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Jerrica Burke was a woman in her mid to late thirties. She had this calming aura to her that, during the previous two sessions I’d had with her over the last few days, had put me instantly at ease. The morning following the unwanted wedding present, Jordan had insisted that I keep my appointment, and I was glad he’d been so persistent in urging me to attend.
Talking to Jerrica had helped in a way I didn’t think anything other than a few weeks in a rehab facility could have done. Considering my dad’s past, no one would have believed I was in rehab for anything other than alcohol—even if it was to get mentally healthy rather than fight an addiction. She’d taken the strain of talking to a stranger out of the equation, and I’d found myself unloading so much baggage.
Some of which I hadn’t realized I’d carried.
Like feeling lonely even in a crowd. My empathy for birds had been my own manifestation of often feeling all alone even when surrounded by my nearest and dearest, something I’d hidden from myself for my entire life. Apparently my acting abilities were better than I’d ever dreamed if I could pretend enough to convince myself I hadn’t been fighting a mild form of depression for years.
Maybe it had started when Daddy got sick, the fear of losing him. Or when things hadn’t gone as I had foreseen them on my eighteenth birthday with Jordan. Perhaps it was losing my grandfather, a man who had seemed immortal with his gigantic presence and his unwavering love for my mom, my siblings, and me.
Or it could have been long before any of that. It was possible nothing could have triggered my depression and it had everything to do with my brain chemistry. All I knew was that talking to Jerrica made me feel better. I’d gotten more restful sleep over the past two nights, although I’d still had a few nightmares. At least they hadn’t been nearly as frightening as the ones I’d had over the previous weeks.
Jerrica gave me an understanding smile. “It is completely natural to be angry over feeling as if you don’t hold the control in your life. With what happened with your uncle, and now this unfortunate incident with the wedding present, I think you have every right to think everything is out of your control.” She lifted her left hand, which held her pen that she took occasional notes with. I liked that she did that, expressing herself with hand movements. It made her more human to me, rather than just the medical professional Jordan was paying in hopes of fixing me. “But the truth of the matter is, you hold all the power, Arella. It may not seem like it, but you do, in fact, control every aspect of your life.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, considering her words for a moment before responding. “How?” I choked on the pressing question. “I really need to know how I have all the power when I don’t feel like I have any right now.”
“You control how you respond,” she said confidently. “If something scares you, it’s okay to show it. In fact, you need to react to every emotion you experience. By acknowledging that you are scared or angry or even sad, you control the outcome of how it affects you. But when you bottle it up, internalizing it, those emotions build and can manifest in unhealthy ways. Having discussed your parents’ history as well as your own, you can see that your father let his emotions manifest into alcoholism that eventually caused him a physical illness, as well as the mental health challenges he struggled with up to and after meeting your mother. In my opinion, his addiction actually transferred from drinking to your mother.” She laughed softly. “I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I’ve observed your parents together, and their relationship is something incredibly special. Every woman deserves to have a man love her the way your father does your mother.”
“Addictions and obsessions are both toxic,” I mused aloud. “But that doesn’t mean they are always unhealthy.”
“I both agree and disagree,” she said with a grimace. “Any addiction is unhealthy. No matter what form it takes. Obsessions are very unhealthy as well, but what may seem like obsession can actually be something different. It could just be that someone’s love of that person, place, even an object, is so overwhelming that it seems like obsession.”
Again, I considered her response for a moment before speaking. “As you’ve said, you’ve observed my parents together. You have also seen how Jordan and I are. What would you label each relationship?”
She was quiet for a long moment, and I mentally braced myself as I waited for her answer. “In both cases, I can see that, to an outsider, it would appear as if both Mr. Stevenson and Mr. Moreitti are borderline unhinged where your mother and you are concerned. Both men seem unreasonably jealous, even twitchy at times when you aren’t within Jordan’s sight. The same can be said for your father. But it’s my honest opinion that where Mr. Stevenson is concerned, it is solely because he loves Mrs. Stevenson so much that he can’t rationally think past being with her.”
I held my breath, waiting for her to give me her opinion on Jordan’s feelings for me.
She paused again, gathering her thoughts. “Jordan doesn’t have a past trauma that would make him stress over losing you the way your father would your mother. However, the time the two of you spent avoiding the issues of your relationship in the past has made him lack confidence in himself and your feelings where he is concerned. It’s not obsession that drives him, but the need to constantly reassure himself that you are now his.”
Her answer nearly caused me to snort. “Jordan? Lacking confidence?” I shook my head at the woman in total disbelief. “That seems preposterous. He’s never been anything but fully confident a day in his life.”
“Maybe in other aspects of his life,” she agreed. “But after speaking to him privately before our first session together, I concluded that he actually does have self-confidence issues where your relationship is concerned. Why else would he ask your best friend to convince you to meet with me rather than broach the subject himself?”
“Wait,” I whispered, leaning forward. My hands grew damp, and I didn’t understand why. “You spoke to Jordan before our first session?”
“Yes.”
“And he was the one who wanted me to see you, but instead of telling me this himself, he went behind my back and had Palmer do the dirty work?”
Jerrica’s eyes scanned my face for a moment. “Does that make you angry?”
“A little bit, yes,” I admitted, wiping my hands on my dress-covered thighs. “But…”
She smiled as she crossed one leg over the other. “But, what?”
“But it’s kind of sweet, if a little insane.” I tossed my hair over my shoulder as I leaned back on the comfortable sofa again. It was oddly sweet, but I needed to focus on why it made me angry. “I mean, how could he ever think that he can’t talk to me about something important like this? Why would he be afraid to bring up anything, but especially something like this?”
“You would need to ask him about that,” she said with a slight lift of one shoulder. “But if I had to take a guess? He’s scared of rocking the boat so early in your relationship.”
“But we’re getting married in a few days!” I cried in exasperation.
Should we be going into that level of a committed relationship with doubts between us?
I didn’t voice that question aloud, because it wasn’t something I thought she should be the one to answer. It was something only Jordan and I could figure out for ourselves.
“After dating for how long?” she tossed at me.
I twisted the huge engagement ring on my finger, suddenly nervous. Were we rushing into things? Just because I was pregnant didn’t mean we had to get married right away. We could have waited. There was nothing wrong with taking time to build our relationship before taking such a gigantic step.
