Underwater(33)

“Well, hi,” she says. “Do you want to come over here?”

I shake my head no. She moves closer and asks if I want to go there. Still no. She moves closer again. It reminds me of when my mom and I would sit across from each other on the floor and reach our arms out to get Ben to walk back and forth between us. Only instead of gradually moving farther away, Brenda keeps closing the distance. Finally, she stands at the bottom of the stairs.

“How about here?”

I feel like this is her version of meeting in the middle. It’s not the edge of the pool. It’s not the center of the courtyard. It’s only a few more steps from where I already am. I stand up. I grip the railing. I put one foot in front of me, and then the other. I take six steps until I’m standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Brenda takes my hand. She squeezes it. One squeeze. A squeeze that means everything without saying it.

“Sit,” she says.

I do.

Brenda adjusts herself on the bottom step. She straightens her legs out in front of her, then crosses one purple-Chuck-Taylored foot over the other one. “Tell me about the rest of your weekend. How’s your dad?”

“Not good.”

“Mm-hm.”

She doesn’t seem surprised. And she shouldn’t be. It’s not like someone who gets hauled away on an involuntary psychiatric hold is expected to be in excellent condition after it happens. She asks me for more details, so I tell her what my grandma said.

“I see.” She scribbles a note down. Her forehead wrinkles. I bet she doesn’t want me to notice that. “I understand how that would be upsetting.”

“It’s just the same old thing. He only cares about himself.”

“Oh, Morgan. I’m so sorry. I know it can seem like he’s being selfish, but there’s more to it than that. Are you feeling frustrated?”

“I’m not frustrated. That’s not what’s wrong with me.”

She wrinkles her forehead again. “Then what is it?”

I know I have to tell her everything I haven’t said out loud all weekend. I have to say the things I had on the tip of my tongue, but shoved back down my throat. I have to tell her all the things I’ve only thought. But it’s hard to get the words out.

“It’s just … How can you tell me, like, how do you really know, that I’m not going to be like him? It could happen, right? Fifty percent of me came from him.”

Brenda looks at me. She looks at me hard and she looks at me long. “You are not like him.”

“Yeah, right.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and stare at the door of the apartment in front of me. There’s a sign hanging on it that says LIFE IS BETTER AT THE BEACH.

Brenda taps me on the chin so I’ll look at her. She holds her hand to her chest. She presses it firmly to her heart. “Your heart needs comfort and reassurance. Give it that. Don’t be a victim. Be a survivor.”

I shake my head. I try to undo the bad thoughts in there. I want to jiggle them loose and leave them on the ground in front of me. I don’t want to be a victim.

“Look behind you,” Brenda says. “Look how far you’ve come.”

I’m afraid to turn around. I’m afraid it will look so far away that I’ll want to run back inside and slam the door. But I do what Brenda says. I turn around. I look up the stairs. They are steep and there are a whole bunch of them. My front door is standing wide open. The Santa Ana winds blow in. I can picture the kitchen curtains with the light blue sailboats on them floating up into the air. The other thing I see is that it is a long way back up there. For me, at least. For someone who’s been holed up in an apartment at Paradise Manor for the last six months, sitting here at the bottom of these stairs is a pretty big deal.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Brenda asks.

“I guess.”

“I want you to own it, Morgan. Are you proud of yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You should be.” She writes a note down. I picture it on the page. Morgan is proud of herself.

“I might’ve made a mistake, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I might’ve pushed Evan away.”

“Why?”

I gnaw on the corner of my thumbnail. “I was trying to keep him out of the drama.”

“Let’s not call it drama, okay?”

“Okay. What should we call it then?”

“Oh, we could call it lots of things. But drama isn’t one of them.” Brenda crosses her feet in the other direction. “What is it that you’re afraid Evan will do?”

Seriously? “Well, he could decide I’m crazy and never talk to me again.”

“Does Evan strike you as someone who would do that?”

“Well, no. Not really.”

“Do you like it when people tell you what to do and make decisions for you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why do you think it’s okay for you to do that to Evan?”

Why does Brenda always have to be so smart?

“I think if Evan decides being friends with you is more than he can handle, he can make the choice for himself,” Brenda says. “But it’s not really fair that you make the choice for him. Unless you feel this relationship is potentially bad for you. Do you think that?”