Page 2 of Rectify

“You coming home normal time today?” I wait for her to talk in between mouthfuls, fitting in as much conversation we can before we both run off for the day.

“No, I’m going to go to Emma’s after school today.”

“You guys have a project together?”

“No, I’m going to listen to her whine about her mom and dad’s divorce.”

“That’s nice of you.” I take the last sip of my tea and rinse the cup off in the sink. “But don’t get behind in your school work, okay?”

“I know. I just feel bad for her, and we do have a few group projects that we need to finish.” Holding up the bowl to her mouth, her eyes look over at me before she drinks the leftover milk. “If I don’t make sure she doesn’t fall behind nobody will.”

The next eighteen months is all Dakota has left of school. Just under two years worth of assignments, exams and crazy deadlines she needs to meet in order to graduate, and somehow she still manages to make her friends a priority.

In our house, finishing school has always been non-negotiable, and one of the very few expectations I place on her. It’s not enough to stay there ’til the end, she has to put her all in it.

Amongst all the chaos of falling pregnant with my best friend's baby, school was a constant for us. As parents, we started off hell-bent on not using our baby as an excuse, and my mum made sure we didn’t veer off the plan.

The most supportive parent a broken down, pregnant teenager could ever ask for, my mum made sure Jagger, Dakota’s father stayed in school, while I worked my arse off and graduated via correspondence. I owe the first few years of Dakota’s life to my mother, and even after when Jagger went to jail; she was there, picking me up whenever I wanted to fall.

There’s no way I could’ve set myself up without her. The life I’ve so proudly given Dakota never would’ve happened without my mum.

“Honey, I’m sorry to cut you off, but I have to go,” I say, twisting my wrist so my watch faces up. I quickly check the time anticipating that I’m seconds away from having to leave. “Call me when you get to Emma’s okay. I’m not sure if I have to stay back at work or not, but I’ll speak to your dad and let you know who will pick you up.”

“I can catch the bus home.” Hopping off the stool, she makes her way around the bench and into the kitchen. Placing her empty bowl in the sink, I hear the water running from the tap just as I’m about to remind her to rinse the milk out.

“You know the rule, no public transport after the sun goes down.”

“I’ll be eighteen soon.”

A small huff leaves my mouth. “Dakota, you just turned sixteen.”

“Fine.” She shifts up beside me and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m going to get ready for school, have a good day at work.”

“You too, baby girl. I love you.”

She raises her hand over her head and waves me off as she walks away. “Love you too, Mum.”

* * *

Arriving ten minutes early, I sit in the waiting room of what I hope to be, my new counsellor’s office. It’s not the first time I’ve considered going to see someone, to have an objective set of ears to listen to the things that bother me, but it’s the first time I’ve gotten this far.

I haven’t told anyone that I’ve decided to seek help, purely based on the fact that my relationship with everyone important in my life has deteriorated to the point where it’s almost non-existent. So much has happened, that for the first time ever, I’m at a loss at how to repair it. I need help, and I really hope, here is where I find it.

An older woman with a perfectly styled, grey coloured bob looks up and in my direction. “Mrs. Allman?”

I catch her gaze and give her a tight smile. “It’sMissAllman.”

She picks up a clipboard off her desk and skillfully lays a pen in the middle, careful it doesn’t roll off. “Well, Miss Allman, here are a few questionnaires Dr. Kingsway would like for you to fill out before your appointment. She won’t be too long.”

Rising, I walk to the desk and take the papers off her. The questions range from what’s my medical history to what my goals are for coming to counselling. I fill it all out with as much honesty as I can and wait to be called in.

Fifteen minutes after my original arrival time, I’m walking into Dr. Kingsway’s office and introducing myself to the hippie-looking woman sitting on a purple coloured bean bag.

“Hi,” she greets. Her smile takes up her whole face, and it’s impossible not to reciprocate her friendliness.

“Come, sit down,” she gestures to a matching bag. “Get comfy.”

The room and the counsellor are not at all what I expected. Dr. Kingsway has gone out of her way to make everything seem less clinical and more friendly.

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