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“Such as your father leaving. Such as not being able to make your mother happy.”
Aiden sneers.“That’s ridiculous.”
“Aiden, you weren’t responsible for their arguments or the fact your dad left. You weren’t responsible for their divorce, or your mother’s persistent bitterness, or even your subsequent estrangement from your father.”
“I’m the one who threw tantrums every time he showed his face, who told him I thought he was a piece of shit,”Aiden argues.
“You were a child.”
“And now I’m an adult who sees a shrink every Wednesday afternoon because he can barely make it through the day. Again, how does any of this relate to my PTSD?”
Dr. Patchett uncrosses his legs, plants both feet firmly on the hardwood floor.“Listen to me, Aiden. This is very important.”He takes a deep breath.“Just as you aren’t responsible for the things that happened when you were a child, you’re not responsible for the things that happened in Afghanistan. None of what took place over there was your fault, despite the things you did or didn’t do.”
Aiden shakes his head.
“I want you to do something for me. Some homework, if you will.”
“More breathing techniques that are supposed to ease my anxiety but just make me dizzy?”He laughs to indicate a joke.
“I want you to make a list of all the things you’ve been avoiding,”the therapist says.
Aiden shrugs.“I’m not sure I understand.”Whathasn’the been avoiding?
“Take your time. Think about it. Make your list.”
“And what good will that do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. I’m not going to insult you by pretending I understand the depth of the trauma you experienced in Afghanistan. I would guess that, at the very least, you felt afraid and helpless pretty much all the time, much like you felt as a child. To say you were stressed would be a gross understatement.”He leans forward in his leather chair.“And I suspect there are things happening in your life right now that are also making you feel stressed and helpless, and those things are contributing to your symptoms. I think you’ve been avoiding dealing with these issues, and hopefully, making a list of these things will help you learn how to face them.”
Aiden throws off his covers and climbs out of bed, dismissing the therapist with an abrupt wave of his hand. Naked except for a pair of blue boxer shorts, he cuts across the carpeted floor and goes down the stairs to the kitchen.
He opens the drawer directly under the elaborate toaster oven his mother gave them last Christmas, despite the fact they already had a perfectly good toaster, and this one takes up way too much space. Heidi wanted to exchange it for the Dyson hair dryer she’d been lusting after, but he’d convinced her not to. So here the stupid thing sits, eliciting sighs of frustration whenever Heidi deigns to look at it.
Aiden grabs a pencil from the drawer, then searches through the other drawers for a piece of paper he can write on, ultimately settling for a napkin when he can find nothing else. He sits down at the kitchen table, his pencil hovering, his mind an impenetrable jungle of unwelcome thoughts.
He’s still sitting there half an hour later when he hears Heidi come down the stairs. She’s wearing a short nightgown, the curve of her full breasts clearly visible beneath the white satin.
“Hey, babe,” she says softly, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside him. “Whatcha doing down here?”
Aiden maneuvers the napkin underneath his right elbow. “Nothing much.”
“You feeling all right?”
“Yup. Just couldn’t sleep.”
“Poor baby. You want me to make you something to eat?”
He smiles. God, he loves her, has from the moment he laid eyes on her. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”
“Perfect time for a donut.” She gets up from her seat and grabs two chocolate-covered donuts from the cupboard. “How about some warm milk to go with it?”
Aiden watches as Heidi pours some milk into a pot and turns on the burner, then retrieves two mugs from a nearby cupboard. He doesn’t know much, but he knows he can’t risk losing her.
“Here we go,” she says, returning to the table with their donuts and warm milk.
They eat the donuts and drink their milk in silence. Then she takes him by the hand and leads him back up the stairs to their bedroom, where they make love before drifting back to sleep till morning. The napkin with the list of what he’s been avoiding remains on the table. It contains only one word.
Mother.
