“Yeah.” It’s one word, quiet and unsure. My eyes fall shut, hating how off this whole conversation feels.
“Mom said she noticed how tired you were at dinner the other night,” I say into the silence. “She said you didn’t seem like yourself.”
“I’m fine. There’s just…It’s been a weird couple of weeks. That’s all.” She’s talking about more than all the extra work she’s been doing at the florist, but guilt chokes off any words I want to say. I don’t even know what I’m feeling more guilty about, but it’s getting a little too easy to sink into that empty headspace where I feel kind of numb, and nothing touches me.
“What time do you think you’ll be back?” Gracie asks. “Are you coming straight to my place?”
“Maybe seven. Six at a push. I’ve never done this before, so I don’t know how long it takes.” My mouth feels dry just thinking about walking into the gray brick building. “If I get out early enough, I want to finish my Christmas shopping.”
Gracie makes a sound of amusement. “You worried about your Mom finding out what you're getting her again?”
My eyes narrow in remembered annoyance. “Mrs. Chamberlain had no right,” I insist. “She knew why I was buying that pot, and she told Mom because she’s a vindictive old cow who never forgot about me hitting her mailbox when I was learning to drive.”
A laugh comes through the line, the noise soft in my ear and filling my head. I slouch down, my lips tipping up into a smile, my annoyance fading away just like that.
There hasn’t been a lot of laughing lately.
“Maybe if you had said sorry instead of telling her that the mailbox was ugly anyway, and the universe was clearly telling her to get a new one.”
“It was almost ten years ago!” I groan dramatically. “And you know full well she’d still rat me out.” My phone buzzes in my hand, and sweat beads on my hairline, already knowing without looking that it’s the alarm telling me I need to go inside. “Gotta go, baby.”
“Okay.” She hums. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. I promise.” I gentle my voice, trying to reassure her. “I’ll let you know when I leave, alright?”
“Alright,” Gracie says. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
It takes another full minute of deep breathing after I lower the phone before I can even think of getting out of the car. My heart is racing in my chest, dread making everything feel heavy, like I’m wading through sludge. I don’t see how talking about what happened will help. I see the bloody scene every time I close my eyes, and talking about it—relivingit—isn’t going to help. But I know this needs to happen. I’ve accepted that.
Doesn’t mean I want to fucking do it, though.
My phone buzzes insistently. I’m out of time. I shake the reluctance that hangs off me like a cloak, getting out of the car and heading inside.
“We’re justabout at the end of our time for today.” Martin peers at me over the top of his glasses, his tablet set down on the table beside him. “I want you to know, Braxton, that you’ve been through something extremely painful. Traumatic. I know you were reluctant to talk to me today, but I appreciate your willingness to touch on iteven a little bit. It takes a lot of courage to do what you’ve done.”
I swallow audibly, grimacing at how loud it is in the quiet room. “It doesn’t feel like courage,” I mumble. “I didn’t even do anything.” I have only been here an hour, but it feels longer. And so far, nothing we have talked about is making me feel better.
Martin swings his foot where he’s got it hooked over one knee, his tan chinos hitching up to show socks covered in cartoon characters. I drag my eyes away from them as he asks, “How are you feeling right now?”
It feels like a question with too many wrong answers, so I shrug. “I’m fine.”
“Well, ‘fine’ can cover a lot of things, and that’s okay. Like I said earlier, this first session is more about getting used to being here. We don’t have to solve everything at once, or anything at all. Time is just as important as anything else.”
“I get that.” My gaze moves around the room, never settling in one spot. He’s got a framed watercolor painting of a lake on one wall, and there’s a single sailboat sitting in the middle of the calm water. Another wall is covered in his degrees, declaring him an expert at whatever this is.
“It just—” I blow out a breath, shaking my head as my eyes come back to him. “I don’t know.”
Martin watches me for a beat, his eyes assessing. “It’s normal that everything will feel close to the surface and overwhelming. What you need to focus on is processing these feelings in a healthy way. Find coping strategies that work for you and ground you in the moment.”
I stare at him, wondering if he’s speaking another language. “Alright.” He doesn’t seem satisfied with my answer, his expression expectant. “The breathing techniques you were talking about earlier.”
Martin’s expression brightens. “Exactly! Coming to thefirst session is always the hardest, but I want you to know that we have systems in place if you need extra support. It’s important that you know you’re not alone in this, Braxton.”
“I know. I talk to my crew. My captain.” His expression doesn’t change, and I tack on, “My dad was also a firefighter. I talk to him.”
“Good, good.” Martin picks up the tablet, tapping the screen to wake it up. “I know Christmas is a busy time for everyone, but especially for first responders. Do you think you’ll be able to make a session next week?”
