“I mean… I don’t know that I’d sayfeelings? I like him. He makes me laugh. I feel comfortable around him. Except for the sexy-time tension.”
“Sexy-time—”
“So, yes, I like him. A lot. And I’m attracted to him. He’s got these, like, deep dimple things when he smiles that make me want to…um. Yeah. But ‘feelings’ is a strong word.”
“Okay—”
“I could tell him, but what if he just wants a hookup? What if he’s not interested in a relationship? That wouldhurt. Or, worse, what if he’s interested in a relationship, and I have to tell him I’m not ready for anything because I’m trying to fix my damage with you?”
“I wouldn’t say fixing—”
“Defusing a super-sad bomb?”
“N-no. I wouldn’t phrase it that way, either. But I will say it’s admirable that you want to work on your mental health.”
My lip twists. “Tell that to my mom.”
Wendy pauses and then writes something on her notepad. “You’ve mentioned her twice in the context of not approving of therapy. Her approval is important to you.”
Apprehension tingles along my scalp. It wasn’t a question, but I answer. “Yeah. Doesn’t everyone want their parents’ approval?”
“What happens when she disapproves?” Wendy asks, pen poised over her pad.
I bite at the inside of my cheek, and my gaze locks on that pen. “Nothing. She just wouldn’t be happy. I feel bad when she’s unhappy.”
“You feel responsible for her feelings?”
“She’s my mom.” She writes and I hurry to add, “But this is all not a big deal, truly. Usually it’s…” I shrug, the words not coming, my ribs feeling too small for my frame. “It’sfine. She’s got strong opinions.”
“What happens if you don’t go along with those opinions?”
“Nothing. I mean occasionally, she’ll take matters in her own hands.”
“Do you have an example of that?”
“Like with my visit recently, she kind of tricked me into going to look at a haunted house and then pressured me into a coffee date with a realtor ghost, so I can move back home…” I clock Wendy’s confusion and explain in more detail, watching the groove between her eyes get deeper and deeper.
“Are you aware that you can love someone and still make choices that disappoint them?”
I open my mouth to defend Mom…and close it. My throat is tight. I understand Wendy doesn’t approve of Mom’s antics. I don’t approve either! But she’s my mom. I remain silent, bracing for her next question, sure I’ve just unlocked a new facial expression. But Wendy surprises me by changing the subject.
“Can I ask: you’ve mentioned your mother, friends, coworkers, your neighbor… You haven’t mentioned a father. Was one in the picture?”
I snort. “Yeah, not long. My dad left Mom and me when I was fourteen years old. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since.” My voice cracks halfway through the statement, to my great surprise. “He— He left.”
“I’m so sorry, Penny. That is a painful thing to go through.”
I shrug, laughing self-consciously. “It’s okay. It’s ancient history. I’m over it. It’s—” My voice fails me again. “Sorry, I don’t know where this is coming from. I’ve always just been angry about it instead of whatever this is.” I brush at my eye.
“Anger is a foot soldier for sadness,” Wendy says.
“Your next pillow, have them needlepoint that instead of a bird,” I joke.
Wendy remains quiet.
“I— I mean, yeah, I was sad. It wasn’t fun to go through. I remember thinking, ‘How can you abandon someone you love like that?’ And then I realized… I guess he didn’t. Love us, that is.” Another tear. Fuck. And another. I bow my head, resigned to full-on waterworks.
I knew there was damage there. I knew it was a sore spot in my psyche. But this? There’s a geyser of hurt that’s built too much pressure to remain below the surface anymore.
