stands up and curves an arm around my neck. “Maybe that’s enough for now.”
“It’s just that, Ellie,” my father doesn’t stop, “your mother and I live in constant fear that you’ll, uh, do it again.”
Has this brought them closer together as well? I’m not used to either of them making a statement for both of them as a couple. I want to get up, but I’m afraid my legs will fail. Both Kay’s hands rest on my shoulders and she squeezes the tight muscles there softly. I try to visualize Dr. Hakim’s solemn face. The response we came up with— I came up with after long minutes of silence from him—sits too far back in my brain, in that obscured place I can never reach under pressure. They would never say something like that , I had assured Dr. Hakim. Never in a million years. My family doesn’t say things out loud. We prefer to imply things wordlessly—not enough room for misunderstanding and frustration otherwise.
His reply: They may surprise you. Traumatic events change people. Makes them say and do unexpected things.
So far, Dr. Hakim has been proven right many more times than I care to count.
“I won’t try again.” It’s easy enough to say with Kay gently massaging my shoulders—and I know it’s the exact reason why I can’t get romantically involved with her. Not now. “I’m getting better. Working hard at it.” These are not the words I’m supposed to say, but they’re all I’ve got. A stop gap. A quick reassurance, like my mother used to give Nina and me after we’d taken a clumsy fall that had shocked us more than hurt us. Stop crying and it will all be over in a few seconds . She was usually right, but this hardly compares. “I know it’s not easy, but you’re going to have to trust me. There’s no other way.”
I imagine my mother having to triple her dosage of sleeping pills to get any sleep at all. She shouldn’t even be drinking with all the medicine she swallows on a daily basis. A few years ago, when staying with them over the holidays, I checked her medicine cabinet—the one in the bathroom she stocks for daily, frequent use. I found Valium, Xanax, Prozac. The works. And to think she scolds my dad for drinking too much.
“Okay.” My father pushes his chair back and, to my amazement, puts his hand on my mother’s shoulder. The only time I can remember them touching is when my mother prodded him in the arm violently when he was snoring so loudly she couldn’t hear the TV. “We trust you, Ellie.”
Mom is crying now, short, sniffling sounds from her mouth and nose, but it’s not what takes me aback the most. What baffles me more than anything is that she accepts my dad’s display of affection and puts her hand on his.
“It’s not easy getting through this,” she says through her tears, curling her fingers tightly around Dad’s hand.
“I know. I’m sorry.” Kay’s fingers dig deep into my flesh, but she can’t stop me from apologizing because, for this, I will always be sorry.
“Do you want to stay?” Kay asks in a barely audible whisper.
I shake my head. Perhaps I should stay, but this is enough for one night. My ability to think clearly and objectively always seems to shrink whenever I set foot in this house, but now it’s also muddled by sadness and lessened by this sight of my parents’ version of a tender embrace which, quite frankly, touches me more than anything has the past few years.
“I’m going now.” I inhale deeply, but, still unsure about the capability of my legs to carry me, don’t get up.
“Let me get you some apple tart to go.” Mom drops Dad’s hand and straightens her posture.
“No, Mom.” I try to look her in the eyes, but end up glancing at the light switch on the wall behind her head. “Why don’t you bring some to the cabin tomorrow?”
Slowly, my mother nods while my invitation sinks in.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Whiskey?” Kay asks after she has parked the car.
“How about a swim instead?” I look at her
“It’s just that, Ellie,” my father doesn’t stop, “your mother and I live in constant fear that you’ll, uh, do it again.”
Has this brought them closer together as well? I’m not used to either of them making a statement for both of them as a couple. I want to get up, but I’m afraid my legs will fail. Both Kay’s hands rest on my shoulders and she squeezes the tight muscles there softly. I try to visualize Dr. Hakim’s solemn face. The response we came up with— I came up with after long minutes of silence from him—sits too far back in my brain, in that obscured place I can never reach under pressure. They would never say something like that , I had assured Dr. Hakim. Never in a million years. My family doesn’t say things out loud. We prefer to imply things wordlessly—not enough room for misunderstanding and frustration otherwise.
His reply: They may surprise you. Traumatic events change people. Makes them say and do unexpected things.
So far, Dr. Hakim has been proven right many more times than I care to count.
“I won’t try again.” It’s easy enough to say with Kay gently massaging my shoulders—and I know it’s the exact reason why I can’t get romantically involved with her. Not now. “I’m getting better. Working hard at it.” These are not the words I’m supposed to say, but they’re all I’ve got. A stop gap. A quick reassurance, like my mother used to give Nina and me after we’d taken a clumsy fall that had shocked us more than hurt us. Stop crying and it will all be over in a few seconds . She was usually right, but this hardly compares. “I know it’s not easy, but you’re going to have to trust me. There’s no other way.”
I imagine my mother having to triple her dosage of sleeping pills to get any sleep at all. She shouldn’t even be drinking with all the medicine she swallows on a daily basis. A few years ago, when staying with them over the holidays, I checked her medicine cabinet—the one in the bathroom she stocks for daily, frequent use. I found Valium, Xanax, Prozac. The works. And to think she scolds my dad for drinking too much.
“Okay.” My father pushes his chair back and, to my amazement, puts his hand on my mother’s shoulder. The only time I can remember them touching is when my mother prodded him in the arm violently when he was snoring so loudly she couldn’t hear the TV. “We trust you, Ellie.”
Mom is crying now, short, sniffling sounds from her mouth and nose, but it’s not what takes me aback the most. What baffles me more than anything is that she accepts my dad’s display of affection and puts her hand on his.
“It’s not easy getting through this,” she says through her tears, curling her fingers tightly around Dad’s hand.
“I know. I’m sorry.” Kay’s fingers dig deep into my flesh, but she can’t stop me from apologizing because, for this, I will always be sorry.
“Do you want to stay?” Kay asks in a barely audible whisper.
I shake my head. Perhaps I should stay, but this is enough for one night. My ability to think clearly and objectively always seems to shrink whenever I set foot in this house, but now it’s also muddled by sadness and lessened by this sight of my parents’ version of a tender embrace which, quite frankly, touches me more than anything has the past few years.
“I’m going now.” I inhale deeply, but, still unsure about the capability of my legs to carry me, don’t get up.
“Let me get you some apple tart to go.” Mom drops Dad’s hand and straightens her posture.
“No, Mom.” I try to look her in the eyes, but end up glancing at the light switch on the wall behind her head. “Why don’t you bring some to the cabin tomorrow?”
Slowly, my mother nods while my invitation sinks in.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Whiskey?” Kay asks after she has parked the car.
“How about a swim instead?” I look at her
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