Page 21 of The Last Session

“What did you draw and paint?”

I smiled at her questions. “Mostly people. Portraits, nudes. It was fun, but… I couldn’t really make a living at it.” Catherine wouldn’t be able to relate—her family was loaded. “I went into arts nonprofits, and then the art stuff just kind of dropped off.”

She nodded, picking up a blue crayon that had rolled out of the box. “I get that. Wanting to make art but people not appreciating it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I was an actress.” Her hand went to her chest, as if to play with a necklace that wasn’t there. It dropped again. “When I was younger. But I was typecast.”

“How so?” I had to play it cool, though my chest tightened with excitement. I was literally sitting across from Catherine O’Brien, talking about her acting career.

“Oh, they had me playing these kind of sexy roles from a young age. And then when I actually grew up, I guess everyone found me too old?” Her lips pressed together. “It’s a brutal industry.”

“Sounds like it,” I said.

She stared at me, her gaze calculating. “I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but… do you know who I am?”

I nodded, feeling a small rush of relief. “I do.”

“You recognized me?”

“Well, not at first. When you came in, you looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out how I knew you. And then I just happened to talk aboutStargirlwith Amani and…” I stopped. Lydia’s words came back to me:Maybe you blew up her spot.

“So you figured it out.” Catherine nodded.

“Yeah. I mean, I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner. I watched that movie so many times.” Suddenly, I wanted,needed, Catherine to know my connection to it. “I think it helped me because I was going through something similar in my own life. You know how Thuya was connected to the pharaoh and the guard? Well, I was going through this weird thing with my pastor and religious studies teacher. And there was also this guy my age, Adam, that I…” My mouth snapped shut. What the fuck was I doing? Even if Catherine was a famous actress, she was also a patient. Not someone I should be spilling to about my trauma.

But Catherine just nodded, casually, like she’d been expecting to hear this. “That totally makes sense. Can I tell you something kind of strange?”

“Of course.”

“I think we’re connected.” She held my eyes, as if expecting me to agree.

“In what way?” I was connected to her, certainly, but why would she feel connected to me?

“Our birthdays… You’re October 24, right?”

After a moment, I nodded.

“We look alike. I met you here randomly.” Her hands were folded on the table, almost professional.

“So what are you saying? We’re long-lost twins?” That had been my fantasy. But I’d always known it wasn’t real.

She considered. “Do you think that’s a possibility?”

“No way.” I barked out a laugh. “I look just like my parents. Who would not have given away their child. And also—I was born in upstate New York. You were born in California, right? It’s just not possible.”

She tapped a finger against her lips. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“Um…” I blanked. How to describe the cloud of confusion that had replaced my once-fervent Christian faith? It was something I’d managed to successfully avoid for many years. Since eighth grade, really. I wish I’d been able to slide neatly into atheism, the other end of the confident belief scale. But that had never felt quite right to me either. How did atheistsknow? Or Christians? How could anyone know?

“Your parents are Buddhists,” I said finally. “Right?”

She looked down, like I’d given the wrong answer. But then she glanced up and her stare again felt physical, like tiny hands pulling me towards her.

“Don’t you feel like we’ve met before?” she asked.

“You’re saying we met in a past life or something?” I tried to follow the thread, but it was starting to dawn on me: Maybe this was a delusion breaking through her assured, sparkly surface. Maybe she really did need to be institutionalized. She opened her mouth to respond, but then the door creaked opened and we both turned.

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