“Is he not here?” He moved toward the back corner of the large room, where I could now see a door leading to a windowed office. “Eli!”
Tara fell in step beside me. “Hey, thanks for doing two more sessions. It really means a lot to me.” She squeezed my hand. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said, because that was true. It had been nice to see her these last few weeks. Something I hadn’t expected when I came back. She always had a way of making me feel lighter.
“Is this really therapy homework?” she asked.
“It is.”
“The therapist told you to box?” she asked, confused.
“She told me to support Elijah in his dreams,” I said.
“And he told youthiswas his dream?”
“Is it not?” I asked.
“I mean… I didn’t think so… it could be, I guess.”
“If Michael won’t agree to therapy, maybe at the very least you can convince him to do the homework we’re assigned: five minutes of uninterrupted eye contact a day and supporting each other in some way.”
“Maybe I can tell him my dream is therapy.”
I laughed. “Yes, do that.”
Through the windows, Elijah’s head poked up from behind a computer as we approached.
“Do you have any stories about Tara?” Michael asked, holding the office door open for us. “From high school?”
“Please, no,” Tara said.
“I’m sure you’ve heard them all,” I said. She was an average student who liked to have fun and party. I didn’t go to many parties, where any good stories I could tell probably occurred. The stories I had about her werenotones I wanted to share: How she talked me through breakdowns about my dad. How she invited me to sleep over when she could tell I was struggling with my mom. How we binged television shows and made food boards to get our minds off problems. How she quit piano because I wasn’t a good friend.
“You kept me grounded,” Tara said.
“I did?”
She nodded.
Michael turned to Elijah. “Your fiancée is here.”
“Funny,” Elijah said, but then he smiled in my direction. “You actually came.”
“I told you I would,” I said.
“And I’m learning that you are good with follow-through.”
“Stop,” I said.
“You’re not good with follow-through?”
“No, stop learning things.”
“But I thought you were quitting,” he said.
“I’m not,” I spat out. “Two more sessions.”
He raised his brows. “Really?”
