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Lettie: I’ll come to you

Several hours later, Lettie and I are hanging on my couch, stomachs full from the takeout and homemade cheesecake she brought over.

We moved over to the couch to start a movie, but we never turned on the television. The room is dim, with just a few lights from outside flickering as rain pelts the windows.

Her head is in my lap with her legs hanging over the armrest, a fleece blanket pooled over her feet.

I’ve lost track of the time as we’ve discussed a little bit of everything, including our new dynamic and her stance on relationships.

“I don’t want to be pessimistic, but it never works out,” she says, and I can feel the shrug of her shoulders on my stomach.

“Your parents worked out,” I point out.

“My dad is dead,” she deadpans.

“How was their relationship when he was alive?” I trail my fingers through her soft strands.

She lets out a massive sigh. “It was great. My parents were best friends and partners who loved each other wholeheartedly, at least that’s the impression I got as a kid and teenager.”

After a beat, she asks, “How was your parents’ relationship?”

Shit. I set myself up for this one.

My back straightens, and I scratch the back of my neck with my right hand.

“Well, they are no longer together.”

“I’m sorry,” she says on instinct.

“Don’t be. It was for the best. My, uh, Dad…” I pause and inhale a gulp. “My dad was an asshole and controlling. So much so, I think my mom lost who she was.”

She lets out a light sigh. “I’m sorry.” She rests her soft fingers on my shoulder, inching herself closer to me. I inhale her sweet strawberry scent, making me feel at ease.

“He never hit her or anything,” I clarify. “He was just emotionally abusive. And financially abusive too, not allowing her access to her own money.” I shake my head. I hate talking about this, but I know she’ll understand.

“Do you have a relationship with him still?”

“Nah. Not since they divorced.” He moved south and didn’t make an effort. He was the adult, not me. I hear from him here and there, but I haven’t seen him in person for years.

“How old were you when that happened?” she asks with a soft tenderness in her voice.

“Fifteen. I think she was trying to make it until eighteen, maybe longer. I don’t know. I’m so glad she got out. Sometimes, I think it was too late, though. Her anxiety is…” I shake my head. My throat is tight, and I reach for the bottle of water on the coffee table and take a sip.

“She barely leaves the house now. She’s gotten a little better since my sister and her husband moved next door, but she still struggles. Small things can be too much for her. Yes, she lost trust in her partner, but unfortunately she lost all faith in herself and her abilities too.”

“Is that why you studied psychology in college?” she asks.

My lips part, but no sound comes out. I shake my head slowly, disbelieving.

“Nobody has…” My voice drifts off. Nobody has asked me that before. Nobody has put that together before…

“I’m not sure. Maybe?” There’s a giant question mark in my voice because it’s something I don’t think about often. “I think studying psychology was my own way of making sense of the whole situation,” I admit to her. “Plus, it’s fascinating.”

“I can see that.” She’s quiet for a moment, but then adds, “Your mom is lucky to have a son like you.”

Sometimes I’m uncertain about that, but I don’t argue.

Chapter Forty