by Amy Daws
“Residual from infancy?” I balk.
“Residual even from your time in the womb.” His eyebrows lift helpfully.
“You’re going to need to elaborate, because right now you sound like the crazy one,” I say, feeling curiously cautious.
He chuckles softly. “You see, Reyna, we all have some kind of trauma from our infancy or early childhood that gets stored in our memory bank. Many perinatal psychologists believe that the way in which our culture gives birth is hugely traumatic for infants. So, the question is: Why do we act out like we do?
“For example, take your experience in the NICU. You said you still feel an intense connection to your sisters. So, might it be possible that your body remembers the horrid feeling of losing them one by one? If so, your body may have a sense of impending doom as it still remembers their loss. If you felt that as a baby, your defense mechanism in your life as an adult could be pushing people away. Also, your mother knew the risks better than anyone of what a quadruplet pregnancy would entail. The fear, the terror, the guilt she felt all had to be intense. Those feelings then get passed on to her babies at the brain chemistry level, causing them the same anxiety. She knew the odds, and you survived them. All of that can be labeled as your ‘ghosts.’”
My mind swirls at the crazy amount of information. “So my ghosts are the reason I push her and anyone else away?”
“Not all, no. I think the patterns you exhibit with your mother stem from how she’s treated you your whole life.”
“So why does my mom treat me the way she does? Why does she idolize me so much and put me up on a damn pedestal with every breath I take?” I ask. “She acts like I’m perfect and I hate it so much.”
“Not all of our actions are a direct result of our experience in our mother’s womb. Many things can happen over the course of our life to trigger these actions. The point is, we keep living those same patterns and then we hit a wall—like a trauma, or a tragedy, or even just hitting our own rock bottom—and until we find some insight in some other way, like therapy or meditation, we just live in that constant pattern.”
I briefly wonder how my mother would have been if she hadn’t lost my father? Then I think about Liam. It was him that I opened up to and allowed inside my deepest, darkest secrets…until I freaked out and shoved him away. Was he therapy for me? Self-medication? Why was it Liam I opened up to instead of Hayden?
“So, question. If I hit rock bottom like Hayden, why didn’t I try to kill myself?”
“Some people are more emotionally resilient than others. You do not react with suicidal thoughts, but your level of self-hatred and pushing those close to you away can be seen as a form of social suicide.”
“Holy fuck,” I exclaim, my jaw dropped in shock.
“Is there something more you would like to share or ask?” Miguel chuckles softly.
My eyes swim with emotion at everything he’s just laid before me. It’s almost like this Miguel, Spanish-Doogie just pegged me in one damn session. How is it possible that I said so few words and he’s managed to dig into a place in my head that I have never even been before? “You mentioned before that finding a therapist or meditation can help us break our patterns. Can regular people do that for a person, too? Like friends? Spouses? Can they be a form of therapy?”
He nods earnestly. “Yes, certainly. A solid family is monumental. There are relationships and people who are extremely good for us. But with that said, there are relationships that are extremely bad for us as well. There are so many barriers that prevent us from identifying our own value. Our own self-worth. Finding someone who can elevate you and inspire you is extremely therapeutic.”
“This has been…enlightening,” I say speculatively, still mulling over all of this new information he’s dumped on me.
“Good, I’m glad. But, our time is up for now, Reyna. I would really like for you to come back. I can sense your independence in wanting to gain this knowledge on your own, but I feel like we are just getting started. And having someone unconnected to you personally is huge for expediting your healing process.” His face looks hopeful.
Without hesitating, I nod in agreement and set up more appointments with his receptionist. The truth is, this is the first time in my life that I’ve ever wanted this kind of help. I want to take this time that I have and get better…just like Hayden is.
Over the next couple weeks, I end up seeing Miguel four more times. I chastised Frank in the beginning for sending me to someone so young. Truthfully, though, it’s Miguel’s age that makes him so much more approachable.
I’ve prided myself on being honest my entire life and I’ve never felt like more of a liar. Miguel has opened my eyes to all the elements in my life that have played a part in me becoming who I was…am…or who I am fighting against being. Being a quad and having my mother’s unrealistic perception of me shoved down my throat was tough. Then I witnessed my father die at a young age, which only made my mother’s behavior more extreme. It was no wonder I started pushing people out of my life. I wasn’t comfortable. Ever! Then my best friend, the one person I managed to let in, died in a tragic accident. If that wasn’t hard enough, I now live with the guilt of sleeping with her would-be fiancé.
I have been constantly pushing people away because I was terrified of people discovering that I wasn’t the “miracle” my name portrayed me to be. Therefore, I felt like I wasn’t worth saving or even just getting to know. And, as cliché as it is, a lot of those feelings stem from my mother. I have never been seen properly by her and because of that, I never believed her love to be real. And I still have trouble believing it. Being treated like a miraculous angel and feeling broken on the inside wreaked total havoc on my perception of love. Both for myself and for others.
The dream I had of my mother in the NICU was so enlightening in some ways because I had feelings for that woman. She was real, authentic, and present. She was someone I wanted to get to know—not even close to the mother I grew up with. Miguel suggests I bring her in for some sessions soon, but that’s not something I’m comfortable with, yet.
And unfortunately, after Marisa, I only started pushing people away even harder, just to avoid the pain of loss. And I started depending on alcohol and casual sex with Hayden in order to cope.
Hayden is another whole ball of wax. Daphney has informed me that they’ve had a couple of family counseling sessions with him. She said that Hayden is still really raw and fragile, but making strides. He still doesn’t want to speak to me, though.
Miguel says that I am probably a large trigger for Hayden and that I need to respect his space. It’s painful to know that I let our friendship get so dark and toxic for him. I want to fix it. But, I can’t. Instead, Miguel asks me which of my battery of issues I want to address first and without hesitation, I say Liam.
“This better be good, Oxford,” Frank drawls, strolling into my flat on my day off. I called him over after my latest session with Miguel and am feeling nervously anxious now that he’s actually here. “I can tell your brain has been noodling lots of gooey thoughts as of late and I want bloody in.”
Between the multiple therapy sessions, I’ve still been busting my butt at Club Taint. I’m working daily with Lariza now that he’s back. The first day he showed up in full Liza Minnelli drag. The man is a hoot! I can so see why Frank likes him. But I still miss Frank. Luckily we’ve been texting regularly, so that helps me with my ginger jonesing. Of course Frank sang my marketing praises to Lariza, so now I’m taking on even more responsibility at the club. As a result, I’m feeling pretty good about my professional life. Confident and excited, even. As for my personal life, my heart hasn’t been feeling so good. Something is missing and I think I know just how to mend it.
So I’m calling on Frank and Beans for help. I conceal the snide comment I want to make regarding Frank’s outfit of brown, ankle-length trousers and a denim button down shirt with the sleeves cut off. The truth is: I need Frank right now. And the fact that I’m saying
I want anyone to help me is…colossal.
Hayden used to be my security blanket when things got rough—when my feelings became overwhelming and I wanted to forget. Now I don’t want to forget. I want to relish in them. Bathe in them. Shout them from a damn mountaintop if I have to. I’m tired of living in the melancholy of the past. I’m ready to bask in the brightness of the now, and being honest with my heart is a huge part of that.
Frank follows me into my living area and makes himself at home picking through my makeup on the floor by my floor-length mirror. “Do you want something to drink? I have…water.”
Frank’s red eyebrows rise. “What kind?”
“The faucet kind.”
His face screws up in disgust. “God, you must be joking. Just get on with it Oxford. Then we can get out of here and go to Chelsea for some real refreshments.”
I drag Frank over to my bed and he eyes the mattress nervously before sitting down. “I know you and Liam are friends and I know you probably think I broke his heart…and I did. I know I did. Like…more than once. But Frank, I have to see him. I have to talk to him and see if the shit I have swirling in my head has any chance at being as amazing as I think it could be.”
“What are you going on about?” His red brows furrow in confusion.
“I’m talking about the fact that I feel like I am breathing for the first time in twenty-eight years! And with the first real breath I take, I want it to be with Liam. I need to see him. He’s not answering any of my texts or calls. I don’t even know where his office is. I’m begging, Frank. Can you help me with this?”
I search his gaze for any glimpse of sympathy, but he schools his features to look critical. “Well, what’s your plan? Show up to his place of work and profess your love for him?”
The word love sends shivers up my back. I’m not sure I’m ready for all of that, but I’m ready for something more. And I’m done waiting. I don’t want to waste another second of letting Liam walk the streets thinking that I don’t care about him. I care about Liam more than I’ve ever admitted to myself and now I’m finally ready to tell him. Waiting is NOT an option. I nod my head to Frank in silent answer.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Oxford. You’re hopeless.” He stands up and shuffles quickly over to my closet. “You’re not going to his place of work. You’re coming with me to Ethan’s party.”
“Who’s Ethan? Frank! I have to do this. I’m like bursting to do this and I’m scared if I don’t do it now, I’ll lose my nerve.”
“Scrumpette, you’re so lucky I actually like you because what I’m about to tell you is going to positively floor you.” I’m hanging on his every word as he pulls out a black dress on a hanger and holds it out to examine. “Ethan is a mate of Liam’s and he’s having a birthday party tonight and I’m on the guest list…and guess who I’m taking with me.”
“Your favorite American?” I grin broadly and stand.
The two S’s slice between his eyebrows at my statement. “Honey, with all the American heroines in my life, how could I possibly ever choose a favorite?” His serious expression turns into a wry grin as he adds, “But you’ll earn extra points if you let me take you shopping for an outfit for tonight.”
I’m pretty sure I’d let Frank throw out all my black if it meant he could get me in front of Liam right now.
“This was a terrible idea,” I groan, staring at myself in the mirror.
“No! Oxford! I’ve never seen you look more stunning!”
I stare incredulously at my reflection. My dark hair is loose down my back with soft, large curls and my makeup is dramatic and sexy with magenta matte lips. It’s the dress I’m trying to come to terms with. It’s a one shoulder magenta mini-dress Frank selected at a posh shop that I never would have even walked in to. The bust is completely covered in glittery crystals and anchored by a magenta belt that flows into a slim skirt. The fit is perfect for my short curves, but the color…I have literally never worn this color.
“I’d rather wear what you’re wearing,” I say, eyeing his expensive, tailored black tuxedo. He paired it with a purple deep V-neck muscle shirt and a purple and white polka dot pocket square. “Frank. I like black. This is so not black.”
“Magenta is magic. The color even compliments your ink.”
I glance down at my sugar skull and sunflowers and have to nod in agreement. “But I feel like I’m going to stand out so much.”
“Oxford,” Frank says coming to stand in front of me. His brown eyes are wide and serious. “You have to stand out if you are trying to stand up.”
My eyebrows rise at his insightful words. Standing up is exactly what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to stand up for myself, for Liam, for all the pain I’ve caused to everyone that’s ever given a shit about me. Frank’s right. I have to rise to this challenge. I’m ready to exorcise my ghosts. My watery eyes shutter closed and before he can stop me, I pull him into a hug.
His body stiffens. “Oxford, I’m British. We don’t hug. We do posh air kisses on the cheeks and even that is only because we’re trying to be pompous.”
“I’m hugging you, Frank. Just sink into it.” I grin as I feel his hesitant arms wrap tightly around me. “I think I might love you, Frank and Beans.”
“I think I might hate you, Oxford,” he sighs and I giggle into his wild, red hair that he’s stylishly mussed haphazardly. After another moment, I release him. His face is stark serious, but his eyes are twinkling with mirth.
“Is my makeup okay?” I ask, touching Frank’s masterpiece.
“It’s perfect. Now, let’s bloody go before you start writing sonnets about me.”
A short while later, a cab is dropping us off at a red carpet outside of Cirque le Soir, a posh nightclub in Soho. I’ve never been to it before, but I know it’s a place where the elite and famous frequent regularly. Frank and I pile out of the cab and a mass of photographers swarm us, shooting pictures in a frenzy.
“Do they think you’re Prince Harry?” I yell to him over the roar of people shouting. Just then, my question is answered when I finally hear what they are all yelling:
“It’s Frank McElroy! Over here!”
“Who’s your date, Frank? What’s her name?”
“Where have you been, Frank? Haven’t seen you out much!”
“Frank! Can I get a shot?”
Frank tucks me under his slender arm and covers himself as we walk quickly to the entrance. The security guards open them instantly as we bypass a huge line of people waiting.
As soon as we’re inside, I pull away and stare at him in wonder. “Who are you?”
He shakes his head dismissively. “That’s from another life, Oxford. Don’t ask. Come on, they are in the VIP room.” Frank moves us through the club, like he knows the place easily. The mystery behind Frank’s background is niggling at me, but I want to respect his privacy…for now. Not to mention, Cirque le Soir is completely diverting my focus with all its splendor. The posh club is bursting with colorful lights and red velvet cushioned seating and drapes. There are various stages throughout filled with a mix of circus-looking performers. Burlesque dancers, fire-eaters, a woman with a snake. It’s freaky and fabulous, and I love every bit of it.
We reach a concealed doorway and Frank gives his name to the security guy, who motions us through. We walk through and the hallway darkens as we move further away from the club lights. Finally, we reach a roped off area that leads up a private, narrow staircase. We head up the long flight that is illuminated with rope lights and leads to a small VIP area. It’s filled to the brim with young Londoners dressed to the nines and clearly already in full party mode. Frank offered me a drink while we got ready at my flat, but I said I wanted a clear head for tonight. I have been using alcohol to self-medicate for far too long. Yes, this was a party, but tonight I had a purpose.
Nervously chewing my magenta covered lips, I ask, “Are you sure he’s coming, Frank?”
“Yes, he’ll be here. You need to relax, Oxford. And
keep chewing on your lip like that. It’s sexy as fuck,” Frank says into my ear as my eyes continue to dart around looking for Liam. “And if you’re trying to show Liam that you’ve changed, the best place to start is by showing him how sexy and fun you can be.”
I frown at him. “Sexy and fun?”
“Yes, I know it’s a foreign concept to you. You prefer that misunderstood rebel girl vibe. But seriously, show him the girl you were in Cambridge. There’ll be time for serious discussions later.”
His advice is sound and I nod while earnestly snagging a glass of champagne off a clown server’s tray. Just one. I can’t risk any mistakes tonight. I grab another for Frank and we do a quick cheers.
Let’s hope Frank is right and Liam actually shows up tonight.
“Ethan, this is Rey. Rey, this is the blessed birthday boy.”
A tall, caramel-skinned man with blue eyes stares back at me and I actually have to remind myself to breathe. He is breath-taking. He’s dressed in a slim, light gray suit with a white button down open halfway down his chest.
He huffs out a cocky laugh, “So, this is Rey. Well, I can see what all the fuss is about.” His blue gaze is taking in every curve of my body and every detail of my ink, and it doesn’t take an educated person to gather that he likes what he sees.
