Her soft, kind brown eyes twinkle as she motions for me to follow her. She’s got hair the same color as my mom. She’s definitely notwhat I expected for a therapist. I assumed it would be a balding old man in a white coat.
Amber leads me down the hallway to her office and closes the door behind us. I take a seat in front of her desk and feel my heart rate start to speed up. I start to wish Beth had come back with me.
“So,” Amber begins as she sits, “What brings you here today?”
My aunt thinks I’m a drowning alcoholic following the sudden death of my mom,I think to myself.
I take a shaky breath before I begin.
“Well,” I start, fidgeting in the seat. “My mom died in a car accident in January and my aunt thinks I need help dealing with the grief.”
Amber nods. “That’s a good place to start. So, that’s why your aunt wanted you to come. Why didyouwant to come? I assume you wanted to, or else you wouldn’t be sitting here. You’re an adult, after all.”
I hadn’t really given it much thought, besides not wanting to disappoint Beth.
“I didn’t want to disappoint her,” I say quietly.
Amber nods. “Okay,” she says, “but could it also be that a part of you wants to be here, too?”
I stare at the carpet.
“You could say that,” I say.
“Tell me about yourself,” she says gently.
I sigh and shuffle in my seat. “Well, I just moved here a few weeks ago. I used to live in Seattle with my mom.”
“I’ve always wanted to visit Seattle.”
“It was nice, but I needed a change. Everything was a constant reminder of what I’ve lost.”
Amber nods again and writes something down on the legal pad in front of her.
“Tell me about your support system.”
“Well, before Mom died, it was her, my aunt, my best friend, Ireland,” I say. “I had some other friends at school, but they all abandoned me after I left school.”
“What were you studying?”
I shuffle in my seat again. “Just generals. I’m not sure what I want to do with my life. My mom was a neurosurgeon, so I’ve always felt the pressure to make something great of myself.”
“It’s never easy to live in your parent’s shadow.”
“No.” I shake my head as the room grows silent. “ I, uh…bake a lot,” I say.
“That’s good.” She nods to encourage me to keep going. “That’s a healthy outlet. Doing something with your hands and creating something out of nothing. What do you like to bake?”
“Everything,” I say. “I always toyed with the idea of having my own bakery. Kind of like my aunt Beth. She owns Beth Ann’s Diner across town.”
“Oh, my husband and I love that place.” She smiles brightly. “It’s such a cute, quaint little diner. It’s my favorite breakfast place.”
I smile politely as silence settles between us again.
“Recently I started,” I pause, “drinking to help with the grief.” I play with my hands in my lap.
Amber’s expression changes. “Alcohol is not the answer, but I understand why you were leaning on it. Let me be clear, I am not shaming you.” She leans forward in her chair. “When we go through such a profound loss, we do what we can to hold on.”
I nod. She gets it.
