his arms around me in a hug. I struggled not to clutch at him, to cling, to hold him as tightly as I could. And all the while, Susan’s words rang in my ears. Do you think your relationship might be a bit too intense? What is that even supposed to mean?
“So.” Anna smiles at me. “These sessions are really for you, Beth. What would you like to talk about?”
“I…” I stop, my throat going alarmingly tight already. I’d come into this room, into this whole concept, determined to be strong. I wasn’t going to give anything away. I was going to convince Anna how capable I was, how strong and with it and everything I need to be to get Dylan back.
Yet here I am, having barely said one syllable, and already tears are crowding my eyes and my throat feels too tight to speak. What is happening to me?
“Beth?” Anna prompts gently, and that alone tips me over the edge. I start to cry, and not just cry, but properly blub, with snot and hiccuppy noises and all the rest. Blindly, I reach for the tissues and try to mop up the mess.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp out. “I wasn’t… I don’t know why…”
“You’d be surprised how often this happens,” Anna says with a small, sympathetic smile. “People finally get into a safe space, where they can actually talk about what they’re feeling, and it is overwhelming. Don’t worry. Tears are good.”
Are they? Because they keep coming. And I realize, as I uselessly wipe my face, how many things I am sad about—Dylan already growing apart from me, and the swamping loneliness I feel when he’s not with me. The terrible, gnawing fear that I’m not a good mother, and worse than that, maybe I’m actually a bad one. The grief I feel over everything—losing Dylan, losing my chance at college, even my failed relationship with Marco. My parents…
There’s so much, and it feels like a heavy weight on my chest, and I don’t even know how to begin. And, meanwhile, Anna simply sits there, smiling sympathetically at me and waiting for me to say something.
“I want to talk about my dad,” I blurt, and she nods, completely unfazed by this, waiting for more. It’s the last thing I expected to say, to want to say, and yet, weirdly, it feels like such a relief to say it.
And so I begin.
Three hours later, I’m back in my apartment, boxing up jewelry orders and feeling utterly drained. I spent the entire hour with Anna talking about my father, which I really didn’t expect at all. I mean, surely there are more pressing, current matters to worry about?
And yet revisiting all those old wounds, hurts I’d thought had scarred over and were fine, felt painful but necessary. There were a lot of tears, and I don’t actually feel much better, but for once, I don’t feel worse. Truthfully, as I load all my packages into a canvas bag and head out to the UPS store, I don’t know how I feel, but I try not to worry about it too much. I’ve had enough self-analysis for one day, surely.
Mike is behind the counter when I go into the store, his expression brightening when he sees me. We’ve brushed over his invitation for a pizza that he made a few weeks ago, acted as if it never happened, although he’s still as friendly as ever.
“Hey, Beth. How’s it going?”
“Okay, I guess.” To my surprise, I realize I mean it. Things aren’t great, not even close, but they’re not horrible, the way they’ve sometimes felt. “How are you?”
“Pretty good.” Mike gives me a lopsided smile as I unload the packages onto the counter. “Though my mom is having her third round of chemo.”
“What?” I look up in surprise. He’s never told me about his mother before.
“Yeah.” Mike scratches his cheek self-consciously. “She was diagnosed with breast cancer five months ago. Stage four.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He hunches his shoulders. “Thanks.”
I feel guilty, like I should have asked about his mom even though I didn’t know she was sick. Yet even though I obviously couldn’t have done that, I realize our conversations have always been about me and my problems. I’ve never once asked Mike about his life. I’ve never even wondered about it. Life with Dylan has made me completely introspective.
Mike is ringing up each package, and I feel any moment of connection slipping away from us. As he does the last one, I take