I clear my throat again, trying to dislodge the lump. “Yes, I was scared. He was the only person who’s ever made me feel like I deserve to be loved, but when I needed it most, he couldn’t do it for me.” I finally lift my gaze to meet Susan’s. Her brown hair is thrown up in a bun, her hands in her lap. The pen in her hand rests above her notebook, but she doesn’t write anything else down. She just lets me sit in these feelings.
For weeks, I have been shoving this all down, hoping that if I didn’t let it show, it would go away on its own. But there’s this ever-present feeling of never quite being goodenough that stays in the back of my mind. That’s what happens when you’re raised by parents who are more interested in themselves than the daughter they obviously never wanted. I was never their priority when I was growing up, and I’m still not.
“I’m very proud of you for coming today, Avery, and for opening up about this. I know it’s not easy for you, but it has clearly been weighing on you over the past month,” Susan starts, shifting her legs with her pen in hand. “But, we’ve also talked about how not everyone is your parents. When you decided to go no contact with them, I was very proud of you for making that decision for yourself. To let yourself feel good enough for you and not worry about them anymore. But you need to extend that into other parts of your life too. So, this week, I want to focus on you. What doyouwant to do next? Do youwantto continue to let what others do affect how you view yourself?”
Going no contact with my parents is something I’ve been working toward for the past two years I’ve been seeing Susan, the catalyst of which was that they have never shown up for a single event in my life. My constant panic attacks through college forced me to finally find a therapist to talk to so I didn’t flunk out.
That’s when I met Susan, and I have been seeing her regularly ever since. Together, we determined that my anxiety spiral in college was a result of unresolved issues from childhood. The feeling of never being good enough, of feeling like I had to act a certain way for people to care about me, of feeling like if I wasn’t succeeding or being useful in some way, there was no reason to love me, all stemmed from having parents who didn’t care about me. They were always gone, either off on a trip or checked out at home, never bothering to check up on me. As soon as Iwas old enough to stay home alone, they’d leave for weeks or sometimes months at a time, and even when they were home, I could never get their attention. I spent more time at Marcus’s house than I ever did at my own, his mother becoming a maternal figure for me in a way mine never did.
I realized a year ago that I was never going to heal if I kept them in my life and let them hurt me time and time again. That I had to remove myself to be able to figure out who I was without their voices in my head. It’s been a hard year without them, but there isn’t much for me to miss in the first place. I’ve mostly just mourned who I wanted them to be, and the hope that maybe one day they would change and become the parents I needed. Some days I still miss them, or who I want them to be, but it’s gotten easier. Especially with my friends and Kane always reminding me that I don’t need that, of how good I am on my own. It’s made losing Kane that much harder.
On that note, we end the session. I say goodbye to Susan then make my way to my car. By the time I reach it, my eyes have dried, but when I look in the rearview mirror, I notice they’re still red and my face is slightly puffy. I pull down my visor to fix my makeup, finding the photo of Kane and me that I still haven’t gotten rid of.
I steel myself, rubbing a finger under my eyes to wipe away the running mascara. Enough of my makeup survived that I can head straight to work, and I think I’ll even treat myself to an iced coffee. One thing I’ve learned is that on the really hard days, I get to treat myself to something sweet—because I made it to therapy, and most days, just showing up is the hardest part.
On my drive to work, Susan’s words replay in my mind, reminding me how, for my whole life, I’ve let other people’swords and actions define who I am, instead of figuring it out for myself.
I don’t want to be a person who doesn’t do anything in life out of fear that I won’t be enough. Life is about failure and about trying something without worrying about whether you’ll succeed. But I’ve been too scared to do that, and I realize now just how little life I’ve lived because of it.
I no longer want that to stop me.
As I pull up to Second Chances, I spot Kane’s big black truck in the parking lot with him loitering next to it, and my stomach sinks. My tongue gets stuck in my throat as I stare at the man who has haunted my dreams.
He has his phone up to his ear, frustration evident on his face. His dark hair gleams in the light of the fading sun, the gentle wind ruffling it the way my fingers used to. I can still feel the ghost of his hair in my hands, still picture the way his eyes would close as he’d lean into me. It fills me with a small sense of calm, the same way it used to, before a sharp pang stabs through me, remembering that I can’t do that anymore.
My heart skips a beat as his gaze shoots my way. I duck down to hide from his view, despite my car being wedged between two larger vehicles. I hear a vehicle start, and when I look up and see his truck pull out of the lot, I let out the breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding.
CHAPTER NINE
avery
Landslide – Fleetwood Mac
“Ave, I really hate to be the voice of reason, but are we sure this is worth a breaking and entering charge? I mean, I have bail money, but I did not wear the right outfit to wear for the clink,” Morgan says from behind me as I press the unlock button on Kane’s spare set of keys.
“We won’t get arrested—I have a key. It wouldn’t be breaking, just entering.”
“A key that Kane doesn’t even know you took! This feels like a bad episode ofCopswaiting to happen,” she mumbles. She’s dressed in aCharlie’s Angels-esquespandex suit that she, for some reason, already owned, with her hair pulled into a tight ponytail.
“That’s beside the point. I had a key to get into the apartment to get the spare truck key. They don’t need to know that I didn’t ask for permission. And it’s not like we’re going to damage anything—I just need to jam his radio so it’s stuck on one station.” I pray to whoever is listening that I follow the tutorial correctly and don’t accidentally blow thewhole thing up. With my luck, I’ll cross some random wires, and suddenly the truck will only go in reverse.
I laugh at that mental image while I jimmy the radio out. I thank the higher ups that Kane decided to get an older model truck after he sold the Audi his dad had bought him, which means this should be a fairly simple, yet hilarious, prank. Though, I don’t think I have the ability to pick the station, so I hope the one it gets stuck on is worth it.
After completing all the steps from the video, I lower myself from the truck. Morgan is standing next to the truck scrolling on her phone.
“I thought you were supposed to be my lookout,” I say while locking the doors.
“It’s 2 p.m., in broad daylight. If someone was going to see it, I couldn’t have stopped them.” She slides her phone back in her pocket. “So, what now?” Morgan asks, wiggling her eyebrows at me. “Do you feel satisfied yet? Are you ready to be a mature adult and have a grown-up conversation with him?”
I turn, walking back to the townhouse to return his key before Dumb or Dumber get back. Marcus told me that he and Kane were going for an early lunch with Grayson before his game later, so I knew both the place and Kane’s truck would be empty and available for me to pull off my second prank.
“I am being a perfectly reasonable adult and handling my problems as anyone in my situation would,” I reply with my nose in the air, ignoring her suggestion to talk to him.
“I’m not sure I like this side of you. My Avery is kind and sweet and usually the one reining me in. I’m not meant to be the rational one,” Morgan replies half-heartedly as we get back in her car after returning the key. It’s a small, white car that cost more than our entire house probably does.
The McIntyres have more money than God, with Morgan’s father owning several high-rises in the city. I grew up in an upper-middle-class family, but compared to the McIntyres, we were penniless. But Morgan sat down next to me in ninth grade English, and that was it. We’ve been partners in crime ever since.
She’s the blonde sunshine to my dark and broody brunette. She balances me out perfectly with her extroverted ways, always convincing me to leave my shell and try new things. Morgan is always out and about, meeting new people, off on some adventure, which is something I’ve always envied about her.
