand. I rub my knuckles against my chest and sit up a little straighter, grappling with the truth I haven’t let anyone hear yet.
“For the longest time, I thought she was a distraction. Annoying as hell sometimes. A little too quirky all the time. But it was enough.” I shrug, and Dr. Ford keeps waiting. Damn this woman, wanting me to expand on my feelings. “It wasn’t at first. I actually didn’t see it coming.”
“Didn’t see what coming?” Dr. Ford asks, setting her pen down.
“This fireball of a woman wedging herself in. I thought she would drive me nuts.”
Dr. Ford laughs. “But she does, yes? Drive you nuts?”
“The woman is maddening.”
“And how is that helpful for you?” She clicks her pen, preparing to write down my answer.
I let out a huff and hesitate with a response. “I don’t know. It just is.” I don’t have as many nightmares with her around, I don’t think about Brennan as much, and the fear that I might never get through my grief has dwindled a tiny bit. I exhale and finally say, “Things just started to change the more she was around, so I forced myself to hang out with her more—a kind of distraction from the things I didn’t want to deal with. She’s a gorgeous woman, so it wasn’t like it was miserable or anything. But over time, I realized she’s not a distraction.”
“I see, and what is she, then?”
“She’s a safe place.”
When these haunting thoughts have nagged at me, she’s pulled me out of it. She hasn’t erased the memories—I don’t think anything ever will—but she’s made them bearable. The truth settles the roaring anxiety inside me, calming it like a damn hurricane. In this silent war against myself, I’ve had an ally, anchoring me in ways I didn’t realize I needed. “I obviously haven’t fully healed, or I wouldn’t be here, Doc. But Kate gives me the strength I can’t summon on my own…” I pause, wanting to punch myself in the throat as realization washes over me. “And she doesn’t even know it!”
Frustration swells inside me as my thoughts come flooding in—what Kate is to me, what she’s done for me. I know I’ve loved her for a long time. Even when she accosted me about a chicken five years ago, I knew I would love her. But the depth of that love was never this weighty. It was never so intricately woven within me that it would be impossible to extract it. My love for Kate isn’t something I can move on from. I can’t sit here and watch her ride off into the sunset with someone she met on some app. My chest squeezes at the thought—the thought of doing any part of my life without her.
I close my eyes and settle into the quiet of Dr. Ford’s office. Sometimes therapy is just this, me listening to the clock tick by until I talk. I’m grateful. Not that I can’t elaborate my feelings, I just don’t think they’re important all the time. Words carry too much weight, and if I don’t think through them clearly, they might not have a point, and I could end up drudging down a dead-end road.
My lips tingle as I inhale slowly, the taste of toothpaste and smell of lavender seeping their way into my brain for some reason.Where is that coming from?My head spins at a memory trying to break through, but it’s still too unclear to focus on. I hate when that happens. Instead of dwelling on what I can’tremember, I take another slow breath and focus on the things I can.
I am madly in love with Kate.
I miss Brennan.
These two things are weaved together in my brain. I don’t know why. Probably never will. But I do know that any sort of healing can be a long process, and I just need to accept that. But I don’t have to do it alone anymore. I can do it with Kate. I can share these things with her, and she can share her things with me.
“So, Kate is a safe haven for you?” Dr. Ford reiterates.
“Not just that.”
“Then tell me, Malcolm, what is she to you?”
“She’s everything.”
Chapter thirty-two
Kate
“Can I get youanything else?” Sam, the owner of Wafflin’s, voice cuts through the chatter of the diner as he sets down our orders—three towering stacks of waffles and one sad little pancake.
“No thanks,” Ellie answers without looking at him. Her eyes are glued to the waffle tower. I wish someone looked at me the way she is looking at the melted butter dripping into the squares of that Belgium waffle. Pure, unadulterated breakfast romance.
“Should we wa—” I cut my own words off at the sight of Ellie shoving a forkful of waffle into her mouth like it’s the source of all power. Clearly, asking if we should wait for her fiancé to start eating is a lost cause. If I were to ask Ellie to choose between Benny and these waffles, I would get a live reenactment ofSophie’s Choiceright here in the middle of Wafflin’.
“So,” Ellie manages between mouthfuls, “do we have everything ready for tonight?” Her words are a bit muffled by the food being shoveled in like a conveyor belt, making her breathless and drooly.
“I, uh…I think so.” My eyes dip from her mouth to her almost empty plate then back up again. I’m torn between watching her obliterate the waffle or focusing on the conversation. It’s a struggle. “Have you checked with Emma?”
“Are you kidding me?” Another bite. “I haven’t spoken to her since yesterday morning—asinstructed.” She points her fork at me, syrup dripping onto the table.
“Instructed?”
