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“I just met your father,” I told her proudly. “He said he’d heard a lot about me. I hope only good things,” I added with a wink.
Miranda blanched. No, it was more than blanched. She turned so pale I thought her heart may have actually stopped beating. “My, father?” She was suddenly having a hard time taking in air, like a kinked air hose. “I, I need, I’ll be right back.” She turned on her heel and made a bee-line for the door.
I followed.
Outside, she paced back and forth on the top stone step, muttering to herself, ringing her hands together. She didn’t notice I was there at first. She saw me and jumped. “Oh, Jake. What are you doing out here?”
I raised an eyebrow, “You’re out here.”
She smiled at me but it didn’t reach her eyes. She turned around but even from behind I could see her head duck down and her hand go up and knew she was brushing away tears she didn’t want me to see.
I put my hands on her shoulders and leaned in to whisper to her, “You don’t have to hide. I’m here for you. You can talk to me.”
She turned back and buried her face in my shoulder. Through her sobs her words tumbled out. “I didn’t know he was going to be here. I haven’t seen him in years. He’s horrible. He’s a horrible person, a horrible father, a horrible husband. I don’t understand why he’s here.”
“Hey, it’s ok. I’m here. You’re safe. I have you. I always will.” That was the moment I knew I was in this for real.
And now, twenty-years later, I’m still in this for real.
After a moment of silence, stunned at the tone I took on when I’m normally so casual, Maria again smiles sweetly. “Okay, thank you for that insight, Jake. Let’s talk about that a little more.” She shifts her hips in her chair to make it clear to me that now she is addressing only Miranda. “How often did he drink?” She looks down at her pad to take more notes. I think it’s also to give Miranda some privacy to gather her thoughts, thoughts she has lived her life trying to scatter to the far corners of the world just so that shecanlive her life.
“Oh jeez… I think it may be easier to say how often he was sober.”
The therapist’s eyes stay focused on the pad as she tries to open up her patient even more. “That bad, huh?”
Miranda nods and bites the inside of her cheek. “It was pretty bad.”
Pausing her notetaking, Miranda looks up with just her eyes. “Did he ever drink while you were camping?”
The deep breath my wife draws in appears to physically pain her as her eyes get squinty and her mouth grimaces. “I can’t remember. I can’t remember himnot, though. I think I was just so accustomed to his drinking that it doesn’t stand out in my memories. You know?” Maria nods, yes, she knows, so Miranda continues, “So, yeah, I guess he probably did.”
Maria presses the end of her pen to her pursed lips while she thinks. She looks away while she forms a hypothesis. “How often did you take these camping trips as a kid?”
Miranda shrugs. “I dunno. A lot.” Her body sinks into the couch as the discussion continues. She bends her spine, so the cushion can’t support her lower back to hold her up straight, like it should be doing. I want to reach out and hold her up with my own hands, but that would definitely be distracting, if not enraging to her. She’s going through something right now and I need to let her.
Maria’s brow furrows slightly and flicks her eyes to my wife’s crossed arms and back to her face. “Are you okay?”
Miranda raises her eyebrows and nods. “I’m totally fine.”
Uh-oh. I know that “I’m totally fine.” That “I’m totally fine” has started many long, drawn-out screaming matches between us.
“Okay then. So, what kind of things do you like to do outside now that you’re an adult?”
I flinch. This is a dangerous line of questioning. I’m not very into the outdoors myself, but Miranda is in a foul mood after fifteen minutes in our own yard with the kids.
With a shaky smile, Miranda jokes, “If I had to pick a favorite thing? Probably walking from the house to my car, but only when it’s a really nice day!” She shakes her head slowly when she realizes we aren’t laughing. “Honestly? Nothing. If I can avoid being outside, I do.”
Maria sits herself up straighter in response to Miranda’s ever-worsening posture. “Okay, well if you can’t avoid it, how does it feel?”
I subconsciously lean into the arm of the couch while looking at Maria with wide eyes. I’m worried my wife may explode if she’s forced to continue discussing the outdoors. I have always known her to hate being outsidethatmuch, although before now I never considered a deeper significance.
“I hate it,” Miranda snaps almost as soon as Maria’s words have left her mouth. My wife’s tone is way more abrupt than either of us are used to hearing in this room. Again, I flinch.
Ever the professional, Maria seems unaffected as she continues to prod, albeit in a slightly more guarded tone. “But how does it feel physically?”
“Physically? Sweaty, cold, or itchy from bugs and plants and nature. I really am not a fan of nature.” Miranda’s arms are crossed tightly across her chest. I think she’s giving herself a hug for comfort. I hope this conversation proves to be worth the trouble it’s bringing up.
Maria’s smile is back. “Well, nature is kind of an important thing.”
