One Day His (The Someday Series Book 2) (9 page)

The second it left my mouth, I wanted to do a face palm. Where had that come from? I wasn’t back in Arcata, where I could be myself. This place was like an alternate universe version of my life where I had to have the personality of a trained pony.

Needless to say, my Looney Tunes impression went over like a lead balloon with both my mother and the doctor. Neither one of them responded to me verbally at all, but Dr. Newsom’s pen was moving furiously as he wrote in his notebook before returning his gaze to mine. Although I had never met the man before, I could’ve sworn that his expression indicated that he was disappointed in me. After I didn’t say anything for a moment, he and my mother exchanged yet another little knowing look and then he jotted down another note in his notebook.

My intuition was quickly overriding any optimism I had been trying to conjure up just moments before. I was getting the distinct feeling that this was some sort of intervention and I, not my mother, was the focus of the intervening.

“So, what’s this all about?” I asked calmly. The sooner I knew, the sooner I could get this ‘emergency broadcast’ over with and return to my regularly scheduled programming with Jace.

“Well,” Dr. Newsom spoke in a carefully modulated tone, the voice therapists used which was meant to be so completely devoid of judgment that it actually ended up coming across as incredibly judgmental, “after your mother’s incident, she is taking steps to communicate more effectively with the people in her life. She has a lot of feelings that have been bottled up, that she hasn’t had an appropriate outlet for, and that she has now realized she has been working through in destructive ways. That’s a pattern she would like to change.”

Oh. Okay. Maybe I’d jumped the gun on the whole ‘intervention’ thread. Maybe this could actually be constructive. What he was saying, at face value, at least sounded good. I could definitely get behind that.

I sat patiently, waiting for him to continue
or
Mother to jump in and say something. After all, although that was some nice background information, I hadn’t yet heard how it might apply to me in any way. But, rather than saying anything, they simply continued with their radio-silence tactic.

Awkward.

As that same feeling that the other shoe was about to drop and the rug was going to be pulled out from under me began to creep up inside me, I tried to keep my posture relaxed and my demeanor calm. Then I decided that, instead of trying not to let this interaction affect me, I should face it. Maybe the direct approach would work. After all, Dr. Newsom was a man of science, and I imagined that he would probably appreciate me asking a direct question rather than dancing around the topic.

“Is there something going on here that I’m not understanding? I feel like there’s a predetermined expectation that I am just not catching on to.” I took a slightly shaky breath after the words left my lips. When I folded my hands in my lap and noticed that they were shaking, I was still proud of myself for how far I had come. At least I had put a voice to the questions running through my mind like a toddler on a sugar high.

Three months ago, I would’ve just sat there on the couch, feeling judged and getting more and more nervous. I would’ve made myself sick guessing and second-guessing every look, every exchange, just praying for the Earth to open up and swallow me. Now, I had grown to the point that I could calmly ask what was expected of me and then wait for the response. For some people, that might seem insignificant, but it was a huge growth moment for me.

Like it had been choreographed, Dr. Newsom and my mother once again exchanged knowing looks, and that little shtick was quickly getting on my nerves. The leather seat squeaked loudly as Dr. Newsom leaned forward in his chair and extended his hands in mock surrender, an overly exaggerated ‘nonthreatening’ gesture.

“This is a safe space, Catherine. Say anything you’d like.”

Okay. That did not help one little bit. I had been through other ‘therapy’ sessions with my mom and I’d never been able to get a word in edgewise. Not that I’d wanted to, but even if I had, there was no way it would have even been an option.

Questions were filling my head faster than a teenage boy downloads porn.

Why was my mother sitting there
quietly
?

What could this doctor possibly want me to talk about?

Had something happened that I didn’t know about?

Trying to stay the course and not get thrown off by his vague response, I tried to quiet all of the questions screaming around my brain like cars on the track of the Indy 500.

Even though my newfound confidence was being chipped away with an industrial strength ice pick, I pressed on. “Well, I guess I just don’t understand why I’m here. Is there some way I can help with these new goals? Is that why I’m here?”

At this, Dr. Newsom finally looked pleased. “Well, Cat, that is certainly the
right
question to be asking. Yes,
you
are in a unique position to be able to help your mother express some of the things that have been festering inside for quite some time.” He turned towards my mother and patted her hand encouragingly. “Be brave, Angelica. You can do this.”

My brow wrinkled in puzzlement as my gaze shot to my mother. Angelica seemed…nervous. She took a deep breath as if she were trying to fortify herself to do something courageous and her eyes welled with tears.

Oh boy. Tears. That was never a good sign.

“Dr. Newsom is right, Cat. If we are going to have a healthy relationship, I really need to be honest with you. I have to be able to voice my frustrations and resentments without fear of repercussions.”

The muscles in my neck began working and I felt myself automatically nodding my head.

Wait a minute…? Was she talking about her frustrations with
me
? Her resentment of
me
? That made no sense. She expressed those. All. The. Time.

Besides, what possible repercussions could
I
bring down on
her
?

I didn’t even live here. And when I had, I’d barely left my room for fear that I would do something that would embarrass her, like let the public see my face.

She steeled her eyes as if gearing up for battle, and I felt my gut clench.
Uh oh
. Every alert in my body was at code red. This was about to go sideways. Fast.

“Cat, I just feel like you never try to see my point of view. I feel like you’re very selfish in many ways. When you’re around, sometimes I feel like, even though I’m”—she motioned her hands down her body Vanna White style as her eyes grew large—“
me
, that somehow you manipulate situations so that you are the one getting all the attention. I just…” She sniffed. “I don’t think that’s fair.”

I was flabbergasted. She felt like I got more attention than
her
? “What?” I asked in a whisper, not sure what else to say. Never in a million-trillion-gazillion years would I have ever thought that those words would come out of my mother’s mouth. I felt like I should see if pigs were flying or check The Weather Channel to find out if Hell had, in fact, frozen over.

Dr. Newsom gestured for me to continue, but what the hell else was there to say?

I shook my head as I heard myself stammer, “I…don’t…understand?”

Dr. Newsom scowled disapprovingly, his posture straightening, as he spoke in measured tones, “Well, Catherine, that is the core of the problem right there. This isn’t about
you.
Perhaps you could focus more on how you could help your mother by modifying your behaviors rather than focusing on yourself and what you understand. I think, actually, that a statement about yourself is what you chose to follow up with immediately after your mother made that difficult admission is very telling. Very telling, indeed.”

When he started writing in his notebook, I began to feel anxiety bubble up in my chest like soda fizz exploding after you shake a can before opening it. I was losing control of this encounter. And just moments ago, I had felt so proud of my newfound maturity.

Between the looming panic, the realization of the absolute and total ludicrousness that my mother had actually convinced someone that I was the manipulator that wanted all the attention, and my lack of sleep, you had an equation that equaled disaster. Before I could help it, I burst out laughing.

When Dr. Newsom looked up, I could see that he had moved beyond mere disapproval to full-blown annoyance. “Is this a
joke
to you? Do you think your mother and I are funny? Are we here for your entertainment? I assure you, little girl, this is no laughing matter.”

I stopped laughing, and before I knew it, tears were falling down my cheeks against my will.
No!
Why? Why now?
I had just gone from laughing hysterically to crying in under five seconds in front of a therapist who has been brought here to address
my
issues.

This was bad. Really bad. The harder I fought to bring myself under control, the more tears fell down my face.

My mother rolled her eyes. “You see? This is what she always does. She puts on the ‘poor, poor pitiful me’ act so everyone will feel sorry for her. I remember once, at a party, she started bawling her head off so that all the guests would make a big deal about her. She always wants to be the center of attention.”

Me
?
The center of attention?
I could take a lot of things, even
lie
about a lot of things if I thought it would help my mother keep the career and image that she’d worked so hard to maintain. Name-calling didn’t bother me.

Ugly. Stupid. Weird. Nerd. Hideous. Freak of nature. Mistake.

All of those labels had been flung at me for as long as I could remember. Maybe they were true, maybe not. It didn’t really matter to me anymore. But ‘self-centered attention seeker’ was where I drew the line. Something inside of me snapped like a rubber-band.

Wiping my eyes, I sat up straight and inhaled deeply. “I was six. It was after midnight. I was overtired,” I explained to Dr. Newsome.

“Do you see?” my mother cried in an injured tone. “Do you see how she always has an excuse for hurting me? How she’s never just sorry?”

Dr. Newsom soothingly patted her arm and nodded sympathetically. When his gaze snapped to mine he spoke sternly, “Catherine, you need to very seriously modify your behavior, and quickly. Your selfishness is driving your mother to distraction. She nearly died yesterday because of
you
. Is that what you want? Do you want your mother to die?!”

His words hit me like a slap in the face and my stomach twisted up in a knot that would easily earn a Boy Scout a badge.

“Of course not…” I barely recognized the small mouse voice that came out of my mouth. “Well, then you need to work to make sure that it doesn’t.”

My heart beat rapidly as my gaze shot to my mother. Her face was hidden behind her hands, but she peeked out at me just a tiny bit from between her fingers to see my reaction, and I recognized the expression on her face. It was triumph.

Of course. Why had I fallen for this? I knew better.

The same numb feeling that had protected me, allowed me to spend day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year in this house, washed over me now. I had never been so grateful for its sudden appearance.

With a clarity that I hadn’t honestly known I possessed, I directed my response towards the doctor, “Dr. Newsom, I highly doubt that you, a medical professional, are honestly trying to tell me that my mother’s car accident was
my
fault, even though I haven’t even seen her for three months? That it can be traced back to me crying at some party when I was only six years old? Because, frankly, that’s ridiculous.

“I understand the impulse to treat my mother differently than you would your other patients. She’s a celebrity. She’s stunning. And so are the checks she writes you. It’s tempting to see things from only her perspective. Trust me. I’ve seen it happen to a lot of people she’s paid over the years. But
that
doesn’t make even one word that comes of out of her mouth true.”

Without waiting for their responses, I walked out the door and headed down the hall to the kitchen. I could hear my mother and the “doctor” talking about my nerve and how disrespectful my behavior was, but I didn’t stop because, honestly, I didn’t care what they said.

I was proud of myself.

Did I think that what I had said in there had made any difference whatsoever? No. I knew they were sitting in front of the fire right now, commiserating about what a miserable and ungrateful child I was, and talking about how I was the cause of all my mother’s problems and how that self-centered speech I’d just given had proven it. But so what?

I was going to find Jace. He was my sanity. My security. My safe place.

*

Was this dinner
ever going to end?

Looking around the large, ornate table, I didn’t think I was the only one who was asking themselves that question.