When I blink at her she rolls her eyes.
“You’re a little gremlin after therapy,” she says. “Just dead-eyed and hungry, eating your fries like an animal and ignoringme.”
“I’mprocessing,” I say, and she laughs again.
It’s good she’s laughing. She does it more, the last week or so. At first, she was so fucking sad. Cocooned in her room or on the couch. She didn’t even really want to talk to her friends. She kept me close like a security blanket, a fact that worried me more than I expected. It didn’t feel right anymore, for Tegan and I to do that to each other.
“Anyway, as I wassaying, I think we should sort through that stuff from Target tonight.”
I rouse my brain back to this moment, back to this place. It’s good she’s talking about the stuff from Target, too—a pile of things we ordered online for her dorm, working from a list the college sent over and from the many text conversations Tegan’s been having with her roommate, a girl named Destiny who’s also from Ohio. When the boxes finally arrived, though—on that too-empty porch—Tegan hadn’t seemed all that eager to unpack them yet.
She was still so cocooned, maybe.
The college sent some material for parents, too, all about helping your student manage some of the anxiety that might accompany move-in day. I figure that not all of it applies to someone who’s been through what Tegan has, but still—probably under Dr. Hobbs’s influence—I paid attention. I know that it’s important for me to show a lot of enthusiasm at this preparation stage. To help Tegan picture the room she’ll be living in, with all the stuff we’ve bought all settled inside it.
“Yes!”
It comes out a shade too enthusiastically, and she narrows her eyes at me.
I take the opportunity to clear our plates, which is not what Dr. Hobbs would suggest, probably, but on this I’ve got to go my own way. I know Tegan’s worried about me being here alone, and I don’t want her to be. Part of that is because she doesn’t need the extra pressure of concerning herself with what I’m doing while she’s settling in at school.
But another part is that I can see now how I’d be lonely even if she were staying. I can see I’ll be lonely even though I’m making a real effort out there, soft-launching efforts at being a person who needs friends. Whowantsfriends. On my first day back at work, for example, when poor, naïve Ellie asked where I’d been for so long, I surprised every coworker in the vicinity by giving her an actual answer. I said, “I had some family stuff to deal with,” which basically felt like announcing my Social Security number to an auditorium. I’ve even been reaching out to Dad and Bernila more. They invited me to a Labor Day cookout in a few weeks, and I’m pretty sure I’ll go. I’mdeterminedto go, because I know I can’t keep living the next ten years like I’ve lived the last. I know I have to start taking back at least some of what Mom took from me.
Anyway, I’ll keep making the effort, but I’ll still be lonely.
The souvenir I make won’t ever be enough.
Thankfully, Tegan decides to let it go for now, and an hour later we’re in her room, up to our elbows in new bedding and towels and desk and dresser supplies, doing all the things that pamphlet suggested. We’re planning it all out, picturing it, and Tegan’s got tons of ideas.
“I can’t believe it’s sosoon! Is it—is it okay if I say, I don’t know. I’m getting really excited now. Is that okay?”
My arms drop from their lifted, towel-folding position. “Ofcourseit’s okay to say. Why wouldn’t it be okay?”
She shrugs, avoiding my eyes. “I know it’s sad.”
I swallow. “It is sad. But remember what Dr. Hobbs said. We’re allowed to feel sad about things. That doesn’t mean we should avoid them.”
“Listen to you!” she teases. “Therapy, am I right?”
“I hate it,” I deadpan.
She laughs, but she quiets again quickly.
“Jessie?”
“Yeah?”
“I know we haven’t talked about this yet, and maybe it’s a thing for Dr. Hobbs, but . . .” She trails off, twists and untwists the scrunchie she’s fiddling with. “But I don’t think I want to saythis in front of her. Not yet.”
I swallow, immediately nervous. Have I missed something crucial, something new that’s really bothering her? I figure it took a lot of courage to talk about bed-wetting in front of a practical stranger but if there’s something—
“I’ve been thinking about what Mom said to you on the boat. Or, um. I guess she said it about you.”
Oh.
I let the towel I was folding drop to the bed.
“You know, the thing about you being like her.”
