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“Don’t downplay your gifts, Zoey. Waterford accepts very few candidates. The fact that you were not only accepted at such a young age but asked repeatedly to return says a lot. Have you continued with your art?”
I have. It’s changed. Taken on a much darker tone, but it’s stayed with me. “Yes. I’m still selling as well, through a website I designed.”
“That’s good, Zoey. You should keep it up.” She looks at her watch. “Our time is up until this afternoon. Zoey, you need to prepare yourself. We can’t avoid the real issues, and once we get into those issues, it’s going to be hard.”
I swallow and nod. “I meant it when I said I would try. I need to get through this somehow for them.”
She gives me a sad, sympathetic look. “Eventually, I hope you realize it’s for you. The best way to take care of your brother and Jax is to take care of yourself.”
“Go,Zane. Run!” I yell at the television in my room. The Raptors are down by fourteen point and halftime is ten seconds away. My brother caught a thirty-two-yard wide-open pass from Jax. He’s been running for fifteen yards with fifteen more to go. The defense is quickly catching up to him. I know there’s still another half to be played, but they need to be in a better position for the second half. Then he dives into the endzone. “Yeah!” I yell not caring who hears.
“Didn’t anyone tell you that it’s a sin not to be a Giants fan in New York,” I hear that sweet melodic voice at the door.
I look to Janie and grin. She’s working her psych rotation for med school here, but she’s quickly become a friend. “The Raptors are my home team, but I’m always going to root for my boys so tell the Giants to sign them and we’ll have a deal.”
“Those two seem pretty unstoppable together,” she observes.
My heart is bursting with pride at her acknowledgement. They are unstoppable together. They’ve played together for so damn long; they don’t even have to look to know where the other is on the field. “They are unstoppable. It’s what happens when you know someone so well.”
“How are you today, Zoey?” she asks. I know its because it’s her job, but one of the reasons I’ve grown to like her so well the last ten days is because she genuinely cares.
“Therapy this morning was the hardest yet,” I answer honestly. As much as I hate to admit it, talking about everything has helped. I thought it would be like ripping open old wounds, but the truth is you can’t rip open what hasn’t closed. “I finally talked about what happen that night a bit. Not the details but what I felt.”
A glimmer of pride filters through her golden eyes. “You’re really doing well, Zoey. But how does that make you feel? Do you feel any kind of relief? Do you feel like maybe you’re starting to move on?”
I frown at her. “No. But I feel like I can see the value of all of this. Like maybe, even though I still feel hurt and broken, I can see the path to get to where I was before.”
“You know what? That’s a very important thing to realize. It’s wise, in fact. You don’t have any expectations of instant results. You realize this is a journey. A long marathon, not a sprint.”
“I have a long way to go. I know that. I’m just ready to get home.”
“Where’s home, Zoey? Back to River City or your apartment?”
“My home is where Jax is. I’ve always known that.”
“So, if that’s the case, why did you leave him in the first place?”
I consider her question for several seconds. The same answer always comes to me. “Because I didn’t want to see how what happened affected him.”
“That’s it?”
“No. I didn’t want to be around either of them. I didn’t want them to look at me with pity. I didn’t think I deserved their sympathy. Mostly, because I wanted to crawl into my pain, and I didn’t want to bring them with me.”
“So, you were protecting them?”
I chuckle sadly. “No. My reasons were never that unselfish.”
“Why do you think that, Zoey?”
I shrug. I don’t have an answer. I turn my attention back to the game that has started the second half, but her question keeps flitting through my mind. Why do I feel like that?
Then, suddenly, I find myself laughing. She’s going to make a great psychiatrist one day if that’s what she chooses. With a handful of questions disguised as small talk during halftime, she’s worked in another therapy session.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
“You are, Janie. You’re really good at this.”
I notice a blush creep up her neck to her face. She brushes a stray piece of blond hair out of her face. “I just want you to be comfortable.”
