“I probably do,” I said. “But my issues are well earned.”
Elijah laughed, his irritation melting off his face.
Dr. Franklin looked at me as though I had just derailed her attempt to support me. I had. I didn’t need her to correct Elijah on my behalf over a fake relationship.
“Well earned how?” she asked.
I shouldn’t have said that. “Childhood shit,” I said. “Not relevant here.”
“Childhood shit is always relevant,” she said.
Then I was in more trouble than I realized.
“Back to the support,” she said. “Eli, you didn’t help her on this specific day when there was a tournament and a cake emergency.” She saidcake emergencylike she didn’t believe him either. I nearly laughed out loud. “Then why not a different day? The week was seven days long.”
“That was the day we had agreed on,” he said.
“He brought me and my mom breakfast the next day,” I said, suddenly feeling defensive of him.
“Dropping breakfast at someone’s house is a good start,” Dr. Franklin said. “But it’s important to show genuine effort.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Did my dad just channel your body to deliver that message?”
“Is your dad dead?” I asked and then immediately clamped my mouth shut.
He laughed. “You always like to joke. You know he’s alive and kicking and full ofsupport.” He said the wordsupportlike he meant the exact opposite.
I smiled as if I was part of this joke and this knowledge.
Dr. Franklin leaned back in her chair, her gaze slowly and steadily shifting from Elijah to me and back again. This was it. She knew and she was going to say something and put us both out of our misery, and we could hand therapy over to the two people who actually needed it.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“Both of you. Close your eyes.”
I did as she said.
“I want you to picture yourself as a child.”
This was my fault, bringing up my childhood, I was sure.
“What you looked like, how you felt back then,” she continued. “Now, put your fully grown adult self, the you of now, in front of that child. What would you, with all the knowledge you have now, say to your younger self?”
My parents didn’t fight when I was young. We had a quiet household. Very quiet. Unless my dad was playing the violin. Then that singular sound filled the house with sharp, haunting melodies. Sometimes they’d have friends over, and that’s when my dad’s loud, fun side came out. It always surprised me that he seemed like such a different person around his friends.
“Can you picture yourself?” Dr. Franklin asked. “What you looked like, what you wore, what you were doing?”
My mom dressed me well. She liked to thrift shop. It was one of her hobbies. She was really good at finding the best clothes. She had style that she extended to me.
In my imagination now, I wore a pair of burnt orange corduroy pants and a striped T-shirt. My hair was in a low ponytail, a velvety ribbon tied around it. That was back when mymom did my hair. Before my dad left. She didn’t take me to parks or play places or library story times, like other parents did with their kids. But I tagged along with her to the things she wanted to do—brunch or nature walks or searching antique stores for treasures. I may have been a surprise addition to her life, but she folded me into her already-established routine like nothing had changed.
“What would you say to that child?” Dr. Franklin asked.
I remembered that first year after my dad left, things were hard. Mom retreated into herself, into her routines, but didn’t include me anymore. I felt alone and scared. My dad had left, and it felt like she had left right along with him.
“You’re going to be fine. You’re strong and you don’t need anyone.” The words were out before I realized I’d said them out loud. But that was what I’d tell that scared little girl. That she turned out fine. Strong. That she would accomplish the things she set her mind to and that she didn’t have to count on anyone.
