Chapter 15

JOSEPHINE'S DOE EYES are the first thing I notice when I open the door. Next is my father’s small frame, which seems to shrink with time and the progression of his illness. I hang my coat and bag in an attempt to break this reality.

Something’s going on. First of all, Jo’s wearing a dress; there was something important going on in that dinner invitation and I’m a bit anxious to find out what. Jo twists a bit on her seat, her hands holding Dad’s. While he looks glowy, his serene face somehow eases the knot in my chest. A really contrasting view to witness.

“Good evening. Is there a family gathering tonight?” I try to ease the tension. Jo lets her lips form a half-smile while my dad gives me a full grin.

“I guess we haven’t had one in a long time.” He grabs my hand when I approach him. “I mean, just the three of us.”

“Ben has been very active lately, hasn’t he?” Jo points out as she brushes some wrinkles from her dress. “I think it's been good for him.”

“And for me too.” My dad used to stroke my hand when I was little, something that soothed me when bad things happen. He’s doing it now.

“Well, it was about time. Don’t you think so?” I let out. Josephine’s scolding stare takes me by surprise. “What?”

“Don’t be so harsh on your brother, dear,” my dad begs and I have to hold back a sigh. I don’t want to upset him. “He’s been through a lot.”

They make way for me to sit between them, and I hide my annoyance for the moment. I should move the conversation in another direction. Ben is hiding something about his situation. I know it’s about money but he’s been clear he wants me out of his business.

“So, Ben had to look for me and my beautiful wife almost sent me to sleep on the couch. I’d like to know why.” I let Jo hug my arm and pinch me. I’m still holding my dad’s hand. They exchange wary glances. “What’s going on?”

“Well…” Jo’s voice sounds as sweet as usual, no trace of what happened on the phone. “Ben has been talking with Sonia lately and since it’s obvious that he and his family will spend Christmas with us—”

“He asked Sonia to come,” my dad chimes in. “And she said yes.”

The first thing that comes to my mind is Mum’s funeral. It sends my heart racing. It’s normal to feel contrasting emotions in situations of high stress, but I feel pretty much nothing apart from the pressure in my chest. It’s been a long time. I don’t even remember where we left off and don’t have any idea how we can pick up again.

More often than not, I believe Sonia hates me. She hates that I look like Mum, that I talk like her, and I get it. Sonia's relationship with Mum was nothing like mine. But I want my dad to see her, and in the end, I want to see her too. I sigh.

“Well…” There’s anticipation in their eyes, more from my dad. “Isn't that amazing news?”

Jo is immune to my bullshit; she knows something is off just by looking at me. I wink at her, trying to brush it off, but she won’t have it. Her eyes won’t leave me, not in the way a lover’s do, but the way her brows frame them let me know I’m in trouble. I know we’ll be talking later. My dad, though, is blinded by excitement and his yearning for the missed years.

“I’m glad you’re happy.” My dad kisses my hand but it feels like a punishment instead. “We all wanted to see your reaction during dinner but I’m happy to have it for myself.” If my dad notices the thickness of the ambience, he doesn’t mention it. He only backs up in his wheelchair. “Well, this old man is tired. I bet you two have to discuss who’s sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Jo gets up to help him, leaving a cold space next to me. It's a relief when my dad kisses her hand at the door.

Jo wearing dresses is a rare occurrence, so when her long floral dress catches the dim light of the lamp next to the sofa, her figure looks drawn from a painting. She sways and moves close to me, letting me reach for her waist and pull her down. Her long legs at each side of mine almost distract me from how she brushes some strands of hair behind my ear.

“Hi, stranger.” I don’t like how that rolls out of her mouth. I never want to be a stranger to her. “That red lipstick looks good on you,” she says, her lips pressed on my forehead.

“I’m glad you noticed it. I’ve been dying to wipe it off all day.”

“Let me do it for you later,” she teases. “I don’t want you to sleep on the couch.”

“Thank God. I was mentally preparing myself.” I smile at her but she doesn’t. We need to talk. “I’m sorry.”

She sighs before moving off my lap to sit next to me. It’s almost painful to be left with the ghost of her touch.

“I was worried.” She tilts her head, a half-smile on her mouth. “I called Silvia but she didn’t answer.”

I shiver. I don’t think Silvia has ill intentions but I wonder if she would have said something about Theo if she had picked up the call. It’s so bizarre to find myself annoyed by her and glad that she didn’t pick up. I don’t want to keep talking about her or about today.

“I thought Ben would tell you about the baby today.” I arch my brow with a mischievous grin.

“Baby?” she arches her brow. “Artie? What about him?”

I shake my head, suppressing a smile as realisation fills Jo. “Amanda’s pregnant… or, at least, it seems so.”

Jo covers her mouth, stifling her giggles. “I knew she seemed plumper. I didn’t say anything. I didn't want to be a bitch.”

“I could be wrong, though.” I’m at least ninety percent sure. Not only is she plumper, but her cravings and how she can’t fulfil them are very telling. “We should wait for them to tell us.” I grab her hand and kiss it.

“Right, and you should talk to Ben.” Her hands find my face and make me look at her. It’s hard for me to be this close to her lips and not catch them. “I know you aren’t sure about Sonia, but listen to your brother.”

“Alright…”

She kisses me and, just like that, she’s back on my lap. I’m back at home where she is. I squeeze her thighs over the soft fabric. “Stop or I’ll carry you to bed.”

She laughs and snuggles her nose into my neck. I try to control the beat rising in my chest by holding her face between my hands and looking into her grey eyes.

“And get my masculine side wounded? No chance.”

We laugh and kiss and get lost for a moment in each other’s skin. I never want anything but the certainty her existence gives me. I don’t miss the fights, the screaming, the ambiguous face of past relationships. I don’t want that ever again.

“I should call Ben,” I pan. “To talk about Sonia.”

“Yes, you should.” She grinds on my lap. I have to bite my lip. “I have some homework to mark.” She gets up, leaving a huge void. I watch her leave as I try to gather a bit of composure before calling my brother.

Sonia.

Sonia is coming. I don’t know any more about her than an average person scrolling through her social media. She looks different now. I didn’t expect anything less since we all went through different phases, but Sonia’s feels permanent. Her ginger hair is gone, she has more piercings than I ever imagined you could get and her style is a blend of fishnets, platform shoes and plaid shirts.

I text Ben first. I don’t want to be bothering him if they are putting Artie to sleep.

E: Can I call you?

Not a minute has passed when I see his name calling on my screen.

I pick up. “Hi.”

“Hi.” There’s something eerie in his voice. “Where were you?”

“Doesn’t really matter right now, does it?” I reply.

“Well it did before. We were worried.” He tries to sound angry but it feels like it’s taking too much strength.

“Wait… You were really worried, huh?” I tease him because there’s no other explanation for his fatigue.

“Shut up—” he begins but stops to let out a breath. “Anyway, I bet Dad already told you about Sonia.”

I twist in my seat. I still can't believe she’s coming.

“Yes. That’s great…”

“Why does it sound like it is not great?” he asks. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, no. It's just… it’s been so long. I don’t even know how to feel.” I guess that was the worst thing I could’ve said.

“Happy, for instance? What the hell, Emma?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I’m happy! I am. I’m just in a bit of shock, maybe? I don’t know. She could have visited before…”

“Did you ask her to?”

The silence falls like deadweight on the line. Because the truth is that I never did. I thought that she wanted to be left alone. She left. She didn’t want to talk about Mum’s passing; she didn’t want to stay with me after the funeral. She had many things to do with her degree and projects and stuff. It didn’t seem like she needed us.

“She knew she could always come, Ben.”

“Yeah, but did you ask her to? Because that was all that I did. And I know I’m no better because I didn’t do it for a long time.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Fuck, you are dense sometimes… You know what? Nothing, Dr Lamb. She’s coming for Christmas, arriving on Christmas Eve. So I told her that she’ll be staying with you since you have a room to spare.”

I know that I have no right to be mad. I know that he’s asserting his authority as the oldest and that I could’ve been better with my relationship with Sonia. But I’m mad.

“Fine. I wish someone could have told you the same thing when you left us. But since there was no one and I had to bear Dad’s illness all by myself before Jo arrived, I guess I can try to be a better sibling to Sonia than what you were to me.”

“Fuck off, Emma.”

He hangs up. And I’m left with the loud sound of nothing pressed against my ear. I have to contain myself to not throw it across the room. Why am I the one to blame when they were the ones who left me behind? They decided to move on with their life without me and now they want to be part of this family. My family. When Dad is at the edge of his life… everything will change after that. They want to call me names and point fingers at me?

Fuck that, and fuck them. I won’t be the one to ruin my father’s holidays. I’ll be civil. I’ll be the best fucking sister so they won’t have the chance to say that I ruined my father’s last days because they decided to leave me behind when I needed them the most.

Fourth session with patient Theodore Eullie.

Male, 37 years old.

Therapist: What?

Patient: Nothing, nothing. You look pretty today, that’s all.

[Silence]

Therapist: Concentrate, Theo.

Patient: Fine, don’t blush though.

Therapist: I’m not.

Patient: Right.

[Silence]

Therapist: Let’s talk about Molly.

Patient: Fine.

Therapist: Why does it make you uncomfortable talking about your daughter?

Patient: It doesn’t.

Therapist: We can go round and round denying things to each other or we can talk about the things you’ve paid me to listen to. Just a suggestion.

Patient: I didn’t see her during the week. Her mom’s acting weird all over again.

Therapist: Weird how?

Patient: She has these moments in which she threatens me with not letting me see Molly. Then she’s calling to ask me if I want to take her to the park or have dinner with them. I don’t even want to ask about our deal. I don’t know when she’s going to go off on me.

Therapist: Why did the deal happen? How did she come up with it? If you don’t mind me asking. Did something happen? An accident maybe?

Patient: No.

[Silence]

Therapist: I wasn’t implying that you—

Patient: I know, it’s fine. It’s my fault. She never forgave the fact I left to finish my studies. She wanted me to stay and finish here. But my parents didn’t know anything about Molly. I’d already made plans, booked tickets, and had a dorm waiting for me. So I left.

Therapist: But after that, when you came back. Was she setting boundaries like these?

Patient: Yes, but nothing major. I kept in touch with her. I was sending money. I was only a text away. Always. But she didn’t appreciate the fact that my parents didn’t know about the baby.

[Silence]

Patient: When I came back, I was greeted with yells and insults from my mother and my sisters. She’d told them behind my back. They didn’t want to know me. My dad wasn’t answering my calls, and my mom wouldn’t look at me without crying.

Therapist: Did she tell you why she did it?

Patient: We could have had a good relationship, you know? I stayed with her before that. We tried to make things right for each other. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was robbed of the chance of telling my family about Molly.

Therapist: You had the chance though. Before leaving.

Patient: It wasn’t an option.

Therapist: Are you sure about that?

Patient: It wasn’t. I had plans, set plans, for my future. I wasn’t going to let them go because of a—

Therapist: Mistake?

[Silence]

Patient: Don’t put words in my mouth, Emma.

Therapist: Being a father is more than giving money and sending heart emojis to an ultrasound picture, Theo.

Patient: I fucking know that.

[Silence]

Therapist: What’s upsetting you?

Patient: Nothing. You’re the one who seems to have a lot on your mind lately.

Therapist: I’m fine. Thanks for your concern.

Patient: What the fuck is up with you? I thought that we were okay.

Therapist: I haven’t done anything to show the opposite.

Patient: I come here, you don’t even look up from the damn clipboard. I compliment you and you almost tell me to shut the fuck up. Only to then suggest that I might have done something awful to my daughter to have her mother try to shut me out.

[Silence]

Therapist: I’m sorry you feel that way.

[Silence]

Therapist: Maybe we can talk about something else.

Patient: How about you, doctor?

Therapist: These sessions are not to talk about me.

Patient: Do you want children? Does Ms Lamb want children?

[Silence]

Therapist: No.

Patient: That’s a shame. I remember you were the best in the paediatrics residency.

Therapist: You didn’t see me during paediatrics.

Patient: Oh, I did. You were avoiding me, picking different shifts, choosing to walk hallways that you knew I never went through. But I saw you.

[Silence]

 

My phone shakes between my hands when I stop the recording. I count to ten in my head. I try to get a hold on my breathing. But his eyes make me feel too vulnerable.

“What the hell is up with you?” My voice trembles. We cannot finish every session like this. Fighting. Hating. Trying to bring out the worst in each other. But how am I supposed to be civil when he drops shit like that on me.

“Why do you act like this? As if we didn’t share a coffee two days ago.” He looks as shaken up as me. He might have his legs spread out and be slouching on the sofa, but his cheeks are turning red under his beard.

“You mean, why am I not cracking jokes with you during your therapy session? Are you serious?”

This was the sole reason why I shouldn’t have accepted that invitation. He’s too comfortable with me. He thinks we could be friends after we laughed over our taste in music.

“Oh please, Emma. You know, it's not just that.” He gets up abruptly, making me jump in my seat. “You know things have changed.”

Oh. My. God.

“No. Things haven’t changed. I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m just trying to do my job. I’m not here to be friends with my patients. And at the end of the day, you are just that. A patient.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to be your patient anymore.” His voice lowers.

I know what he means. I know it because of the way he’s looking at me but if I acknowledge it, I’ll unfold a disaster. I can’t let that happen. I need to get away from him, so I get up from my chair and start to walk to the door.

“I understand that. And it’s fine if you look for another therapist.”

His hand wraps around my wrist when I reach for the door knob, my knees about to give out and my mind registering everything in slow motion. “Stop playing dumb, Lamb.”

I don’t move. I only feel my breath pick up again. Even when he moves us to face each other. I can’t look up. I still have my hand on the knob.

“This is not professional.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to be professional.” He takes a step closer.

I look up into his eyes. I know that it’s now or never. That if I don’t do the right thing, everything could go to hell. I know if I let him any closer than he already is, I won’t be able to turn back. So I turn the knob. He steps back.

“This session is over.” I open the door.

Silvia’s at her desk, writing down something. She stops when she sees me, and her eyes move to a woman sitting in the waiting room. She looks up from her phone when the silence is obvious. A slight smile appears on her face. I don’t remember having a new patient today.

“Hi.” Her voice, soft and gentle, lingers when she gets up from the sofa and walks to me, reaching out her hand. I shake it without thinking twice, still processing what happened minutes ago.

“I’m Zoe. I’m…” She looks at Theo and, there, I see it. I’d never thought I’d feel this again.

“She’s Molly’s mom,” Theo chimes in.

I’m going to faint. I casually lean on the threshold so I don’t fall flat on my face. Did she hear us? Is that why Silvia put on music?

“I’m glad to meet you.” I hold onto her hand until she pulls away.

“I just wanted to know how everything is going with his sessions.”

My thought process is taking a bit too long. I shake the fog from my head. Maybe if I smile back, I’ll mask the fact that I have no fucking idea what’s going on.

“We are working on it. I’ll have a report soon, so…”

I turn to Theo. What am I supposed to say right now? Something to back up that he’s a good dad? So she doesn’t shut him out and stop him seeing his daughter?

Why is she even here?

“I think we should go.” Theo steps up and grabs her hand. Zoe looks as taken back as me. “I don’t like to take advantage of your parents. Molly must be waiting.”

There’s something in her. The way she looks at him. Tenderness makes its way through those weary eyes. The eyes of a woman that has seen and lived through many things. Theodore Eullie being one of them. She loves him but doesn’t trust him.

“You’re right.” She loops her arm around his. I don’t want to watch but I can’t look away.

I forgot about the face he’s wearing right now. I forgot how distant and indifferent he could be. How his body stiffens to the touch, his hands loosen, his lips pressed together. My mind forgot but my heart didn’t, even when now it’s all for another.

“Nice to meet you.” She’s sweet.

Does he kiss her now and then? Does he run his fingers through her silk black hair? He did it at least once and there’s proof of it. I nod.

When they are gone, I don’t listen to Silvia’s calls. I shut the door behind me and lean on it.

One.

Two.

Three.

I search for my phone, left forgotten on my armchair. I have to type and erase many times because of the amount of typos my trembling hands make. This is the last time I’m counting up and down because of him.

E: Please, don’t come back.