Page 77 of Rectify

Dakota hobbles through the building door, her dad trailing behind her. “Can you take it easy, please,” he admonishes. “You’re still not one hundred percent healed.”

We haven’t been on the same wavelength since what happened at the hospital, and it’s started to wear on to Dakota.

Emerson has reached out. Taylah and Hendrix too. This is the biggest schism our family has felt since Jagger went to jail. And that was a fucking long time ago.

Running out of ideas, I suggested Claire. She confirmed she didn’t specialise in family counselling but she was happy to provide us with some start up strategies that we can hopefully put into practice on our own

We sit in the waiting room, like I have so many times before, and I try to prep them up on what it’s like. Neither of them is paying the slightest bit attention to me or what I have to say.

“But, I don’t really know why I needed to come,” Dakota whines. “You guys are the ones that can’t stop fighting.”

I look at her pointedly. “I don't care how much we fight, you don't get to have an attitude because of it.”

“I don’t have an attitude,” she pouts.

Thankfully, Claire comes out and saves me from the eighth circle of hell, while Jagger begrudgingly follows.

Jagger and Dakota’s facial expressions are downright laughable when they notice the colouring books and beanbags.

Once we all take our seats, Claire hands us all a piece of paper, Jagger side eyes me and I take a ridiculous amount of pleasure in his discomfort. It's petty, but I take it as a win.

“So, Sasha comes here once a week,” Claire announces. Dakota looks at me questionably, a little flicker of hurt crossing her face.

Claire must notice it too. “Dakota, why do you look surprised your mum comes here?”

“I didn't know something was wrong.” She turns from Claire to me. “Why didn't you tell me something was wrong?”

“There's nothing wrong.” It’s a half-truth. “I just had a few things I wanted to talk about, and I wanted an objective opinion.”

“You mean like from someone that doesn’t know you?” she clarifies.

“Exactly.”

“Does this happen to be the reason why I’ve caught you crying at different times and in different places all around the house?”

“No, some of that was because of me.” Jagger intercepts. “Sometimes I can be a little self-centred, and forget how much your mum has done and sacrificed forallof us. This was one of those times.”

He’s working his way to an apology. I can feel it, but it won’t make a difference. My issue isn’t just that he gets on his high horse; my issue is how my habit of putting their needs first has almost become an expectation. And that needs to change. I need to be appreciated, not taken advantage of.

“So you were crying because you fought with dad?”

“Among other things,” I add.

“Remember how a couple of weeks ago you said you thought your mum was dating someone?”

“You said that?” I look between the both of them. “What gave me away?”

“You were smiling all the time.”

“I don’t usually?”

“Not like this.” She shifts on the beanbag and gets into a more comfortable position. “You were in your own world. Smiling into space, at blank walls, while you were cooking.”

I find a nearby throw cushion and chuck it at her. “I wasn’t that bad.”

She laughs while trying to dodge it. “You were. So I mentioned it to dad.”

“Turns out you were right,” Jagger confirms.

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