That elicits an actual laugh from me, which takes me and my lungs by surprise. After all that crying, it’s nice to exercise a different kind of emotional response.
“Thanks, guys. It is about Gage, but actually if anyone deserves to be beaten up, it’s me.”
“What happened?”
They already know about the whole “summer fling” thing, but I fill them in on everything else, staying vague about the parts—like Gage’s feelings around his adoption—that aren’t mine to share. I do tell them about my feelings of inadequacy and how I feel like I’m not smart enough for someone like Gage.
“The bottom line is that I need a plan to convince him to trust me again,” I finish. “Do you have any ideas?”
My sisters are quiet. I wait to see which of them will have something to say first.
It’s Nicole, of course. “I hate that you’ve been seeing yourself as anything less than brilliant, Liv. I wish you would see yourself the way I see you, and Molly and Mom and Dad see you. You’re one of the smartest people we know, especially with the creative ways you solve problems.”
I sniffle and blink back the tears that threaten behind my eyes from Nicole’s praise. “Molly’s the smartest person I know.”
Molly’s expression is soft. “When you say ‘smart,’ do you really mean ‘good at school’? Because those two things are not the same. I’m good at school because my brain happens to be good at most of the things school wants us to be good at. That doesn’t mean those are the only things that are worth being good at, or even the most important things.”
“But either way,” Nicole cuts in, “stop comparing! Someone else is always going to seem smarter or happier or prettier or whatever, but that doesn’t erase the fact that you, Olivia Delaney, are worth knowing and worth loving.
“I’m not going to repeat that ridiculous saying that if you don’t love yourself, no one else will, because I don’t think that’s true at all. All this time while you’ve been too hard on yourself, lots of people have loved you and will continue loving you. We’ll love you so that you can see how worth loving you are.”
I have no hope of holding back the tears now, and they’re spilling down my cheeks. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear these words of affirmation. First from Annie, along with the dose of humility she served up, and now from my sisters.
“As for a plan for Gage,” Molly chimes in, “I’m going to suggest therapy.”
“Yes! Therapy. One hundred percent,” Nicole agrees.
Back when I was first diagnosed with dyslexia, I had a couple of sessions with the psychologist at my middle school. I was so used to masking my inability to read that I carried that skill over to masking how I was feeling from other people. I insisted I was fine. Though she probably should have, I was relieved when the school psychologist didn’t push.
I’m willing to try again. I’m willing to try almost anything at this point.
“By myself or, like, couples counseling? Isn’t that for married people who are having problems?” I ask.
“By yourself is a good idea, but also together. Couples therapy could be for any couple who wants to learn to communicate and understand each other better.” Molly shrugs. “Jonathan and I have a standing appointment once a month. It’s been really good for both of us.”
I absorb her words and the idea of couples therapy—assuming I can convince Gage to be part of a couple with me. It feels weird and uncomfortable, but we clearly need help communicating and understanding each other better.
“Okay, thanks.”
A plan is starting to form in my mind now. I’ll start with an apology, followed by radical honesty. I’ll lay out all my feelings and pray Gage isn’t too far gone for me to get back.
That settled, I switch topics to update my sisters on another area of my life. “Now, my next news. I have a job interview!”
Nicole and Molly squeal, and I launch into all the details about the Brightline School.
Like I said, sometimes being the youngest of three sisters is the worst, but today I’m grateful for all the love and support that comes with it.
The day of my interview with Carolina Brown at the Brightline School for Science arrives. As I step out of my air-conditioned car into the scorching parking lot, I’m doubly grateful for the gray blazer I’m wearing over my fitted white blouse and flowy skirt. Between the August heat and my nerves, I’m sweating through the blouse, and the blazer hides it well.
The two-story school building stands ominously, all beige concrete panels and dark-tinted windows. It looks more like an office building than a school, except for the fenced-in grass fields in the back, with a basketball court and picnic tables under bright yellow canopies.
My would-be classroom. The thought gets my heart thumping, and though the emotion behind my elevated pulse is still part nerves, it’s also excitement.
I walk through the front doors of the main office and am immediately greeted by soft colors and glass display cases filled with student reproductions of DNA strands, cell structures, and solar systems.
I’m also greeted by the receptionist behind the front desk—a short balding man with a colorful necktie and a kind smile.
I give him my name, and he picks up the phone behind the desk, presumably to let Carolina Brown know I’ve arrived.
