Page 3 of Caged in Flames

I shake off those thoughts. "He's been radio silent with the exception of mailing a credit card without a note." He eases his own conscience by sending a limitless black card to my mom as his way of providing for us. It took a lot of convincing to get her to use it for just about anything, but I’ve accepted this is all he can offer and find any excuse to swipe that bitch.

"Do you wish he would have made more of an effort with your recovery?" Her tone is curious, but not overtly. There's no notepad in her hands scribbling away her assumptions.

I give myself a few moments to think over the question. Maybe I should want him here, but he's only ever let me down. Not to mention how hard it would be for mom to see him after years of silence.

My head shakes just once. "I don't think that he would have had a positive impact. There's no hope of a relationship with him." I realize how true those words are when I voice them. My words are sure. Final.

I let go of the arm rests. My hands hurt from the grip I had on them.

Too much of my childhood was spent hoping that I would be enough. I tried to battle the feeling of being unwanted, of feeling left behind. Sure, I know my mom loves me, but that little girl who kept waiting for daddy to show back up is still here.

Resting my elbows on my knees, I lean over in the chair, resting my chin in my open palms.

"If he were here, I wouldn't have been able to heal. I would have been worried about mom. I would have wanted to ask questions that he may not answer." I shake my head. "No. This had to be about me. He's no help on that subject, hasn’t been in over twelve years.”

Therapy has helped me realize that I didn’t need him, and that not having him around didn’t mean that there was an empty space in my life. I would never again look around the room trying to see if for once he made it to a concert even though there was no sending him an invitation. I didn’t mourn the naïve and hopeful child I used to be, but she should have been allowed to exist a little longer.

Dr. Grace brings her elbows up to her desk, resting her chin on her hands. For a second, she just stares at me with an odd twinkle in her eyes.

"I am immensely proud of you for recognizing this. Healing has to be about you. Your focus has to be on you, even when it seems selfish. It's important you remember that with what's ahead." She leans back in her chair. "Now, how is Cheryl handling your decision?" Her mouth quirks a bit as she asks.

My head tilts back and forth in my hands, puffing out my cheeks, while I ponder on her question. I’m sure I look like a silly chipmunk, but she’s used to my fidgeting.

Coming from any other doctor, it might be weird to be on a first name basis with their patient’s mom. But it feels natural for Dr. Grace. As if using her name helps humanize the situation. Anything to feel less clinical.

My mom is my everything. I’ve always been the center of her universe too. Even as time passes, I see the hurt I’ve caused her in the way she watches me when she thinks I’m not looking. I hate causing her stress, but I know that I'm making the right decision.

I inhale deeply before exhaling loudly. "She's not thrilled. She knows how important this is for me and she's supportive even if she wishes I wouldn’t do it.”

Her head nods along like this is to be expected. "Nix, it's not going to be easy. You know that. But I am confident that you can do this. Just use your resources, stay focused on healing. You're still in recovery. It's constant progress."

Dr. Grace usually ends our sessions with the same reminder. I’m a work in progress. Today though, she looks to me for confirmation that I understand her.

Constant progress. Aren’t we all?

I give her a nod full of fake confidence. "I know. I'm determined to keep going. I promise. Sometimes the nerves outweigh that, but I can do this."

I'll need every resource and bit of advice I can get. It's time to go back to Blisshaven.

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