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“What happened earlier that day?” she asks softly.
I reflect back on that day, even though I don’t need to. It’s all there, clear as day.
“Maggie said they were coming for her, but she had a plan.”
“Who was coming for her?”
“I don’t know. She was hysterical. All she said was that she had to leave before she led them to us.”
“Led them to your family?”
“Yeah, I assumed.”
The only people that Maggie cared about was our family. She wouldn’t have left unless she thought we were in danger, and based on her paranoia that day, she did. Somethinghadhappened, but she was too distressed to tell me. I had tried to uncover what had her upset, but she was insistent that she was running out of time. I should’ve forced her to talk to me; instead, I let her go.
“You followed her, but you didn’t tell your parents?”
I narrow my eyes. She knows I didn’t tell them. We’ve been over this. They would’ve driven her to the nearest hospital and dumped her there. Our mother was over the delusions—as she called them—and that would’ve been the final straw.
“My parents have their own issues.”
“Tell me about that.”
I sigh in agitation. My parents are the last people I want to talk about. They abandoned me when I needed them the most, and I’ll forever harbor resentment for that.
“Marina?”
“My dad abuses pain medications, and my mother pretends it’s not happening,” I say flatly. “As long as her wine glass is never empty, she’s fine.”
She compresses her lips and I wonder what she’s thinking in this moment. Has she realized that my family is gone and I’m alone?
“Have you spoken to them about how this makes you feel?”
I huff, exasperated at her lack of understanding about how pointless that would be.
“No. It wouldn’t do any good.”
“Why do you feel that way?”
Has she forgotten everything we’ve told her over the years? My mom has never been okay. Since the day we were born, she’s been absent. Grief will do that to a person. Maggie and I survived, while our triplet, Molly, was stillborn. We’ve never had our mother. A piece of her died the day she lost Molly, despite the fact that she had two other daughters that needed her.
After years of trying to pull my mom out of her misery, my dad gave up. Nothing worked, and their marriage was never the same. Instead of family outings, it was just our dad, Maggie, and me. He’d take us everywhere. For a moment, I allow my mind to drift to better days. Our favorite pastime with him was fishing. We loved those times with him, and some of my greatest memories are of the three of us down by the river. I smile absently at the memories. They seem like a lifetime ago, because those days didn’t last long.
One day at work he threw out his back and was introduced to Vicodin. Since then, it’s all been downhill. The father we knew and loved vanished, and we were left alone. If he isn’t high, he’s mean. I don’t know which version of him I hate more.
I never told Dr. Tilney everything about my dad, because it would’ve led to CPS digging around. Who knows where Maggie and I would’ve ended up? No, she only knew about my mom, and that’s not something I’m going to rehash. We’ve had this conversation numerous times over the past several years. I’m starting to feel like a broken record, and besides, it’ll only lead to more “how does that make you feel” questions. So, I stick to less complex answers.
“I can’t even hold a conversation with them.” My voice cracks. “Because every time I try, they stare at me as if I’m Maggie.”
She inhales, leaning her elbows on her desk. Exhaling, she brings her hands together and steeples her fingers. Her eyes find her clock and just like that, I know. As much as I want to mean something to someone, I don’t. Her time will always be more important. Just like my dad’s pill haze and my mom’s numbing alcohol.
“This week I want you to work on communication.”
I frown.
“Sit down and make a list of the things that are bothering you in regard to your parents. Ask them to have a family meeting and lay out your list of grievances.”
I internally cringe.Never happening.
