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"Do you think it'll make the dinner weird?"
"It's a dinner for my dead best friend. I think we've already passed weird."
I cringe at how weird it really does sound. I mean, my parents basically preserve Callie's room, but I should at least be thankful they aren't still having dinners for her. I don't want to tell Elijah, but I am already pretty nervous about going to the dinner, and that only increased when he told me about the letter Denise found and the rift that now exists between them. I'm hoping Denise lets the subject drop before the dinner, but somehow, I don't think that's going to happen.
"Your grandma's coming, right?" I ask.
He nods. "Which I'm not sure if that's such a great thing either. She made it quite clear how she feels about what Denise is asking of me, and if she sees Denise trying to pressure me at the dinner, I know it won't go well. And that would just open up a whole other can of worms. Because then Regina would be sitting there wondering what the hell everyone is talking about. But I guess, best case scenario is we'll all say a toast to Ben, eat some dinner, and go about our nights. But anyway, what are we doing for your spring break? That's what we should be talking about."
"I do remember some time ago, you seemed to have some ideas about us spending the entire spring break, in your bed, clothing optional."
He grins. "Ah yes, I do recall some rather explicit visions in my mind about that."
"So, I'm thinking that's a pretty good place to start."
"I wholeheartedly agree."
Elijah drops me back off on campus before he heads to work. Why I even still have to be here when I've already taken the exam for this class is beyond me, but with a sigh, I head to the building I need to.
When I get home, my mother's car is there, and I drop my forehead to the door while I put the key in the knob. Can't I get even a few hours of peace? Apparently not, and that becomes all the more clear when I step into the living room and find not just my mother, but my father and the therapist, John, as he’s always telling me to call him instead of Mr. Hall, as well. They’re all sitting on the couch, wearing tense smiles that I’m sure they’ve been exchanging as they waited for me to walk into their trap.
If I thought I had any chance of sneaking back out of the door and escaping the therapist and my parents, I would run. Get into my car and drive, not even knowing where I’m going. But I know that won’t happen as three sets of eyes turn to me, different expressions in each of their gazes. My mother’s is filled with a command for me not to embarrass her. My father’s has a certain don’t even try it in it, and John’s eyes are filled with a false enthusiasm, a far too fake welcoming look. As if we weren’t just in his office not too many days ago. Which means, my parents surely blew whatever concern they have way out of proportion to not only have another session so soon, but for us to have it here. I told her I wouldn’t go back to the therapist’s office, so she said something that brought him here instead. I should have known.
"We need to talk," my mother states.
I narrow my eyes at her, thoughts of all the things I would like to say but know better than to utter racing through my mind. Taking a much needed deep breath, I begin walking towards my room as if I haven’t even noticed the therapist or what they’re trying to do.
"Can this wait?” I ask, even though I know it’s in vain. “I just took an exam today, have a headache, and still need to study before I go to work."
"No. It seems it most certainly cannot wait,” she states firmly. “Sit down, Jolie. Now."
“I would rather this seem like an invitation than a command,” John says, tossing that fake smile my way. “Would you please join us Jolie? Your parents and I would like to discuss a few things with you.”
I stare at, not him, but my mother as I clench my jaw so tightly that my molars begin to ache. It’s not his fault that he’s here, incompetent as I think he is. She’s brought him here, just another way to control me. She arches her brow at me, clearly waiting for me to comply. And I do, walking over to plop down onto the end of the couch, wondering what the subject will be this time. But knowing that if I’m going to play this game, then for once I’m not going to play the good daughter in front of the therapist.
“Thank you,” John tells me while adjusting his tie. "Your parents spoke with me about a call they got this morning from the counselor of the support group."
My eyebrows furrow, definitely not expecting those words.
"He expressed his concern regarding you no longer attending group, as we had all agreed upon."
I shake my head, scoffing. "The agreement was that I had to go to group in lieu of going to family therapy sessions. But as you can all see,” I spreads my hands wide at them. “My parents saw fit to all but drag me back to those, so I saw no need to keep up my end of the bargain."
My mother’s mouth gets tight before she speaks, “The family sessions are for all of us. That group is for you, and your own personal growth. The fact that you’ve stopped going to the group only goes to show that I was right in bringing you back to family therapy. You are spiraling and—”
“Spiraling?” I cut her off with a haughty chuckle. “Clearly, you have no idea what spiraling looks like, because if you did, you would have noticed it in your other daughter. You know, the one who isn’t here for this lovely…family therapy.”
“How dare—” My mother begins, but John puts his hand on her arm.
He thinks he’s reminding her to remain calm. But he’s truly reminding her that she’s letting the mask slip.
"I would like to focus on the concerns of the counselor,” John says. “I think, for right now, that’s a more beneficial course of conversation.” At my mother’s reluctant and my father’s nonchalant nods, he continues. “The counselor was concerned that you were no longer coming to group, but also that he felt you'd started some sort of..." His hand motions, searching for the word apparently. "Romance with another member of the group."
My back straightens now. How dare he assume to know anything about me and Elijah? And even more so, how dare he bring that to my parents when he has no idea what's going on?
"Is that where you met that boy who came here?” My mother asks. “At the support group? Is that who you were with for the weekend? Is he the reason you've been acting this way?"
"He had no right to call you and say anything about what he doesn't know," I grit out.
