AN: There are a few sentences in the first part of the story that I borrowed from another book. It will be cited at the end. It's a good book and a quick read. I recommend giving it a try.
As always, beta'd by SerineinNC. I added a little after I got it back, so mistakes are mine. Then again, the mistakes are ALWAYS mine.
All things Twilight belong to SM
"Please, have a seat wherever you feel most comfortable," Dr. Brash instructed, motioning to the couch and the single seats available. With a polite nod and smile, I sat on the plush blue couch.
"So, let's get started," she began when I was finally settled. "I feel that I should inform you that I do know some things about your past from speaking to Rosalie. Is that going to be a problem for you? I would understand if you decided to seek the help of another doctor."
Dr. Maggie Brash was Rosalie's doctor who she claimed helped her tremendously. When we got back to Forks three weeks ago, I told Rose that I was finally ready to talk to someone. However, before discussing it with her in detail, with the help of the free clinic I looked into doctors that did pro bono work or charged based on income. Apparently, doctors around here didn't volunteer their services. I found a doctor that seemed promising based on location, but I couldn't find any recommendations online. It also didn't help that said doctor was located in an area that I was very familiar with – and not in a good way. However, I wasn't looking for Dr. Phil, just someone educated enough to help me sort my shit out. After spending hours trying to find someone, I was desperate enough not to care if they were even licensed.
When I told Rosalie about my appointment with Dr. Sheen she looked at me like I had six heads. She vehemently refused to let me go, all the while digging through her purse. She had handed me Dr. Brash's card, telling me that she was the best doctor. What was meant to be a caring gesture on Rosalie's part turned into an argument when I told her that not everyone could afford going to see any doctor they chose.
I didn't know that Edward was home, listening to Rosalie and me. He offered to put me on his insurance, but I shrugged him off dismissively, knowing that you couldn't just add someone to a policy for shits and giggles. These people had a false sense of reality; nothing came as easily as they thought it would. However, about a week later Edward slapped a piece of paper on the counter of the bakery while I was working. I grabbed the paper and saw that I was added to Edward's insurance as a dependent. I hated seeing that word, but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
That's how I found myself in Dr. Brash's office.
"You won't tell her anything, right?"I asked nervously. "I mean, I might tell her some stuff, she knows most of it anyway, but I want to be the one to tell her things," I explained.
"Absolutely not," Dr. Brash confidently assured me. "Whether we talk about things Rosalie knows or doesn't, nothing we discuss leave these four walls. Can I just suggest one thing, though?" I nodded. "I think that at some point, it might be beneficial for both of you to attend a session, or a few, together. You're both looking for closure, an explanation, that only you can give each other."
"That makes sense," I agreed. "I think it's something we could do together."
"Great," Dr. Brash smiled. "So how about we start at the beginning? What is it that brings you here?"
I took a second to formulate my thoughts. A lot of things brought me to this office today - a lot of things that I truly believed would destroy me if I didn't do something to change the way I behaved or the way I thought.
I began at the beginning.
"My parents died about four years ago and I took it extremely hard, maybe harder than I should have," I started. Before I could continue, the doctor held out her hand, stopping me from saying more.
"I'm going to say this now because I think that the sooner you hear it, the sooner you'll begin to believe it. I don't think it's fair to tell someone how to grieve. Because some people, it takes them a long time to get over it," she said sincerely. "Something like death can't be taken 'too hard'."
"I don't think I'm over it," I admitted. "I want to feel hurt about their death, and I do to some extent, but then it's over ridden by extreme guilt and a lot of the time an overwhelming sadness that I can't shake. I just want everything to be better."
"I won't tell you it gets better; that's not a promise I can make because it's up to you to decide, but I think that just by being here, talking, that you're on your way to finding that peace of mind." She paused a moment, letting me absorb the seriousness of her words. "Why don't you tell me about the relationship you shared with your parents?"
I smiled. Despite how hard their death was, I loved talking about the happy times.
"They were my best friends, aside from Rose, that is. They just…got me. They didn't push me to do something I didn't want to. They sacrificed more than should have been allowed. They weren't perfect, but they were damn near it." I told her anecdote after anecdote, each time reliving the day with perfect recollection in my head.
"Did you remain close to them when you left for college?" she asked.
"We did, but life became more hectic and I began focusing on my art even more. We talked almost every day, but long conversations morphed into quick check-ins."
"Is that why you feel guilty?" she asked, a good question.
"That's where it began, yeah. More than that, though, it wasn't like I was too busy to realize it was happening. I saw it, but convinced myself that it was nothing to worry about; I was busy in school and they had work that kept them occupied. I feel like…if I tried harder things would have been different."
"Different how?"
My eyes began to sting, a lump formed in my throat, and a dull ache was beginning to throb in the front of my head.
"I dunno, maybe they would have been alive?" I said as tears began to fall quickly, leaving wet tracks. "The day I got the phone call I hadn't talked to them since the previous morning. The night before I went to celebrate something, I don't even remember what," I chuckled humorlessly to hide the fact that I was dying inside. It felt like I received that phone call all over again. "Like what if I had called and woke them up? Maybe they would have realized something was wrong and gotten out of the house," I explained. "What if I could have saved them? What if they're dead now because I was too wrapped up in myself?" I asked angrily. My anger at the situation, at myself, was at an all time high. I wanted to scream, curse all deities, and ask why my parents had been taken instead of some child abuser or murderer.
"Or," the doctor cut in, "what if they had a carbon monoxide detector?" she asked, her voice having a smugness that I was probably only imagining.
"Are you saying that it's their fault they died?" I seethed, my heart beating faster and my fists clenched and ready to strike.
"Not at all. What I'm saying is that too many people die from carbon monoxide poisoning every year that could have been prevented; there's a reason they call it a silent killer. What I want you to understand is that you can't blame yourself with the shoulda, coulda, wouldas. What you should do, though, to help you come to grips with their death, is realize that they passed away together and peacefully. They didn't suffer."
I took a few minutes to silently cry and try to accept what Dr. Brash said. It was a valid point, I realized that, but it wasn't helping me in the moment. I wanted things - I wanted me - to be better now. I didn't want validity and arguments, or overwhelming emotions. I wanted a magic pill that would allow me to move forward, or maybe backwards. Reason was not what I was after, but what I knew I needed.
"Did Rosalie tell you some of the things I did, like how I ran away?" I asked.
"She told me some things," she answered simply. "I'm sure she doesn't know everything, though.
I nodded, distracted. "Do you think I over reacted, making me beyond redemption?"
"Let me start off saying that if I believed a person was beyond redemption then I'm in the wrong profession, so no, I don't think that about you." She looked at me sternly, wanting to emphasize the words and thoughts she believed. "No one grief is worse than the other. They are all terrible. They all destroy, but you need to find the way to use yours. What would be a travesty is if you allowed yourself to continue to wallow and let yourself be drowned by guilt and self-hate."
"I just want to be normal again," I said, putting it out there.
"Normal by whose definition? Yours or someone else's?" she asked.
"Mine, Rosalie's, Edward's…" I trailed off, not meaning to say his name.
"From what you've told me, you were extremely close with your parents. Is that 'normal' for a teenager or young adult? Some might say no, so I guess by that definition you were never really normal to begin with."
I laughed for real this time. It was another excellent point, but something about it was funny. I think it was because it triggered so many good memories.
"I guess not," I chuckled.
"How about we amend normal to happy? It seems like such a vague term, but if you get to the point where you're legitimately happy, things will fall into place and the healing won't seem so painful or out of reach."
"Sounds doable," I agreed.
"Good," she smiled. "Our time is just about up, but I want you to do something for me. When you go home, make a list as long or short as you'd like, of things that you think make you happy or would make you happy. Bring it to our next session so we can take a look at it. Maybe prioritize it a little. It would be a good starting point."
xXx
"So how'd it go?" Angela asked when I walked into the bakery. She gave me Tuesday and Thursday mornings off so I could attend these sessions. Not wanting to lose those hours, I agreed to stay later in the night to help prep for the morning.
"Really good, I think," I replied while tying the apron strings around my waist. "I feel like she could be the one to help me, even though there was a minute where I wanted to rip her throat out. She told me to make a list of the things that either make me happy or things that would make me happy. Seems simple enough, I guess."
"Yeah. So have you started this list already?"
"Eh, kinda. I know that I want to start painting again, but not as just a hobby. I want to get back to where I was in college; asked to have my stuff in shows, be recognized, selling for high prices."
"Well that should be easy, no?" she asked as she carefully poured the flour into the stand mixer.
"Painting is the easy part, but I don't know how to get my name out there again. Before, I was in school and had a mentor that helped me. Now, I have no idea where I should start," I explained.
"You'll figure it out. What about contacting someone from your old school?" she suggested. "They should remember you."
"I guess," I said, shrugging.
For the first time, though, painting didn't feel like enough. It used to be that all I needed were my supplies, a calm work environment, and Rosalie to make me happy. It wasn't like that now. I just knew that I needed more.
"Do you think people need a companion to be happy?" I asked, out of the blue.
She smirked at me before answering. "Why? Do you have a 'companion' in mind?" she teased, nudging me with her elbow.
I rolled my eyes, but didn't answer. "I'm serious, Ang."
"Fine," she sighed. "When you use the word 'companion' I'm assuming you mean boyfriend?" I nodded. "I think they play a part, but you can't base your happiness on him alone. No one wants to be lonely, but you need to learn how to be content when you're alone."
"I've been alone," I mumbled, "long before my parents ever died."
xXx
"What do you think about getting married?" I asked Edward the next night. He sputtered the soda he just sipped down his chin, staining his white tee.
"To you?" he responded, wiping away the sticky liquid with the back of his hand, his eyes as wide as saucers.
I meant in general, but I didn't appreciate the manner in which he responded. Was it really that ludicrous that someone would want to marry me?
"Yes, to me, but I didn't mean you and me. Besides…" I trailed off, getting more upset by the second. "I could make a good wife, you know!" I said, more than just slightly offended. "Just because you would never marry someone like me doesn't mean another man wouldn't."
"I didn't say that," Edward responded, his hands help up in surrender. "You just took me off guard."
"Whatever," I rolled my eyes. "Don't mind me; I'm probably getting my period," I lied, not wanting to argue or say anything I'd regret later. The truth, though, was that I hadn't had my period in months. I knew that it was partly due to stress. Lately, Edward was unknowingly adding to that stress.
"Are you still willing to take me shopping to use those gift cards?" I asked, changing the subject.
He didn't hide his relief at the change of subject very well. "Yes, of course! When do you want to go?"
"Friday I guess. I have therapy tomorrow so I have to work late," I reminded him.
"Oh, shit, yeah," he said, widening his arms to match the size of his wide eyes. "How'd your first session go?"
"Um…good, actually. It's only been one session, but I like her so far." I shrugged. "She asked me to list the things that would make me happy," I disclosed to him against my better judgment. It was days like this that had me second guessing whether he truly cared. His carefree attitude hurt me more than I should have let it. The session was yesterday and he was only asking about it now when we had seen each other yesterday.
He was quiet as he narrowed his eyes in concentration. "Wait a second." He paused again. "Is that why you brought up marriage?" he asked accusingly. "You think getting married will make you happy?" he continued, now sounding disbelieving. He was worse than a pregnant lady, shifting from one mood to another.
"Not exactly, but why not? Everyone needs a penguin, right?" I was getting over-emotional, but he was unintentionally hurting my feelings; shooting down my thoughts of what, or who, would make me happy. He did make one thing extremely clear, though – whatever ideas of "us" that he had in Forks did not carry back to Seattle. Not once since we've been back had we talked about a potential relationship.
"What…huh? Who has a penguin and why are you so upset? You can't have a penguin in Washington."
I rubbed my eyes harder than necessary, immediately feeling like an idiot for letting him, of all people, make me feel so…moronic; making me want someone so untouchable. I blamed him, though. He put these notions in my head; he made me think there could be an "us".
Actually, now, I was feeling pissed off the more I thought about it.
"You," I began, stalking toward him and jabbing my finger into his chest. "You could have been my penguin, but you don't want a penguin do you? You want a fucking swan, just not this swan." I was seething and my finger was throbbing.
"What are you talking about? Who wants a swan?" He looked thoroughly confused and maybe somewhat bewildered. I couldn't say I blamed him, though, since I had no idea what I was talking about anymore at that point.
"Nothing. I'm tired; I'll see you in the morning." Without another word, I sulked to my room, wiping away tears before they could fall. Edward had me coming unhinged and if this was the way I was going to feel around him, I needed to rethink who I thought would make me happy.
"Wait a second," he called out. "I have to talk to you about something."
The way he said it – that he had to talk to me about something – I knew that it wasn't the talk I've been waiting to have.
"We'll talk tomorrow," I responded before shutting the door and shutting him out.
XxX
"Are you feeling okay?" Dr. Brash asked when I entered her office. "We could have rescheduled if you aren't feeling well."
I felt like crap and I knew I looked like it, too. My hair was a mess and my sweater's hood wasn't hiding it very well. My movements were sluggish and my eyes were tired and heavy.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I got my period overnight and the cramps are kicking my ass this morning."
Go figure!
"Oh. Well…that sucks to say the least," she commented, the sincerity oozing from the statement. Women understood.
"Eh, I'll live…I think," I said, while trying to get comfortable on the couch. The motion from standing to sitting hurt. "Can I kinda stray from the main topic?" I asked. "It's not really random, actually."
"Sure," she answered with a genuine smile.
"Thanks. Okay, so I was thinking about the list I was supposed to make about what would make me happy," I began as Dr. Brash nodded encouragingly. "I think being with someone would make me happy, but then I think that maybe I shouldn't think that way. Like, I should figure the important stuff out before I consider being with someone. On the other hand, though, I've never been one to feel lonely, but now I do. I feel like I'm going through a Maslow crisis," I rambled, giving myself a headache. "I mean, shouldn't I be concerned about being well first?"
Dr. Brash chuckled, her eyes shining with amusement. "Okay, let's consider some things. Are your physiological needs being met? You are eating, sleeping, breathing?" she asked.
"Um…yeah," I answered. I knew it wasn't meant to be, but it felt like a trick question.
"Great. Now, are your safety needs being met? Are you healthy, have a safe place to go to, a job or some kind of income?"
"I have that now, yes."
"Good. Well, the next step according to Maslow is love. From what you've confirmed you're ready to consider that next step."
"What about all my mental issues and things like that?" I found it hard to believe that it was as easy as she just made it seem.
"We haven't gotten to any of that, yet, but personally, I don't think that working on yourself while working on a relationship would be harmful. Let me be clear, though. The person you are interested in should be good for you – healthy. You've got a ways to go before you're going to be at peace with who you are and what you've done, I can tell. It's easy to get caught up in good looks and a charming personality. Hitler was said to be very charismatic. Look beyond the psychical. Let me add also, that there is nothing wrong with taking a relationship slow; become friends, have lengthy conversations, get to know each other without the intimacy."
She made sense - a lot of sense, actually. Edward and I were friends, I think. We talked, sometimes. I knew him, kind of. He wasn't just looks, though he was more beautiful than any man had the right to be. He was charming when he wasn't being an asshole.
"One more thing," Dr. Brash added, "Maslow's Hierarchy? I know it quite well. I did a dissertation on it, actually. The highest level you can possibly obtain is self-actualizationa lack of prejudice and not only understanding your full potential, but mastering it, and not many people truly reach it. People like Gandhi and Mother Theresa got there. Don't live your life by others' standards. Do what makes you happy as long as it's safe and healthy. Food for thought."
"Okay, but what if that person is so much better than you? Like they have a better station in life?" I was looking for reasons to support my own, possibly false, realization that Edward no longer wanted to pursue a relationship with me. Or maybe even that it was a good idea that we didn't even really consider it in the first place.
"Bernie Madoff had a pretty great station in life," she countered. I looked at her questioningly, not really sure who or what she was talking about. "Bernie Madoff was a stocker broker, investment banker…you get the drift." I nodded. "A few years ago he admitted to running the largest Ponzi scheme. He was a wealthy guy, but ask everyone he defrauded and they'd tell you that, frankly, he's an asshole. Someone's station in life doesn't define the type of person they are."
"No, I guess not, but how can I ignore such an obvious difference?"
"Since therapy is give and take, let me share something with you. My career choice and success has afforded me the ability to live comfortably, drive some luxury cars of my choosing, and allow me to vacation once a year. My receptionist out there?" she said, pointing to the door with her pen. "Drives a Ford POS and lives in a studio apartment. She's my fiancé and best friend."
My jaw hit the floor, hard, and my eyes bulged, wide enough to compete with cartoons. I tried to form a sentence, a thought, but nothing came.
Dr. Brash began laughing as I continued to sit in stunned silence. "Shocked I take it?"
"Um, yeah!" I took another few seconds to wrap my mind around what she just revealed. She could have talked until she was blue in the face about how two people, different economic statuses, could be together and how one was no better than the other, but it wouldn't have done much to change my mind. However, knowing that it could happen because there was proof in front of my face was a different story.
It was like…Pretty Woman, when Vivian asked Kit who does it happen to, referring to a happily ever after. I still believed it only happened to Cinderella, too, never having known anyone in my position to come out on top. While Dr. Brash and her receptionist/fiancé didn't have the story Edward and I have, it was still very encouraging to know that there were still people out there who looked beyond money and social status and looked at a person for who they were.
"Why don't you live together or help her buy a better car or something?" I asked, finally beginning to pull my thoughts together.
"Don't you think I've tried?" she laughed. "That one out there is a stubborn one, too independent to accept monetary gifts. She just agreed to move in with me as long as I allowed her to pay half the bills."
Her fiancé, Allison I think I saw on her name plate, sounded a little like me – not wanting to accept help even though it was probably needed.
"Stupid question, but do you love her?" I asked Dr. Brash. I already knew, it was evident by the look in her eyes and the smile on her face when she talked about Allison.
"This probably won't sound appropriate coming from a therapist, but I love her more than my own life. She is my life. This," she said, motioning around the room, "could be gone tomorrow, along with everything else, and that lady outside would still be with me, moving my boxes into her crappy little apartment."
I liked Dr. Brash. I liked her a lot. She made me believe that what I wanted, be it with Edward or not, was more than possible.
Tonight. Tonight I would pull Edward aside and have the talk with him about us. Tonight would be when I found out if there would be an "us."
AN: We'll have the talk next chapter.
There were a few reviews that I didn't reply to (aside from the guest review that I couldn't reply to), and I apologize. There were some that I saved so I would reply later, but didn't. I will reply to those despite in being from a previous chapter.
Thanks for reading!
McHenry, Jael. The Kitchen Daughter: A Novel. New York: Gallery, 2011. Print.