AND THAT’S HOW I ENDED up in the squishy chair on the second-to-last day of the year, watching pale sunlight struggle its way through the clouds to light the windowsill. The office was the upper story of an old Victorian, cozy with fireplaces and bookshelves and ludicrously overstuffed furniture. I’d have been perfectly happy moving right in had I been able to ignore the reason I was there in the first place.
The world no longer swayed beneath my feet or fuzzed at the edges through the trippy lens of sleep starvation. I felt better. I felt like me—a stronger, more purposeful version, less confused, more optimistic. Familiar even, as if this version of Lane had been a true thing all along, buried beneath the surface mess. Like still-green grass beneath a scatter of autumn leaves.
I’d do what I could to clear it all away. Anything and everything, to keep her safe.
Dr. Hamilton was shorter than me, yet infinitely radiant, warm and bright in a way that made everything else fade to watercolor. Her voice was a friendly lilt that matched her face, smooth and dark and angular beneath a frenzy of curls, and wide, kind eyes that made you smile back. She bustled around the room, straightening cushions, rehanging an escaped shawl on the wrought-iron coatrack. By the time she settled across from me, notepad balanced on her thighs, I’d become one with the squishy chair. I curled my legs under me and rested sideways against the arm, practically fetal.
“Are you comfortable, Lane? Some people are intimidated by those cushions—they want something firmer, a little more solid.”
“I love it. It’s like a little nest.”
“I agree completely. I prefer my chairs as soft as they can get. Feels like I’m being wrapped in a hug every time I sit down. So.” She linked her fingers beneath her chin. “We can begin whenever you’re ready. Everything that happens here will happen at your preferred speed. Let me know if you feel overwhelmed, and we can take a break, okay? Whatever you need.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you’re here. I mean …” I swallowed, feeling awkward and dumb. “We weren’t sure you’d be available to see me, so close to Christmas.”
“I don’t take off around the holidays, darlin’. This is the time of year I’m needed most.” Her lips parted in a smile, friendly and sweet around crooked front teeth. “It’s perfectly normal to feel nervous for the first few sessions. We can do some breathing exercises, if you like.”
“I’m not exactly nervous.” I focused on a swirl of drifting leaves, watched them pile against the window frame before scattering on a breath of wind. “I feel so stupid, though. Like I barely have a right to be sad at all, when so many people have it worse.”
“Nonsense. Pain is a universal affliction—no one in this world is spared. As for you feeling ‘stupid,’ well—that’s one of those words we should try to leave at the door whenever we can.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine, honey. But try not to be so hard on yourself. Kindness—forgiveness—love—these things cost nothing to practice. And you deserve them all.” Her hands steepled beneath her chin as she regarded me, head to one side. “That seems like as good a place as any to kick off our session, don’t you think?”
“Okay,” I whispered, her words seeping in and taking root. Budding already, like all they’d been waiting for was a flash of sun. “I’m just not really sure where to start.”
She settled back in her chair, crossed one knee over the other, and set her notepad aside with an easy nonchalance. Her frank gaze invited anything, demanded nothing.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
And so, I did.