Confidential(13)

“What do I tell your mother when she gets back?”

That I love her. That I’m sorry. That I should have told her sooner. That he never should have told her at all. That I shouldn’t have done what I did. That I thought I couldn’t help myself, but I know now you can always help yourself. That I’m an awful person.

That I deserved Adam, but she never did.

“That I love her,” I said.

“I know you do.”

“Do you think she knows it anymore?”

He looked down, color rushing to his face, as if he’d just then grasped what he’d done. “Maybe not right now, but she will again. Someday.”

He couldn’t know that. I certainly didn’t.

“Goodbye,” I said. I slammed the front door behind me, the identical sound to the one my mother had made just a few minutes before.

She had to come back, but I didn’t.

Because there was nothing left. He’d seen to that.





CHAPTER 10





GREER


“Do we really have to go there?” It was too cliché, too paint by numbers. Go to therapy and exhume your childhood. My childhood was fine.

“We’re going there,” Dr. Michael said. I had noticed that from each session to the next, he was firmer. More alpha, really. It was only our fourth meeting. If we continued this way, he might be the Terminator by the six-month mark.

I actually preferred this Dr. Michael. Economy of speech and emotion was my bailiwick. But talking about my childhood? That was hardly in my wheelhouse.

“I wasn’t a kid even when I was a kid,” I said. “My earliest memory is age eight.”

“What is it?”

“I’m just saying, my childhood memories are sparse, and they’re not very relevant.”

“Sometimes what we don’t remember is the most relevant.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Obi-Wan.”

He grinned. “You’ve got to trust me here.”

“Is that how trust works? You just tell people they have to?”

“You’re avoiding.”

Actually, I was having fun. I was more myself than I had been the first few sessions. My diarrhea of the mouth had resolved. “My parents were lovely people.”

“Were?”

“My mother died seven years ago.”

“That must have been rough.”

“I was an adult.” If he wanted tears, he was going to be disappointed. “They had a good marriage. A model marriage. They were both ambitious and successful. They were true equals.”

“It’s interesting that you called it ‘model.’”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you haven’t used it as a model. You don’t want to be married.”

“I never said that.”

“I wrote it down in our last session. I underlined it.”

“Something I don’t even recall saying doesn’t merit underlining.”

“You’re terrified of intimacy.”

I shook my head. “You’ve just met me. You can’t know that.”

“You’re right, I can’t know for sure, not this early. But all the signs are there. I have to wonder: Do you have few childhood memories because you spent much of it alone?”

It felt like he’d just punched me, though I couldn’t say why.

Gently, he asked, “Were you nurtured, Greer?”

“I was raised! By two lovely people!”

“You used that word before: lovely. Lovely or loving?”

I got frustrated sometimes at work. But this—it wasn’t mere frustration; it was laced with something.

He saw me struggling and prompted, “Could you tell me what you’re feeling?” No, I couldn’t. “Do you know what you’re feeling?”

After a long moment, I admitted, “No.”

“We learn to define our emotions from our parents. You cry, and they help you understand whether it’s sadness or disappointment or hurt. The differentiation is important. Knowing what you feel guides you. Emotions are information.”

That wasn’t how I operated. Was it how anyone operated?

“I feel like you’re blaming my parents,” I said. “You’re blaming them for screwing me up, and I’m not a screwup.”

“No, you’re not. But we’re all screwed up.”

“Oh really? How are you screwed up?”

His smile—it’s laced with something, too. “Conversation for another time. But you should know, I think you’re fascinating.”

I laughed. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only when it’s true.” He squinted at me, appraising. “You know what? You’re good.”

“I’d say thank you, but I’m not sure you’re giving me a compliment.”

“You know how to create the illusion of intimacy. We’re smiling, we’re laughing, we’re bantering. But the truth is, as you’ve gotten more comfortable with me week by week, you’ve managed to give less and less. You were vulnerable that first session, and you didn’t like that. You’ve pulled back.”