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15
Elizabeth
“There’s a trick to it,” Xander says, flicking the oatmeal packet to ensure all the contents are in his bowl.
“A trick to it?” I place my hand on my hip, pressing my lips into a hard line. “It’s instant oatmeal. I’m pretty sure I’m capable of adding some water to oats.”
Shaking his head, he reaches to turn off the burner and removes the screaming kettle. “You have to add just the right amount, or it doesn’t taste right. Add too much and it gets soggy, add too little and it’s dry.”
He tilts the kettle, pouring a little bit of water into his bowl before using the spoon in his other hand to stir it. “The key is to pour, stir, pour, until it’s the perfect amount.”
“Whatever you say, Goldilocks,” I mock, rolling my eyes as I walk out of the kitchen.
“Mommy?” Maddison says, tapping my arm, “Are you okay? Your hands are shaking.”
“Yeah, baby.” I force my lips to curve upward. “Here’s your oatmeal.” Picking up their bowls, my hands unsteady from the suffocating pain in my chest, I walk them over and place them on the kitchen table. “You and Sean eat up. Mommy’s going to finish getting ready.”
Once the kids are both eating their breakfast, I sprint to my bedroom. My sob escapes as soon as the door is closed behind me, tears streaming down my face. I struggle to keep my cries silent as the pain continues to rip through me, my body bent at the waist.
My therapist warned me there’d be days like this.
She said my bad days weren’t behind me yet, but I was so sure she was wrong. She didn’t understand how far I’ve come or how much better I’ve been feeling. I was so confident going into our meeting last week, rambling on about all my progress. But instead of getting the praise I was expecting, she merely looked at me with thoughtful concern.
A simple breakfast request from Maddison was the catalyst to my downward spiral this morning. Oatmeal was always Xander’s go-to breakfast, a fact that made me smile as I shared it with Maddison. But when the smell of the cinnamon and brown sugar hit me, it triggered an emotional response. I suddenly felt so close to Xander, which only made the heartache of knowing he was lost to me forever more agonizing.
It’s funny how missing someone can help you appreciate even their most annoying habits. It used to drive me mad watching him pour the water into his oatmeal a little at a time, but I’d give anything to see him do it one more time.
I take deep breaths and replay Dr. Gentry’s words in my mind, reminding myself what I’m feeling is normal. Tomorrow will be better. It’s going to be okay, as long as I keep moving forward.
Trying to hold on to Xander and the life we had won’t change what happened. It won’t bring him back to me.
Brenden
Ice clinks against the glass as the amber liquor glides down my throat, numbing and muting my mind. My workday felt exceptionally long, the stress of it weighing heavily on me.
My decision to become a youth counselor wasn’t easy, knowing all too well the kinds of things that can plague young children. The kind of darkness they cause still dwells inside me.
I pour myself another glass, the moonlight from the windows providing the only source of light in the quiet, empty house.
I’m grateful to have the place to myself. I’ve had enough conversation today and would probably end up being an asshole to Jon if he were around.
First thing this morning, I was informed that several of the students at the elementary school have decided to stop going to counseling. And it’s going to reflect poorly on me. Especially since I was also told a parent had already called in a complaint about me.
Apparently, pointing out to an eight-year-old that he’s angry about his parents’ divorce and not at the little girl in his class is frowned upon. Telling him it was okay to be mad is probably what upset them the most.
I knew taking on younger kids would be an adjustment for me. But when you’re the type of person who puts your all into what you do, it’s hard not to take things like this personally.
Before I met Lizzy, a day like today would’ve led to me seeking out a distraction in the form of a cheap thrill or meaningless sexual release. But I’m not interested in those types of distractions anymore. I want something—no, someone, who’ll make those days better.
I want Lizzy.
Just the thought of her cute smile and sweet laugh makes me feel more at ease. Our odd connection should probably be more concerning than intriguing. But the stronger it becomes, the more I want to figure it out.
