The Terminal Experiment - Robert J. Sawyer Page 0,21
I have trouble believing it.”
“Why?”
An infinitesimal lifting of shoulders. “Because of who I am.”
“And who are you?”
“I’m—I’m nothing. Nothing special.”
Danita steepled her fingers. “It sounds like you’re not very confident.”
Cathy considered this. “I guess I’m not.”
“But you say you went to university?”
“Oh, yes. I made the dean’s list.”
“And your job—do you do well at that?”
“I guess. I’ve been promoted several times. But it’s not a hard job.”
“Still, it sounds like you’ve done just fine over the years.”
“I suppose,” said Cathy. “But none of that matters.”
Danita raised her eyebrows. “What’s your definition of something that matters?”
“I don’t know. Something people notice.”
“Something which people notice?”
“Just people.”
“Does your husband—Peter, is it? Does Peter notice when you achieve something?”
“Oh, yes. I do ceramic art as a hobby—you should have seen him bubbling over when I had a showing at a small gallery last year. He’s always been like that, boosting me—right from the beginning. He threw a surprise party for me when I graduated with honors.”
“And were you proud of yourself for that?”
“I was glad university was finally over.”
“Was your family proud of you?”
“I suppose.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes. Yes, I guess she was. She came to my graduation.”
“What about your father?”
“No, he didn’t attend.”
“Was he proud of you?”
A short, sharp laugh.
“Tell me, Cathy: was your father proud of you?”
“Sure.” Something strained in her voice.
“Really?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“He never said.”
“Never?”
“My father is not a … demonstrative man.”
“And did that bother you, Cathy?”
Cathy lifted her eyebrows. “Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“Yes, it bothered me a lot.” She was trying to remain calm, but emotion was creeping into her voice. “It bothered me an awful lot. No matter what I did, he never praised it. If I’d bring home a report card with five As and a B, all he’d talk about was the B. He never came to see me perform in the school band. Even to this day, he thinks my ceramics are silly. And he never …”
“Never what?”
“Nothing.”
“Please, Cathy, tell me what you’re thinking.”
“He never once said he loved me. He even signed birthday cards—cards that my mother had picked out for him—‘Dad.’ Not ‘Love, Dad’ —but just ‘Dad.’”
“I’m sorry,” said Danita.
“I tried to make him happy. Tried to make him proud of me. But no matter what I did, it was like I wasn’t there.”
“Have you ever discussed this with your father?”
Cathy made a noise in her throat. “I’ve never discussed anything with my father.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But he did hurt me. And now I’ve hurt Peter.”
Danita nodded. “You said that you didn’t believe anyone could love you unconditionally.”
Cathy nodded.
“Is that because you felt your father never loved you?”
“I guess.”
“But you think Peter loves you a lot?”
“If you knew him, you wouldn’t have to ask. People are always saying how much he loves me, how obvious it is.”
“Does Peter tell you he loves you?”
“Oh, yes. Not every day of course, but often.”
Danita leaned back in her chair. “Perhaps your problems with Peter are related to your problems with your father. Down deep, perhaps you felt that no man could love you because your father had eroded your self-esteem. When you found a man who did love you, you couldn’t believe it, and you tried—and are still trying—to push him away.”
Cathy was immobile.
“It’s a common enough scenario, I’m afraid. Low self-esteem has always been a big problem among women, even today.”
Still immobile, except for chewing her lower lip.
“You have to realize that you are not worthless, Cathy. You have to recognize the value in yourself, see in yourself all the wonderful qualities Peter sees in you. Peter doesn’t put you down, does he?”
“No. Never. As I said, he’s very supportive.”
“Sorry to have to ask again. It’s just that women often end up marrying men who are like their fathers, just as men often end up marrying women who are like their mothers. So Peter isn’t like your father?”
“No. No, not in the least. But, then, Peter pursued me. I don’t know what kind of man I was looking for. I don’t even know if I was looking at all. I think— I think I just wanted to be left alone.”
“What about the man you had the affair with? Was he the kind of man you were looking for?”
Cathy snorted. “No.”
“You weren’t attracted to him?”
“Oh, Hans was cute, in a chubby way. And there was something disarming about his smile. But I didn’t go after him.”
“Did he treat you well?”
“He was a smooth talker, but you could tell it was all just talk.”