Title: Good Enough
Chapter 7
*****
"I hope they build another gas station," Catherine says, taking a bite off a breakfast burrito.
"What?" I say, frowning.
She looks at me like I'm an idiot for not knowing what she's talking about. "Where they're knocking down the Mexican restaurant. Down the street from headquarters. I hope they put up a gas station."
Catherine and I have been at my place for 45 minutes. And still, she hasn't tried to get me to talk. She dragged me back here to emote about the problems I've been having. But she just keeps rambling on and on about trivial things.
I take a bite of toast. "I heard they're going to build a donut shop."
"My thighs will appreciate that," she says.
I smile, then I sigh, "Look, Catherine…" As soon as I open my mouth, I realize I don't know what to say, so I let my voice trail off.
"Yeah, Nick?" Catherine says, putting down her breakfast burrito.
I take a sip of orange juice and run my finger along the rim of the glass. "I'm getting tired."
"Yeah, you haven't had much sleep," she says, conversationally.
I shrug. "No, not much."
"Did you ask Grissom for a home remedy?"
I laugh, and it almost sounds genuine. "No, but he gave me one."
She smiles. "I usually can't sleep when something's bothering me, either."
"Yeah, I don't know. I just stare at the ceiling, thinking."
"Just thinking about your problems?"
"Pretty much."
Catherine moves from her chair to the sofa, so she's sitting next to me. "So, you are having problems? And here you were telling almost everybody you were fine."
Damn. She tricked me.
"Look, Catherine. I know you're trying to help." I take a sip of orange juice. "But I can manage."
She looks me in the eye. "Nick, you've gotta give me something."
"Catherine, I'm sure you got stuff going on in your life, too."
"I do."
"Well, then why do I have to talk about my problems? Talk about yours."
She grins mischievously. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."
I roll my eyes.
"Look," she says seriously. "You've got to give me something." When I don't answer her, she says. "One thing, Nick. Give me one thing."
Catherine's going to sit here until she wears me down. "One thing?" I raise my eyebrows skeptically.
"One thing," she confirms. "Just get one thing off your chest." She pauses for a few seconds, takes a bite of her food, and then adds, "If you don't tell me something, I'll go to Grissom and have you taken off this case and sitting in the department shrink's office by the beginning of shift tomorrow."
I stare at her. I'm pretty sure she means it.
Sighing, I slump back. The muscles in my neck and shoulders are killing me. There's one thing I can only talk to Catherine about. So, I guess that's the one thing she's going to hear. "Remember what I told you about me and the babysitter?"
She reaches over and takes my hand. "Yeah."
"Well, I've been thinking about that a lot."
"Have you ever thought about talking to a therapist?"
"No," I say a little too quickly.
Instead of launching into a lecture about how I need closure, Catherine just nods.
"I did, however, decide to tell my mom."
Catherine squeezes my hand. "How did it go?"
"Well, I went to Texas, and I tried to tell her face-to-face. But, as soon as she figured out what I was trying to tell her, she shut me down."
"Oh, Nick," Catherine says, sympathetically.
I stare at the coffee table because I just can't look Catherine in the eye. "She changed the subject. When I tried to tell her again, she told me to leave things be."
Catherine scoots closer and puts an arm around my shoulders. "Honey, I'm sure she just reacted."
I feel my shoulders tense up painfully. "Don't try to make excuses for her."
"I'm not. I'm just saying that she's your mother. If I found out something like that about my child…"
"Catherine, you're a good mother. My mom isn't."
"Nick, she raised a good son. I'm guessing she wasn't that bad."
"You don't know what it was like to live under that much pressure." I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. "My mom shut me down because she knows I'm tainted now. I'm not the perfect son."
Catherine hugs me with the arm she has around my shoulders. With her other hand, she wipes a finger against my cheek.
I raise my own hand to my face, and realize for the first time that I'm crying. Not a lot. There's just a few tears streaking down my face. But I'm still crying. Embarrassed, I try to pull away.
Catherine hangs on, actually pulling me closer. She reaches down a takes my hand again. "It's okay to cry. I think you have a right."
I bite my lip, trying my best to hold back the tears, but it's useless. Without warning, moisture floods my eyes, and soon, I'm sobbing in Catherine's arms. It feels pretty good. I've been holding a lot in, and this is the first time I've really been able to let go.
After a few minutes, I sit up and wipe my face with the ball of my hand. Catherine crosses the room to the kitchen and reemerges with a box of tissues. I pull a couple out and clean myself up.
Catherine puts an arm back around me. "Feel a little better?"
"Yeah, actually."
"Everybody's been really worried about you."
"I know."
"Greg's a mess."
I frown. Great, I think. I've made him a mess.
"I said some things," I say guiltily.
"Whatever's going on between the two of you—if you had fight or whatever's happening—you need to talk to him."
"I can't."
She lets out a breath. "I don't know what he said, but it can't have been that bad. You know Greg."
"He didn't say anything," I confess. "It was me."
She frowns. "He thinks he said something to freak you out."
"What?" I narrow my eyes.
"I don't know. He said you've been avoiding him."
I have, but…"
"He said he said something he shouldn't have said, and that you freaked."
Now I'm confused. Is he afraid he overreacted when he found out about my feelings? Maybe he doesn't care, and I just misinterpreted things. Or maybe we're talking about something different.
"Nick," Catherine says. "He really cares about you. And you know how Greg is. He's probably sitting at home worrying himself to death about you."
For a moment, I think about telling her about my feelings for Greg. But then I chicken out.
Swallowing, I say, "He's really not mad at me?"
"Just worried about you, and scared he did something to hurt you."
I need some time to think. Maybe my friendship with Greg isn't over. I put my arms around Catherine and hug her. "Thanks Catherine," I say. "I'm gonna go to bed, if you don't mind. You can hang out here. Just lock up when you go."
She grabs me by the wrist. "You know, he'd probably still be up."
I lick my lips. "I'm too tired to make any sense. I'll talk to him tomorrow."
Maybe.
Catherine grins. "Do that, Nick. Talk to him."
I narrow my eyes, trying to read her expression. For a minute, I almost think she knows how I feel about Greg. And that she approves.