“Tell me what brings you to my office a week ahead of schedule,” Dr. Brewer’s warm voice glided over me as I plopped onto the sofa once again, two days later.
“I followed Six.” I yanked a tissue off the table and twisted it in my hands. I didn’t need it to dry my tears, but to keep my hands busy. “All the way to his fiancée’s apartment. And he caught me.”
Dr. Brewer sat up straighter in his chair. “What do you mean, he caught you?”
I explained how we’d revealed a ton of secrets in the alleyway, and then later in Brooke’s house. “He told me something I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. The love, on a scale of one to ten. That he wouldn’t love me at a ten, because that would mean he’d peaked.”
“No more love to feel.” He nodded, scribbled on his pad. “When you think about the years you loved Six, and specifically about when it began, was the love the same the whole time?”
“No.” I knew that for sure. “There were ebbs and flows. I suppose it was similar to two steps forward and one step back. Sometimes,” I thought of the time he’d found me high, “more steps back than forward.”
“But in general, you were always moving forward.”
“Until the miscarriage.”
He set the pen down on his papers. “The miscarriage. You’ve never shared that before.”
I nodded. “That’s why Six and I broke up.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you broke up because you relapsed?”
“No.” I twisted the tissue tighter. “I mean … I almost did. I threatened to hurt myself if he wouldn’t leave me alone when I was in the hospital.”
I let the information sink in. Dr. Brewer blinked a few times but showed no other emotion on his face. “Why did you want him to leave you?”
“Because I couldn’t focus.” I grabbed the water bottle Dr. Brewer always had out for me. I twisted the top off and felt my whole body erupt with nervous energy. “He was grieving, and I was grieving, too.” I took a swig of the water and then swished it around my mouth before swallowing. “He needed me to be the stronger one. And I couldn’t be.”
“So you pushed him away?”
“Yes. I realized then that I could never be strong enough for him. I couldn’t deal with his grief on top of my own.”
Dr. Brewer was silent for a minute. “Did you blame yourself for the miscarriage?”
“Yes.” My answer was instantaneous.
“Did Six blame you, too?”
“I don’t know.” I stared at the tissue, white flecks of it scattering everywhere.
“What did the doctors say was the cause of the miscarriage?”
“They said it was spontaneous.” I paused. “That there was nothing I could do to keep it from happening.”
“In other words, you didn’t cause it.”
I snapped my head up. “I don’t know that.”
“You should.” He wrote something down on his paper and then looked back up at me. “I think you feel responsible for all the bad things that happen around you.”
“I often cause them to happen.” I waved a hand around. “My mother told me my birth father left her because of me. I broke up my mother’s marriage. I became an addict, and I stole from people who didn’t deserve it.” I exhaled. “I engaged in risky behavior, all the time, and Six would have to save me from myself more often than not.”
“Mira, your sense of self is largely formed during childhood, and how you’re treated. Your mother was psychologically and physically abusive. Your mother overlooked your needs, over and over. After some time, a child begins to think they deserve the mistreatment. It’s not surprising you’ve developed this attitude, because as much progress as you’ve made, you still can’t forgive yourself for things out of your control.”
“Children are supposed to love their mothers,” I said. “But I never did.”
“You did, before she forced it from you. That requires years of neglect, abuse. But just because you didn’t love her doesn’t mean you’re incapable of love.”
“I know I’m not; I love Six.” I looked at my napkin. “I love his mom. I love Brooke and I love Jacob, even though he’s a pushy bastard sometimes.”
“But you don’t love yourself.”
I didn’t have anything to say to that. “I’m working on getting better.”
“And you’ll work your entire life. You will. It won’t be easy for you. Even as it gets easier, it will still be hard.”
“I know.”
“You’ll just have to tell yourself more often that you’re worthy. You need to tell yourself the good things you see and do. Whether it’s stopping yourself from making a mistake or going out of your way to heal, you need to recognize you’re doing it and give yourself some credit for it.”
“Sure,” I said. “What’s another voice in my head, among all the other ones bearing down on me?” It was meant to sound sarcastic, but instead it sounded self-deprecating, which I figured was the opposite of what I should be doing.
“There,” he said, pointing a pencil at me. “You’re haunted by those voices, all the time. I have seen many patients over my twenty years in practice. I know that it’s not easy to live when you have voices telling you to hurt yourself. But here you are,” he gestured a hand towards me. “Living amongst the noise. Despite the noise. You’re not succumbing to it. You can’t run from your demons. You have to live with them. You should be giving yourself a huge pat on the back for that.”
Six had said something similar years and years before.
“What are you thinking about?”
I drank more water. “Years ago, I had a conversation with someone about how weak I felt.”
“And what did they tell you?”
“He said, ‘You live with madness, Mira. What could possibly be weak about that?’”
“Sounds like a very wise man.”
I closed my eyes for a moment and realized my hands had stilled on the tissue. “Six.”
“Ah.” I heard Dr. Brewer scribbling notes again. “And yet you pushed him away because you thought you were too weak when he needed you.”
I was defensive. “I was too weak.”
“Did you ever ask him? Did he ever tell you that you were too weak?”
“No, but I know I was.”
“How do you know if you never asked?”
Dr. Brewer had me there.
“Mira.” He removed his glasses, a classic shrink move when shit was about to get real. “You’ve fought and you’ve fought and you’ve fought. You’ve survived things most people can’t fathom. Your default, in thinking of yourself, is to go to the negative. But Mira, you’re a survivor. You’re the opposite of weak. Six had seen it then, and he’d told you as much.”
“Why do you have to say things that make sense?” I said through a groan, rubbing my palms against my eyes. “It’d be so much easier if you agreed with what’s in my head.”
“If I agreed with your negative thoughts, you wouldn’t need to be here.” He wrote something else down. “You told him to leave because you thought you couldn’t carry his grief along with yours. You sacrificed your own happiness to protect his. That’s the way I see it.”
It wasn’t the way I saw it. “I’m not a fucking martyr, Doc. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Just giving you some food for thought.” He pursed his lips. “I’ve seen growth over the course of our sessions. You should be proud of that, at least. You’re making progress all the time. Sure, you might slip up and behave irrationally—that’s in your nature. But I know you could be way more destructive than you’re letting yourself be, and that’s incredible.”
I loved talking with Dr. Brewer, but during some appointments, it got to the point where I felt like a child being congratulated for learning how to tie their shoes, or some other elementary accomplishment. When I told him as much, he shook his head. “You can’t think of it that way. You were born and nurtured by a woman who didn’t love you the way a moth
er is supposed to love their child. You’re having to relearn a lot of things, as an adult in your thirties, but that’s not your fault. It’s like relearning to walk after an accident. You just need to keep going forward, one step at a time.”
“I’m better at running than walking.”
“I suspect you’re referring to physical activity, where I’m referring to your heart. Take it easy on yourself. You’re still young, you have many years ahead of you to run when you’re ready to. Here’s an exercise I’d like you practice until we meet again: congratulate yourself on the small tasks you accomplish.”
“What, like going pee on the potty like a big girl?” I mimicked giving myself a high-five.
“I know you’re being sarcastic, but I think acknowledging all the ways you succeed every day will help you focus on your successes, instead of your failures. Like coming here. That’s a success.”
“I can’t imagine giving myself positive feedback for all the minimal things I accomplish.”
“Just try, okay? And report back.”
When I left the meeting, despite the silly exercise he’d given me, I felt lighter than I had in a long, long time.
19
“Do you even chew?” Jacob asked over plates of waffles and motherfucking bacon and eggs.
I looked at my plate, nearly free of food. “I chew every bite.”
Good job clearing your plate, Mira, I told myself, putting Dr. Brewer’s exercise to use.
He looked skeptical, mildly annoyed, but he looked back at his plate. “You’ll finish before me.”
I plucked a piece of toast from his plate. “Let me help you out.” I took a big bite, sending crumbs scattering over my face and down my front.
He tried to fight a smile, but couldn’t resist, letting it spread his lips before he had time to hide it with his coffee cup. “You’re in a good mood.”
“Your dad is a smart guy.” I shrugged.
“You saw him recently? What’d you talk about.”
I shrugged noncommittally, taking a gulp of my candy-bar sweet coffee. “Stuff. Client-patient privilege or whatever it is. You don’t get to know.”
“What about friend-friend privilege? I swear, you’ve been MIA since you told me about breaking your sobriety at Six’s engagement party.”
This time, I averted my eyes from his, dropping the toast to my plate and staring long and hard at the eggs that remained.
“Mira?”
“Hm?” I asked, shoveling a pile of eggs into my mouth.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing.” I shoveled more eggs in, pressing a hand over my mouth to hide my food as I chewed a bite too big to chew delicately.
Setting his coffee down, he leaned over his plate. “What are you hiding?”
With one hand over my mouth, I raised my other and pointed at my face. “A mouth full of food.”
“Nice try. What else?”
I lifted my shoulders. “A mistake, probably.”
“What’d you do?”
I looked around, saw tables clearing and wait staff chatting behind the counter. Everyone was completely oblivious to my conversation. “I followed Six,” I admitted, finally.
To his credit, Jacob didn’t look disappointed or dismayed. “Where?”
“To his house.” I played with my bacon a minute, lifting it up and holding it in the air in front of Jacob’s face, like a mustache. “He left his apartment, and I followed him a few blocks. No bigs.” I popped the slice of bacon in my mouth and chewed dramatically.
“Why?”
“Who, what, when, where, why?” I asked. “Twenty questions because I followed some guy?”
“Some guy? Some guy? This is the same guy who nearly destroyed you.”
“No.” The word was spoken loudly, firmly. I didn’t need to look to know my voice had been loud enough to attract the attention of the other patrons. I waited until the clatter of silverware returned, until the voices had risen loudly enough to cover my own. “I did that.” I pointed a finger to my chest. “Me.” I picked up my orange juice and took a hard swallow, needing the acid to add some bite to my words. “I picked up the bottle; I picked up the knife. Don’t give those to Six. All you’d be doing is misplacing blame.”
“I’m asking again, Mira. Why?”
“Because I was curious.” It was the most honest I could be. I didn’t often understand my own motivations until I had time to reflect on them.
“I’m concerned for you.”
Words you never wanted to hear from a friend. “You should be more concerned for your breakfast,” I said, swiping his other piece of toast and putting it on my plate beside the first piece.
He sighed and set his coffee down. “How do you feel about it?”
I picked up the second piece of his toast and took a bite, chewing. “It could use more butter.” As I swallowed, I watched Jacob shake his head. “I don’t like talking about my feelings, Jacob. You know this. Not with you.”
“I’m cheaper than my dad.”
“Touché.” I picked up my orange juice and drank long and deeply. “But your dad also knows how to help me work through my specific feelings.” I spun my spoon in the coffee cup, watching the vortex forming in the center of the cup. Jacob stopped me and as I removed his hand from mine, I looked up and outside the window.
I could’ve looked away in an instant and not have seen the flash of brown hair.
But I did. I tracked her movements, down the sidewalk until she stopped at a wall. She looked exactly the same as she leaned against the wall, talking on her cell phone.
I abruptly stood up and pulled out a wad of bills. “I have to go, Jacob. I’ll call you.”
I ignored his protests and left the restaurant a second later. She smiled and laughed into the phone, long dark hair fighting the wind and skinny legs eating up the ground. Without a second thought, I walked out across the street, dodging traffic. The moment she saw me, her eyes widened considerably. “Mira.”
“Andra.”
The daughter of the woman Six had loved. The daughter of the one woman he said he thought he’d marry, the voice slithered into my consciousness.
His daughter.
I couldn’t see it, not right away. And that gave me some relief, for having not seen it before. Whatever bits of Six she possessed must have been under all that pretty pale skin.
She stared at me, her eyes giving nothing away. “Hi.” When she still said nothing, I asked, “What are you doing here?”
She quickly said goodbye to the person she was talking to and tucked the phone away. “I’m here to help, with…” her voice trailed off, and she looked apologetic. She looked up the road and then back at me. “How are you?”
“Fantastic.”
“Great.” She looked up the street again. She looked uncomfortable, awkward even. “I, uh…” she looked up the street and bit her lip.
I finally looked in the direction she was looking and saw Six exiting a store. He didn’t see me. He was looking at his phone with a furrowed brow and frown. I felt the pull I always felt when he was near. I had to clench my fists to keep my arms from reaching to him, for him. My pulse quickened, my feet wrestled with my brain to move towards him. I couldn’t ignore him, and that pissed me off.
He was walking slowly down the sidewalk towards us, eyes glued to his phone as his fingers moved rapid-fire across the screen. I waited, my heart booming like a drumbeat, until he raised his eyes and locked on mine.
The moment was so familiar to me, like we’d done this exchange a million times before. Eyes focused on something else before we were interrupted; before our eyes found one another.
“Mira.” His voice was flat, unwelcoming.
“Hi, Six.” I felt Andra’s gaze on me, on Six, but I held his stare.
“Did you follow me?”
Whoosh. That was the sound of my heart dropping inside my chest.
“She was at the restaurant across the street.” Andra’s voice. Six’s eyes flic
ked to her for a fraction of a second before they were on me again. “I waved her over.”
What? I didn’t allow the surprise to register on my face, but Andra’s lie made my palms itchy. I didn’t say anything, not wanting to give weight to Andra’s lie. Six knew when I lied, but maybe he didn’t know when she did.
“We have to get going,” Six said, walking around me and putting an arm around Andra.
“I actually invited her to come with us,” Andra blurted out, sliding out from under his arm and looking at me. Her eyes were pleading, but why? I couldn’t figure out what her end-game was. Andra and I barely knew one another. And here she was, lying for me. Why? “Do you mind?” she asked, looking to Six.
Oh, I was pretty fucking sure he would mind. But the way Andra was looking at him seemed to shift something within him. He glanced at me. “If you really want.”
Whoa. Who was this Six? I was once again reminded of the stranger he’d become. Six had never bent for anyone. But that’s exactly what he was doing right now, in this moment.
Because she’s his daughter.
“Great,” Andra said with a smile too wide to possibly be comfortable. “We’re meeting with a bartender for the wedding…if you’re going to be okay with that.”
I knew three things from the familiarity of Andra’s statement.
- She knew this wasn’t our first run-in. What had Six told her?
- She knew I knew about the wedding. Again, what had Six told her?
- She knew I was sober. What had Six left out?
“Great,” I mumbled as I followed. I should have run away. I was wearing my running clothes after all, as I’d intended to run off my breakfast later. But instead, I followed them down the sidewalk, all three of us silent as we prepared to plan the wedding of the man I loved to someone else.
20
Andra was poring over a paper the bartender had given her with hourly rates and packages. Six was sitting on a stool nursing a beer, and I was making shapes on the countertop with the condensation from my water glass.
Good job ordering water, Mira! I couldn’t take it seriously, which was part of the problem. I needed to apply Dr. Brewer’s request to something I could actually feel good about.
Pieces of Eight Page 18
