“Great.”
There isn’t much left of our session, but by the time it’s over, I feel better about not meeting with her next week. It’s weird because I used to dread these sessions. I remember I would feign an illness sometimes to cancel my appointment, never mind that it’s a remote session where the virulence of the flu or some other viral infection is irrelevant.
I leave my laptop behind where I had my session atop my neatly made bed and walk downstairs. I opted for a more comfortable setting today instead of the office or in a straight-back chair, and it feels like a reflection of my current state. This new approach where I face therapy with less apprehension and more hope.
James took Sophia to the store to pick up some groceries. While there was a need to stock up on our weekly produce, I know it was mainly to get Sophia out of the house while I was having my session, his way of giving me some privacy. I mosey into the garage for no other reason than to put Sophia’s arm floaties away. They’d been left out to dry after going to Teeny’s for another midweek swim. I stuff them into the plastic tote that holds most of our pool equipment including a beach ball and small boogie board. As I’m closing the lid shut, I notice the box next to it. The one I was rummaging through before the summer began. I open it, wondering if the contents of it are still intact. The last memory of when I opened it is foggy in my brain, muddled by a moment that soured into regret when it should’ve been about me and James. But it’s there, the lavender owl squished and strangled alongside cable cords and other electronics. I take it out and run it along my cheek, taking in the stale scent that usually lingers in storage containers.
“You never got to do what you were meant to do, did you?” I whisper softly, toying with the tattered wings.
It really didn’t. This soft, fuzzy owl didn’t get the chance to sit in a crib, serving as a witness to long sleepless nights and a colicky phase. It didn’t get to be held and squished, dragged around the house while it collected various stains and sticker accessories. It didn’t get to run through multiple cycles in the washer and dryer, a concerned toddler watching through the round window to make sure their best friend made it through the rough jets alive.
Instead, it sat in a storage bin for almost a decade. It was shoved away to avoid any pain or regrets only for all of us to feel it all anyway. We felt every bit of it, sans stuffed animals. And now, I want to offer it a second chance. A proper playmate who will hopefully handle it with better care than a reckless toddler.
I wedge the owl under my arm and walk back into the house. My mind is set once again on my laptop, a specific email ready to be tapped out from my head. I make it to our room and sit down, opening up my web browser like it’s second nature at this point. But with the owl perched at the edge of the comforter and it patiently waiting for me to finally write something, I don’t really know what to say. I don’t know if I want to say goodbye or do the usual thing where I log all the things that have been happening in my life, whether or not I want to let go of my past or add to the pages of this unintended autobiography.
So instead of clicking on the tab to compose a new email, I log into a different email account. The one holding deeper layers of my past. I expect to see all the different emails I’ve been sending, reading like some chronological timetable. Only there’s more. I find myself sitting face to face with an email I didn’t expect at all, catching me completely off guard.
It’s from James. He knows both he and I can access this email, and I can read them at any given time. So, with curiosity getting the better of me, I click it open.
From: [email protected]
Hey Bean,
You have a sister. Her name is Sophia. She’s six, almost seven, and she loves the color pink, though purple was her favorite for a while. She likes ice cream and stickers. She loves to go swimming. She has one cousin who I think is her best friend even though she’s nearly three times her age. And we love her.
I know this is an odd way to start a letter, but I realized the other day that I don’t think we’ve ever told you about her. And one day, we’ll tell her about you. I want to remember you as something good. As a part of our family. When we erase the memory of you with grief, it’s easier to not talk about you. But when we celebrate you and remember how happy you made us, we don’t have to be sad. We can talk about you and be happy. We stopped talking about you for a long time because both Mommy and I were so sad, but I don’t think we have to do that anymore.
And while we’re on the subject, here are some other things you should know about our family. Your mom and I met while fighting over a cupcake. She might’ve thought I would’ve done anything to get that damn cupcake, but in reality, I just wanted to talk to her. I saw her the second I walked into that party with two heavy bags of ice gripped in my hands, and all I wanted to do was talk to her. I wanted to see her smile and tell her how beautiful she is. I don’t think I got to tell her that the first time we met, but I got around to it.
And she really is so beautiful. Her brown hair feels like silk when I run my hands through it, and I love when her cheeks flush every time I breathe in her shampoo. I love thesmell of it. It smells like apples, but not like the artificial kind. Like the ones we get straight from the produce section at the grocery store. Her eyes are out of this world. They’re brown, but not just brown. When the sun hits them, especially at dusk, I see specks of gold in them. When she smiles, they shimmer, and I could get lost in them forever. But what I love most about her is how deeply she loves. I don’t think she knows this about her, but she loves so hard. She loves with her whole heart. She doesn’t love with her words, but through everything she does for the people she loves. Through the care she takes in making our house a home. She fills the soap dispensers with scented soap, the kind she knows I like. She buys Sophia her favorite ice cream when she doesn’t even ask for it, and when she wants dessert, it’s just there, in the freezer, and Sophia gets so excited that her mommy knows her so well. She brings my mom her favorite lotions because she’s always using it when she comes over to our house. She remembers to leave my coffee cup under the Keurig machine after she’s done brewing her own cup of coffee. She remembers which towels are my favorite and what kind of toothpaste I prefer. She knows how to fold my clothes even though she’s tried to teach me how to do it by myself. She does it in this way I can’t seem to master, and my shirts never wrinkle.
She loves with her whole heart. She doesn’t do it on purpose. She just loves because of who she is, and that’s what I love most about her. Our life isn’t perfect. Not by a mile. But it’s our life. Mommy and Sophia make me so incredibly happy, and I wouldn’t change a thing about us. I wouldn’t change how we got here. I don’t regret a single thing. Not even you.
Love,
Daddy
“Mommy!”
I don’t know when I started crying, but the tears are landing on the keyboard in quiet splats. I know I only have a minute before Sophia comes bounding up the stairs in search of me, so I quickly wipe at my cheeks, swiping away the evidence of what I just read.
“Kendall?”
“I’ll be right down,” I call over my shoulder. I quietly close my laptop and slide it away from me. I pad over to the door, taking one last glance at the owl, and I know this isn’t the kind of goodbye I was expecting. I’m not letting go of the first few chapters of our lives. Instead, I’m looking back on it, flipping through the pages while smiling fondly.
I pad down the stairs, welcomed by the sounds of excitement coming from the kitchen. When I walk toward the noise, I’m greeted by the commotion of Sophia and James unpacking their grocery store finds.
“Mommy!” Sophia shrieks. “I made Daddy buy us some cookies! And he said we can have them for dessert.”
“I said you can have them for dessertifyou finish your dinner,” James interjects. He was putting something away in the fridge, and he pops his head out to correct Sophia. He catches sight of me, and his rebuke vanishes when he sees me.
“Hi,” I tell him.
“Hey.” He leans forward, placing a swift peck on my cheek and returns to his task at hand.
Sophia toys with the box of cookies, like she’s contemplating sneaking one without her dad noticing, and I start to help with the groceries. I pick up a jar of mayonnaise, placing it in the pantry cupboard. I gather the grocery bags, folding them neatly to stow away until they’re used for trash or other repurposed uses. When James is done, he turns to me and squeezes my arm.
