before now. I don’t blame him for being frustrated, though. My skin is itchy with the knowledge that I’m next. And I’m not going to like it.
Seriously. I’m going to kill Gem.
When Gage remains quiet, Dr. Lorringer presses, “Care to tell us why you’re so afraid of commitment?”
“I’m not afraid. I just don’t want it.”
“Why? You need to dig deeper. No one just doesn’t want it.”
“I don’t.”
“Hmmm,” she hums, clearly unconvinced. “Can I ask what happens when you’re sick?”
“What do you mean?” Gage asks. He’s not the only one confused by the abrupt subject change.
“When you’re sick, who takes care of you?”
“Uh…myself?”
Turning to me, she asks, “Nora, have you ever taken care of a loved one? Whether it’s a grandparent, a sibling, a lover, or a child?”
“My nephew,” I offer, though I could follow it with another ten names if she needed me to.
“Care to give us an example?”
I think back on all the times I’ve helped before landing on a memory where he was particularly miserable. “My brother played college football and was away for a game when his son got really sick. His mom is…well,…she’s less than stellar, and my brother asked me to go pick up my nephew and take care of him until he could catch a flight.”
“Were you working at the time? Going to school?”
“I was going to school,” I answer.
“So, what did you do?”
“I skipped class and held my nephew. He had the flu and a double ear infection. I had to take him to the doctor. Pick up his prescription. Clean up a lot of puke. And just…hold him.”
“That sounds really hard,” Dr. Lorringer comments. “Were you upset at your brother?”
I shake my head. “No, of course not. I was a little peeved at his ex since she’s a terrible mom, but I was happy to help my nephew and brother out. Honestly, I would’ve been angry if he hadn’t called and asked me to help. I think that was one of the most memorable moments I’ve ever had with my nephew.”
“It’s interesting how that works, isn’t it? When we’re sacrificing for someone without any resentment, that’s often when we feel closest to them.” Turning to the audience, she expounds, “Relationships are hard work, people, but they’re also the most rewarding connections we can have. Gage, have you ever had anyone look after you in a way that’s similar to what Nora just described?”
He shakes his head. “Not since I was a little kid, no.”
“And does it still sound so terrible?”
There’s a heavy pause as he looks down at me. Studying me. Searching for something. The intensity that’s rolling off him makes me want to cry. For him. For me. For everything we say we don’t want, but we really do.
“No, it doesn’t,” he admits. “But what you just described isn’t always the norm, either. Nora just gave the perfect example. The kid has a shitty mom. Shouldn’t she love her sick baby more than anyone? But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Maybe that’s not her fault. Maybe it’s just…the way that it is for her.”
“So, you think that not everyone is capable of love?”
He clears his throat before running his hand down his face. “Yeah. Maybe they wish they were capable of it. Maybe they even tried it before they realized how selfish they were.”
“Are you speaking from experience, Gage?” She cocks her head to the side and watches his Adam’s apple bob up and down before he glances over at me.
“Yeah. I am.”
“Can you tell us what happened? It’s a safe space here.”
With a deep sigh, he shoves his hands into his front pockets, then rocks back on his heels. “I dated the same girl for five years. She was best friends with my buddy’s fiancé––the guy who just got engaged that I mentioned earlier. We were, uh…I dunno how to explain it. Double date buddies?” He laughs dryly. “Anyway, we started dating a couple years before them, so we had a head start. After the first couple of years, Melanie started asking about our plans for the future. I would always shrug it off. She would send me pictures of wedding rings and would say shit like, ‘I’m not dropping any hints or anything. I just thought it was pretty.’” Another dry laugh escapes him as he gets lost in the memories. “I led her on for five years before I finally had the courage to break it off. I loved her. I did. I just…knew that I’d never be enough,