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“No. There was one girl who was all over me. She wanted me to—”
“But you didn’t?”
“No,” he says.
“Why didn’t you tell Maia that?”
“Because I didn’t think she’d believe me, no matter what I said. She’d already decided she didn’t trust me. I felt… less than.”
“Why?” I ask, voice breaking. “Why do you always act like I think I’m perfect? Or like no one else could measure up?”
“Okay, let’s slow down. That’s a good question, though. It’s something you mentioned earlier, Maia. Is that true, Braden? Do you feel that way?”
“I don’t know if Istilldo, but I have. There’s a tone you get when you’re angry, and it comes off like you’re right and everyone else is wrong or screwing up. And it’s not just me you use it on. Nick, Vince… anyone who you think needs it.”
My heart pounds. Do I make people feel less than?
“Maia?” Dr. Jim asks. “Do you think that’s true at all?”
“M—maybe. I don’t know. I never intend to make anyone feel that way. I just see it as standing up for myself, calling people out on their crap. I mean—I don’t think I’m better than anyone else. I know how I will and won’t be treated—I have high standards, but no one is ever held to a higher standard than me. I don’t think I’m perfect. And when I mess up, even though I don’t show it on the outside, I’m really hard on myself. Then I try to fix it.” I look at Braden. “That’s what half of this year has been.”
Braden softens at that statement. “Like when we fought on the first day of school, but then you brought Harper so I could see her?”
I nod slowly. “I’m sorry if it comes off like you aren’t good enough. Like I said, I hold myself accountable, too.”
“Braden, knowing what Maia’s thinking, do you still feel like she’s talking down to you?”
“Not as much. But it might be my own crap, too. My dad’s always been hard on me. Whenever I feel like I can’t measure up, it sets me off.”
Dr. Jim makes a note, then looks at Braden and says, “I want to come back to that in the future. Right now, this is an important topic. The way we perceive what someone is saying versus what they actually intend. And the flip side, how something sounds versus how you wanted it to sound. Which makes me curious. Maia, you’re in a relationship?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s serious?”
“Yes.”
“Has your current partner ever vocalized similar feelings as what Braden said earlier?”
Pausing, I think through it. Has he? Even without words, has he ever seemed that way?
“No, but our relationship is different. We process and react to things more similarly. I know I tend to be… firm when I talk or decide something, but if it rubs him the wrong way, he tells me.” Because I have things to learn too. I’mnotperfect.
Dr. Jim looks to Braden. “Did you ever try to stand up to Maia? Were there moments when you wanted to?”
Braden blinks a couple of times as some sort of realization hits. He looks down and shakes his head. “No. No, I didn’t. Not really, anyway. My way of standing up to her—or at least that’s what I thought I was doing—was acting out. Yelling, fighting, and usually going out to a party. Getting drunk.” The words are a whisper off his lips, his pain palpable. He sits back against the chair and runs a hand over his face, quietly muttering, “Fuck.”
I watch him, wanting to reach out and squeeze his hand, but I know him well enough to know he doesn’t want to be touched right now. Anger is brewing inside him. I can feel it coming off him. That same self-hate that got us here. I wish I could fix it, but I know I can’t. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?
“I can see this is a difficult topic for you, but I don’t think it’s something we should skip. You’ve mentioned coming home drunk before and by your own admission, that’s what caused you to crash your truck. Do you think alcohol is a problem for you?”
Braden’s attention snaps to Dr. Jim, and he inhales sharply, some of his anger fading again. “Yes, and no. Alcohol isn’t the problem, but it’s what I use to try to deal—or not deal—with my problems. Then it makes everything worse. Which is why I’m not drinking anymore. Besides the fact that I’m not twenty-one and I shouldn’t be, anyway.” He gives me a look and though his face is serious, his eyes twinkle, telling me what he’s thinking about.
The morning I went off on him in his room and told him he didn’t have therightto drink since he was only sixteen. I wasn’t wrong, but it’s pretty common to have your first drink long before you’re twenty-one.
Then everything else he said lands on me. “You’re not drinking anymore?”
He chuckles. “Well, it’s not like I could under my dad’s iron rule anyway, but no. I’m not. I’m notsober. That’s putting a label and too much pressure on myself. But I don’t like how alcohol was playing into my life. So, I’m not drinking for the time being.”
