I was hoping for more of an outlet though, because even after we leave the gym there’s a clenched fist in my chest, like I want to scream or hit something. It’s the anxiety from this impending doom that Hayden and I are driving toward. He’s driving, actually. I’m riding shotgun, preparing mental lists of all the passive aggressive things I’ll want to say but won’t because I promised.
“You don’t have to speed there,” I say the closer we get.
“We’re late, so . . . kinda do.”
Hayden’s back teeth are gnashed. I recognize it because I do the same damn thing when I’m stressed. I’m doing it now. We have different reasons, though. Hayden hates being late. I hate having to do shit I don’t believe in.
We pull in, parking between the minivan and my dad’s truck. How incredibly prophetic. Hayden rushes out of the car, but I take a moment to myself to let what’s happening really sink in. I can’t remember the last time I truly idolized both of my parents. I still do my dad, I guess. I just don’t see him now, haven’t really in a while. Even when he was at home, he was never home. He travels a lot for work at a job that bought the house we live in free and clear and has kept both of my parents in new cars for my entire life. Hayden and I share because my brother is practical and insists on it. Dad told me on the side that he’d get me my own ride, but it never felt that important. Wish I’d taken him up on it now, though. If I had, I’d still be on my way to this session while Hayden was here right on time, waiting for my ass to show up.
My brother raps his knuckles on my window. I don’t bother to look, breathing out hard enough to flap my lips as I push the door open and join him out of the car.
“I was enjoying the last bit of quiet I’ll have for a while,” I say.
“Like you have ever wanted things quiet,” my brother scoffs.
Touché.
Our parents are in the waiting room for the family therapist, Dr. Majestic. I thought my dad was shitting me when he texted me the info for Hayden and me to come, but no, that’s really this doctor’s name. It’s going to take superhero powers to fix the broken things in this household. Dr. Majestic sounds a lot more like a villain.
“Son,” my dad says, reaching toward me first to shake my hand. We make the same uncomfortable, fake smiles at each other because neither of us wants to be here. We’re a lot alike, stubborn with a veil of easygoing.
“Hey, Dad,” Hayden says after a few seconds, nodding to our pops.
“Hey, kiddo.”
“Psh,” our mom sounds.
“What, I can’t call him kiddo? I suppose that’s babying him?” My dad is on edge, which is not promising for the next fifty minutes. I looked up the fees and at four hundred an hour, I hope my parents spend less time on childish sounds and button-pushing when we get in the room.
None of us are sitting, which is typical. We’re the family that, when we go out to eat, hovers impatiently around the hostess stand even if the wait is an hour. We have this unspoken strategy that standing makes other people uncomfortable so they seat us faster. It works.
“Gio? Natalia?” My parents turn in sync.
“Hmm?” they both say.
My eyes fall to the floor and I lead the way toward the incredibly tall woman standing with her door held wide open, welcoming—like the gates to hell. I glance up when I pass her and give her a crooked smile. She probably thinks it’s my way of greeting her and expressing how upset I am over all of this, but really, I just think it’s cool she’s my height.
The rest of the family files in after me, the four of us cramming onto a sofa made for three. The black leather is stiff and it squeaks with our weight, a sound that repeats each time any of us moves. This won’t be distracting at all.
“I have other chairs,” Dr. Majestic says, indicating a high-back recliner pushed against the wall.
“I’m on it,” I say, happily volunteering. I grab the chair by the arms and slide it a few feet forward so it’s now part of the circle of death. I get in and immediately pull the handle,