Like Gravity(33)

“Yeah, my biological parents died when I was eight. Car crash. I spent a handful of years in foster and group homes before my adoptive parents found me. They saved my life.” His tone was reflective – there was no sadness in it, just a contemplative acceptance of his past. I didn’t apologize for his loss, because people had been telling me how sorry they were for fourteen years, and it had never changed a damn thing for me.

“I—” I broke off, cleared my throat, and tried again. “I spent some time in a group home too.” Turning my face into the crook of Finn’s neck, I blocked out the world and my voice dropped to a whisper. “Eventually, my biological father came and took me home with him. I’m not sure why he bothered; its not like he had any interest in raising me.”

We fell into silence for a time, watching as the stars slowly began to emerge in the darkening sky. We’d both left things unsaid, but it didn’t feel strange. It was oddly comforting to know that he had things he wasn’t ready to share yet either.

“It’s nice up here,” Finn whispered. “Peaceful.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, closing my eyes and thinking my rooftop had never felt so safe. I put the flower incident out of my mind, and tried to savor the feeling.

Finn and I eventually made our way back inside, joining Lexi and Tyler for pizza and a stupid Will Ferrell movie that was on TV. It was a blissfully normal ending to a horrible day.





Chapter Eight


Worthwhile Fears




The next week was remarkably boring. It was a refreshing change after the drama of my panic attack and the appearance of the sinister bouquet. Lexi and Tyler were still attached at the hip, but were spending more of their time at our apartment. I think they were worried about leaving me alone, which was sweet but completely unnecessary.

I filled my days with homework and classes, and occupied my nights by knocking some books off my lengthy TBR list. I didn’t see Finn at all, and I tried to convince myself that it didn’t bother me. I did, however, see Dr. Angelini again. I told her about the flower incident and how Finn had cheered me up with corny jokes afterwards.

“You’ve mentioned Finn several times now. Is he someone you’re interested in romantically?” Dr. Angelini asked.

“I don’t date,” I responded instantly.

“That wasn’t my question, Brooklyn.”

“He’s different,” I said, struggling for the right words. “When he looks at me, it’s like he sees past all the bullshit barriers I’ve put up and gets a glimpse of the real Brooklyn – the one nobody knows. The one even I forget exists sometimes.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Scared shitless, if I’m being perfectly honest,” I said with a grimace. “That can’t be healthy right?”

“Well, in my experience, it’s usually the things we’re most afraid of that end up being the most worthwhile,” Dr. Angelini said, a small smile curving her lips.

“That’s deep, doc,” I teased, falling silent as the weight of her words washed over me. “The thing I’m most afraid of is forgetting her,” I murmured.

“Your mother?”

“Yes. I have a few photos of her, so I can still see her face when I want to. But the little things – how she smelled, the sound of her laughter – those are the things I feel slipping away.”

“What is it you remember most clearly about her?”

“Singing. She was a musician. I don’t have many memories without her humming under her breath as she composed a new melody in her head. We used to sing together.”

“Do you still sing?”

“Only in private, and only when I’m feeling particularly masochistic. I have an old guitar I found in an antique store a few years ago. I taught myself to play in high school, thinking it might make me feel more connected to her memory.”

“Did it work?” Dr. Angelini asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, shaking my head back and forth. “I never really pursued it.”

“I think you should.”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I think you should find a coffee house or a karaoke bar or even a street corner and perform. Just once, to see how it feels. In fact, that’s your assignment before you come back to see me.”

“You’re giving me homework?” I asked, incredulous. “You’re my shrink, not my professor.”

Dr. Angelini smiled placidly. “Your time for today is up, Brooklyn. I look forward to hearing all about your musical debut at our next session. “ She stood and ushered me into the hallway, closing the door firmly behind me. I stared back at her closed door, my mouth hanging open in shock.

This was going to be a disaster.

I wasn’t sure if my time at therapy was helping or not, but for once in my life I had someone I could discuss my problems and my twisted history with. I could talk freely because it was confidential and Dr. Angelini wasn’t a friend – she was just doing her job. I didn’t burden her and she didn’t judge me.

And while I was dreading getting up on a stage and singing in front of a crowd, I knew Dr. Angelini wouldn’t have recommended doing it unless it served a real purpose. Shockingly, I trusted her.