Her face remains neutral, but I swear, her lip twitches like she’s fighting off a smile. “What do we need to do to prevent that from happening?”
I think about the question. I wish I knew. That’s why I’m here. “Can you give me the answer, just once?”
She finally smiles, a small one. “There is no answer, Valentina. Remember, it’s not your job to get it right. Your jobis to simply show up, try, and work on something harmful or hurting or getting in the way of your happiness.”
I purse my lips, wanting to scream. Instead, I press my aching knuckles to the inside of my biceps. “Okay. I suppose I’ll just have to keep opening up to him, because the alternative does nothing but keep us where we are.”
She nods encouragingly. “What do you want to say to him?”
“He wants to know more about my past, about the trauma. I don’t want to disappoint him or make him think I’m hiding things, but?—”
“But?”
“I don’t want to tell him more. It’s mine, and it’s going to hurt me more by talking about it than not. But isn’t that going to keep us where we are?”
“No.” Her assurance calms something inside me, and I relax my fists, dropping my hands into my lap. “It’s your story to tell or not tell, Valentina. You owe nobody anything, just as no one owes you anything. We can control only ourselves. In my opinion, simply telling him how you feel about the trauma, about telling him, and about how you want things to be moving forward, may just be enough. The best part about healing is it isn’t linear. You may decide later you want to talk to him about things, but that’s yours to decide. Opening up doesn’t mean spilling everything to him. It means telling him how you feel now so you can make it better for the future.”
The fear inside me settles.Another trauma turned over, another small step toward healing.
I’m running late, and I hate it. As usual, once I got talking to Susan, I couldn’t stop. I don’t want to. It’s addictive, having someone listen to every good or bad thought or feeling I have and holding space for it. There’s no judgement, no right or wrong, and for the first time in my life, I feel my need to flee settle.
I pull up to the building, pausing to stare at the structure. It’s worse than I expected, with paint faded and peeling off the walls, glass windows crusty and cracked. It looks dropped straight out of an old western movie—a square body with a front that’s tall and swooped toward an enormous, wrought-iron star at its peak.
Mateo steps into view, dressed in a warm jacket pulled up to his ears, his face rosy, and I swallow.How long has he been standing in the cold, wondering if I’m blowing him off?
Not willing to waste another minute, I climb out of the car and walk toward him. He gives me a guarded smile, his eyes tracing my face.
I go for honesty, as I always do, but I inwardly sigh in relief that this time, it might not hurt him. “Sorry I’m late. Therapy ran long.”
His eyes widen in surprise, and then he nods. “No problem. I’m, uh?—”
I save him from the awkward hole he’s slipped into, motioning toward the front door. “Me too. Can we go inside? It’s fucking cold out here.”
We walk inside, and to my horror, it’s nearly colder inside than out.
“As you can tell, there’s very little insulation. And the heating is non-existent."
“What the hell did they use this for before?” I stare around at the dust-covered space—a giant open room with wooden pillars holding up the roof and floors that could use multiple rounds of cleaning and polishing.
“I think it was a gathering hall, like dances and parties and stuff.”
“Makes sense. It’s going to take a lot of money and time to get it usable.” I glance at him and notice the look of wonder on his masculine face—so like our father’s, but softer, kinder—as he takes in the room. It’s the first time I’ve noticed how different he looks from the man who haunts my dreams, and the icy wall around my heart trembles. “Why’d you buy it in the first place?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I always liked it when we were younger and would drive by. It’s sat empty our whole lives.”
I whistle. “I wonder why.”
He chuckles. “Do you think this will work for Faith?”
I look around once more and then nod. Even though the work load will undoubtably be enormous, I love the idea of her center being at the heart of town, where anyone who needs her can find it. I love the idea of the space being repurposed into something so special—it’s worth whatever it costs.
“Yes. I think it’s perfect.” We stand in silence for several moments, until I look up at him, finding him staring down at me. “What?”
He smiles. “You seem different. Every time I see you, you seem?—”
“I am, Mateo.” I shrug.
“Can we talk about?—”
