“Hey.” I frown. “My mind is really big.”
“At least ten inches, sure, whatever.” He rolls his eyes. “Point is, let’s get it out, right now. This is all part of theTeddy Does Italypackage. Free therapy.”
I start to argue.Push away my own needs, like always, but I’m too tired to pretend, and there’s too much wrong to keep it all bottled inside, so I pick the biggest thing, the thing that’s scaring me the most.
I blow out a deep breath. “I’m really worried about Dad.”
Teddy’s face is serious. “That makes sense. He didn’t handle your mother’s death well, and you’re worried the death of his mother will bring all that old dysfunction back.”
I nod, my pulse picking up just from hearing him say it aloud.
“Okay, let’s play out that scenario,” Teddy says, his matter-of-fact tone bracing. “We get there, your dad’s extremely distraught. What will you do?”
“I—don’t know. Take him home?” I breathe in for four, out for six, willing my lungs to stop constricting in my chest.
“Well, that’s not that hard. We know how to pack a bag and buy a plane ticket. Then when we get home, let’s say he’s all jacked up. Then what?”
I blink. “Um. Get him into therapy?”
“Right!” Teddy nods encouragingly. “That takes making a call. Maybe finding an insurance card, not that they’ll pay anything, the bastards. We can do that, right?” He puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezes, and all I can do is nod again.
“They don’t teach therapy in dental school, but I think I understand all the same,” Teddy says, his voice softer than usual. “The first time your dad checked out, you were a helpless, scared kid who’d just lost her mom. You needed your dad to take care of you, and he couldn’t. But you’re not that kid now, Zoe. You’re a grown woman, and your dad’s mental state can’t threaten your survival anymore, even if itfeelslike it will, in here.” He taps lightly on the space above my heart.
I sit with that for a moment. The panic and fear I’ve been feeling both come from the same dark blot in my heart. When I think about it, most of my hard feelings originate there. The anxiety that edges every venture that’s not business, the resigned feeling of doom that escorts every romantic attempt I make, the loneliness.
“How long does it take for a bruised heart to heal?” I swallow, my throat tight.
“I don’t know.” Teddy takes my hand in his. “But it’ll go a lot faster if you stop pressing your thumb into it all the time.”
I shake my head, annoyed at how simple he makes it sound. “What does that even mean, though? Just … stop hurting?”
Teddy rolls his eyes and smiles. “You’re such a little storm cloud, Zoe Brennan! You’re so sure you’re meant to suffer that you live your life waiting for the next bad thing to happen.”
“But bad thingsdohappen, Teddy!” I’m tempted to list each of my life’s tragedies as proof to wipe that smug expression off his face when he surprises me by nodding vehemently.
“They sure do! So what good does it do worrying all the time when they’renothappening? You’re living in what Brené Brown calls thestress rehearsal, baby, but no amount of worrying can prepare you for life’s real punches.” He leans close to my face. “So.Stop. Flinching.”
I sit back with a loud exhale, and the two teen girls sitting in front of us snap back to their normal seated positions, as though they haven’t been gaping at us through the gap between seats.
“Hope she’s listening,” one says as she puts her AirPods in.
“Love that growth for her,” the other replies, then leans her seat back right into my legs.
“Teddy, just one more thing.”
“What is it, baby?”
“You read Brené Brown?”
Teddy sticks his index finger straight in my face. “You bet your ass I do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Cobblestones are quaint as hell, but I’d give my soul for a smooth, paved sidewalk right now. Instead, I’m dragging my little carry-on and Teddy’s huge suitcase up a steep alley in the outskirts of Montepulciano over a thousand little speed bumps.
“Mamma mia!” Teddy cries beneath the rest of his luggage. “Prego! Ragu! Newman’s Own—”
“Teddy,” I wheeze out. “Stop that. It’s obnoxious.”
