How I’m excited by the future Jake and I are building, while also equally frightened because there are so many external factors beyond our control. It’s what keeps me on the edge of telling him I’m ready to take the next step. I know in my heart that’s where we’re headed. It’s my goddamn brain that likes to throw up warning signs like I’m some type of 1980s Oldsmobile with three hundred thousand miles on the speedometer.
“Why do you worry about your future with Jake when he’s been nothing but clear in his intentions?” my therapist, Rose, asks as she sits with perfect posture and a runway-worthy outfit in an oversized leather chair.
If I knew the answer, I would’ve addressed the issue, and we’d be engaged by now.
“Where to begin? Perhaps we should start with how my brain assumes the worst-case scenario for every situation, no matter how many times I tell it to calm the fuck down. Or it could bebecause I thought I was in love with Brian, and once we got engaged, that relationship quickly crashed and burned. Or the elusive daddy issues I clearly have after my dad abandoned me. And we can’t forget the mind-fucking my mother loves to do. I’ve gotten better at standing up to her nonsense, but it doesn’t erase the past thirty-five years. Any preference on which we start with?”
Am I being a little bitchy with my response? Yes.
Do I care? No.
I can’t fix all of them today. I’m rational enough to realize that, but it would be helpful if she could point me in the right direction rather than continually ask me open-ended questions about what I think drives everything. If I knew those answers, I wouldn’t be here—at least that’s what I want to scream at her.
She doesn’t say a word, just stares at me. I learned in one of our early sessions that you can’t win in a battle of wills with this woman. She can go without blinking for what feels like an eternity. Almost like she’s a robot. A designer robot with perfect hair and the way to peer directly into my deepest, darkest thoughts—and the power to make me actually deal with them.
I sigh, dropping my head in my hands. “I know everything I’ve been through plays a role. And if I’m really honest with myself…it likely stems from my parents. Their marriage was horrible, then my dad left. I haven’t seen many good examples of successful long-term relationships. It doesn’t help that my first-ever relationship turned out poorly.”
She nods, tapping her expensive ballpoint pen on her legal pad. “What do you think you need to do to address this potential root cause?”
I lift my head to catch her gaze. “Reach out to my dad to get closure, one way or another. I’ve been putting it off because I’m afraid of what I’ll find when I do.” I blow out a deep breath and lean back against the chair, staring at the ceiling for a briefmoment. “I want there to be a reason why he didn’t reach out to me. It may sound silly, but I hoped it was something my mom did. That she somehow prevented him from talking to me. Knowing he has another family makes that narrative almost impossible. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be a dad; he didn’t want to bemine.”
Her face softens slightly, barely noticeable unless you’ve studied her expressions in detail like I’ve done in every session when I’ve tried to determine what she really thinks about what I’m saying. “How about we talk through the scenarios of what could happen if you reach out to him?”
I nod and spend the next few minutes dissecting the pros and cons of contacting my dad, including how he could respond. At the end of the conversation, it’s clear there is one potentially positive outcome where he wants me in his life and a laundry list of other ones where I’ll likely end up getting hurt, but at least I’ll have closure. Doesn’t take much to realize that, regardless of how the conversation goes, I need to make the effort.
“Are you going to tell your mom?” Rose asks, devoid of any emotion.
“Definitely not. It won’t go over well.” I shake my head rapidly at the thought of having that conversation. “She lost her shit when I mentioned we hired a PI to find him. I can’t even imagine how bad her reaction will be if she finds out I want to talk to him. It’s better to wait until I know the end result. If he wants nothing to do with me, she never needs to know. If he wants to be in my life, I can figure out how to tell her that news without her exploding.”
She nods, not giving me any indication whether she feels this is the right decision or not. And in this moment, I’m not sure if I care about her opinion. The last thing I need in life is more chaos, and involving my mom in this situation would only lead to drama of epic proportions.
Sitting on the couch in my condo, I look at my phone, not wanting to follow the plan I discussed with Rose to call my dad once I got home.
That was two hours ago.
What have I done since? Stared at my phone like it would somehow magically ring and my dad would be on the other line, removing the need for me to call him. Yes, it’s completely delusional, but I’m at the point when I’d do anything to protect my heart from getting trampled on.
When the phone vibrates with an incoming call, I immediately drop it like it’s a hot potato and panic, questioning for half a second whether it might actually be my dad calling, even though that’s practically impossible.
All my anxiety subsides as soon as I see Jake’s name on the screen. He’s in Nashville this week, rehearsing a few new songs with the band.
“I’m so glad it’s you,” I say immediately after answering the FaceTime.
“I love seeing your gorgeous face. I wish I could wrap my arms around you and kiss you. And do other things,” he replies with a wink, sending a wave of lust straight to my core.
How can he have this impact on me from seven hours away? One comment or look is all it takes for my body to crave his touch.
“Plenty of time to do that in our new house. There will be lots of new spaces for us to christen when we move in.”
An uncontrollable grin emerges on my face, so large that my cheeks almost hurt. Although we closed on the house in Chicago a few weeks ago, it’s been solely in the hands of thedesigner. We’re finally allowed to move in next week. Another monumental step in our journey together.
“I know. I already have a few ideas of where we can start,” he replies mischievously before changing the subject. “How was therapy? Did you talk about contacting your dad?”
I sigh loudly, sinking deeper into the couch. “Yes. I’ve been sitting here for almost two hours trying to force myself to call him. It hasn’t worked.”
“It’s going to be hard to make the call, but I promise you’ll feel better once it’s done. No matter the outcome.”
I nod, knowing he’s right but still wanting to avoid doing it. “I wish you were here with me.”
