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“Come on, man, it’s obvious you caught feelings for her,” he says.
“I didn’t catch anything. She’s the coach’s daughter and the team therapist. She is very much a platonic friend,” I retort bitterly. I don’t realize I’ve gotten defensive until Brett lifts his hands.
“Chill. Just wanted to make sure you’re cool,” he defends.
“I’m fine. My head has never been clearer,” I tell him. It’s Patty I’m worried about because she is living with some serious denial. I felt the way she reacted to me. What we shared was special. She needs time and I plan on giving it to her, but at the end of the day she needs to realize how good we are together. If only life were that simple.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Patty
The last couple weeks felt like a blur. I’ve had sessions with my therapist, which has felt cathartic. I’ve realized how the whole situation with Andrew had me spiraling into a life I never wanted for myself. As a child, I watched how loving my parents were to each other. I always pictured myself being a bride, having a husband, and eventually children. I was so destroyed by what happened with Andrew I threw all my dreams out the window. When my therapist suggested maybe I hear Andrew out about his perspective on what happened, I thought she was insane. Mom and Dad had given me a good idea about what he was feeling but the therapist insisted it would be good for me to listen to Andrew’s side, especially since he really wanted to tell me at the wedding.
When I called him, I was a shaking mess. He started out by saying he was a recovering alcoholic and what he wanted to tell me was part of his process to make amends. It made me sad to hear he had come into a bad way but it also somehow relaxed me knowing this wasn’t some ploy on his part. Andrew was genuine when he explained how terrible his upbringing had been. He said he truly loved me and a part of him really wanted the baby, but he was terrified of becoming a monster like his father. He felt it was safer to push me away to protect me. Somehow, his words brought me the peace I didn’t know I needed. My therapist, her name is Joan, was right. I needed the closure. After speaking with Andrew I was just so sad for him. After we broke up, he really began to alienate himself outside of hockey and he never was able to settle down. I felt so sick about it, I ended up vomiting my entire Cobb salad into the toilet.
I’ve been sick to my stomach ever since. I feel terrible for what Andrew went through, but it doesn’t make sense I’m taking it so hard.
Since I have the afternoon off today, I booked another appointment with Joan because I’ve come to like the idea of pouring my thoughts and worries to someone for a good hour. It makes me feel lighter, better, it gives me clarity.
“I got my closure,” I relay to Joan. “I’m sad for Andrew, but I don’t understand why I feel so sick over it. My energy is drained. I’m nauseous and throwing up.”
“Maybe this doesn’t have to do with Andrew. You spoke about Evan and you hooking up in Chicago. You said you told him you want to be friends. I sometimes get the feeling when I hear you talk about him there’s more to that story.” She drops the bomb and waits, holding a pen in her right hand, her brown eyes are assessing and her left brow is arched.You got me there, Joan. I want Evan so much, but I can’t put both our lives on the line.
“We can’t be together. I won’t be the one to ruin his career. I told him we should be friends but I don’t know how to be his friend. I’m pushing him away. I’m miserable about it, but there is no alternative.” My words come flying out of me and I feel like I’ve just spewed all the secrets I hold close. Once the words leave me something happens to my insides. I feel lighter and I don’t completely understand why.
“Are you okay, Patty?” Joan asks as I feel a rumble in my chest and acid climbing up my throat.
“It felt good to have that admission. Not sure why I am not digesting my lunch now,” I say awkwardly.
Joan’s brows draw together. I find it interesting how she reads my mannerisms and reactions. Her facial expressions give off the feeling I’m a puzzle she’s trying to crack. Her lips form a crooked line.
“How often would you say you’re feeling ill?” she inquires.
“On the daily,” I reply.
“And this started after you spoke to Andrew?” she asks.
I nod. I’ve told her all this.
“Have you been vomiting?” she asks.
“At least once a day,” I admit. “Sometimes first thing in the morning. Sometimes at night.”
“I see.” She smirks.
“You should consider booking an appointment with your doctor. I don’t think these symptoms are from your mental well-being,” she states.
I sit up straight in my chair. “What could it be?”
“Did you and Evan use protection when you had sex?” she asks pointedly. “I don’t want to alarm you. I understand how you feel about pregnancy. Your first experience was very traumatic but. . .”
“OMG.” I begin to breathe fast. My elbows rest on my knees and I dip my head. “You think I’m pregnant? I’m such an idiot. That makes sense. What is wrong with me? Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Patty, I need you to relax,” she interrupts calmly. “Why don’t you straighten out?” I follow her instruction and sit back in my seat. “Okay, now let’s take some slow breaths,” she guides me while taking slow breaths with me.
I begin to calm down enough to process what is happening.
“Your first experience with pregnancy was very traumatic. You were young and you were with a man who was ill-equipped to be supportive. You are older now. You have a family who supports you, and it seems like Evan cares deeply for you,” she says.
