AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The more I dug into my past, the more I paid attention to the little moments over the years, the more I saw it. Although my father was a victim, it wasn’t the same. Hechoseto stay. Hechoseto elevate my mother. To put her on the pedestal that slowly lifted her higher and higher with each passing day.
My father fed—feeds—my mother’s narcissism. He fuels her by never telling her the words she speaks or actions she takes are harmful. And together, they buried me in hurt and confusion and emotional detachment.
“Is she still attempting contact?” Dr. Prince asks from his plush leather chair.
Three months have passed since my first session. In those three months, a lot has been brought to light. A lot has been picked apart and evaluated with a new lens. But with each session, life moves forward rather than backward. With each session, I learn how to heal.
Not long after seeing my mother in the store, when she blew up and made a scene, she stopped by Petal and Vine. She’d missed me by mere minutes. Thankfully, Shelly escaped to the back and avoided another interaction unscathed. My mother probed Elizabeth with questions, but got no answers.
Surprisingly, it has been quiet since.
No constant calls or voice mails. No text messages. No incessant emails.
Almost as if Karen Templar vanished without a trace. And that has me on edge.
“No.” I shake my head as I scoot to sit straighter in my seat. “Is it weird for me to be worried by her silence?”
Dr. Prince scratches a note down on his pad of paper. “Not weird at all. Oftentimes, in situations such as yours, it’s alarming to feel free after years under someone’s thumb.”
“I just know my mother.” I laugh without humor and drop my gaze to my lap. “She never lets anything go. She always has a plan. A way to come out thewinner, whatever that looks like in her eyes.” I lift my gaze and lock on Dr. Prince’s steely irises. “My mother isn’t the type to throw in the towel. Walking away isn’t her style.”
“What do you worry about most when it comes to her silence?”
I don’t hesitate. “Shelly.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Weeks of silence from my mother bother me more than her deranged display at the store. Since that night, I have agonized over Shelly’s safety, and the baby. After days of deep breathing and mental reflection, I can’t dislodge the twisted feeling in my gut. That the worst is yet to come.
“I worry Shelly will get caught in the cross fire. That my mother will do something unpredictable and Shelly will be hurt physically. And so will the baby.”
“Do you believe your mother is capable of physically harming others?”
I shake my head and laugh again. “At this point, I believe my mother is capable of just about anything. She may not wield that weapon, but she is the one responsible.”
Dr. Prince sips his water, then jots more notes on his pad of paper.
God, he has to have a ream’s worth of paper in my file by now. Not sure if that is good or bad. Maybe a bit of both.
At least I have an outlet for my thoughts and emotions. A safe place to get everything off my chest. A safe person to help me make sense of it all so I can grow past it.
But how does this man sleep at night after hearing such stories?
“Has Shelly responded to your request for her to move in?”
Another item on the list that has me restless.
Months have passed since I asked Shelly to move in. I haven’t pressed her for an answer and she hasn’t hinted one way or the other. Yes, my asking was premature in our relationship and during a sensitive time. But I meant every word. Wanting Shelly in my home, at my side more often than not, hadn’t been an irrational idea. I still want us to live together. Still want a future with her.
I mean, she practically lives in my house already. With each passing week, more of Shelly’s belongings find a new home in my house. Small touches of her invade each room.
Her clothes hang in the closet and fill the drawers of the dresser, adding softer tones and a splash of pink. The little bit of makeup she uses lies on the vanity in the master bathroom. Her sweet but earthy floral scent is now a permanent fixture in the bedroom.Our bedroom. Her favorite throw blanket, the one she had draped over the couch in her apartment, now lies over the back of my couch.Our couch. She even brought over the container she keeps on her kitchen counter with all her favorite teas.
Whether Shelly realizes it or not, we live together. It just isn’t official.
She still pays rent on the space she doesn’t frequent often. A space now filled with barely used furniture, slowly emptying cabinets and less of Shelly’s personal possessions. In the past two months, she has added life to my home—our home—as her old apartment becomes a vacant shell.
“Not yet.” I pick at my cuticles, then force myself to stop. “I want to ask again, but I don’t want to upset her.”
