Page 60 of The Last Session

I got unsteadily to my feet. My left foot tingled; it had fallen asleep, but I hadn’t even noticed. Dawne, Ramit, Mikki, and I exited the tent into the blinding sun. Something tugged at me—this felt familiar, what I’d just witnessed. But from where?

We walked silently towards the veranda. I waited for someone to speak. But all four of us were, for once, at a loss for words.

26

“What did we just watch?” Mikki asked. The four of us were on the veranda, where someone had laid out a sweating pitcher and stack of glasses. She sat stiffly in her chair, sucking on her vape pen. “What the hell was that?”

In that moment, the answer came to me.

“Constellation therapy.” I leaned forward. “We saw a video in my art therapy class.”

“That’s a sanctioned type oftherapy?” Mikki asked.

“Yes. Well, usually you include more people and you assign them all roles from your life—family members, partners, or whatever. It’s a way to process things without the actual people present.” Karen’s session had been intense and even a little frightening to watch, but the fact that I could put a name to it felt calming.

“But what’s the point, if it’s not really them?” Mikki asked.

“From what I understand, it’s cathartic to speak your truth and be heard and validated by a group. Though some people believe you’re actually channeling the energy of your family members, even if they’re not there.” I thought of Jonah’s posture changing. “Of course, that’s a little woo-woo.”

“I think it’s amazing.” Dawne swirled her cucumber water. “There was a huge shift for Karen just now. I could feel it. It was magic.”

“Magic?” Mikki scoffed. “Sol’s just a great performer.”

Dawne slammed down her glass. “Can you please stop? I’m so sick of you shitting on everything. God.” She closed her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re my accountability partner.”

“I’m just stating my personal opinions.” Mikki raised her hands. “You don’t have to agree with them.”

“Whatever.” Dawne marched off towards the bathrooms.

“And all that talk about patterns,” Mikki went on, as if nothing had happened. “Is that a real thing?”

“Well, yeah.” I straightened. “It’s called repetition compulsion. People tend to get drawn into relationships that match their childhood dynamics until they resolve them. Although some people never do.”

“Hmm.” Mikki picked at her nails. She looked at Ramit, who was sitting silently a few chairs down. “What do you think about all this, Ramit?”

He jumped, then looked over at us. “Uh… I don’t know.”

“Are you ready to take the stage?” Mikki looked afraid. She knew that she—all of us—would soon be put in the same position as Karen. “Give everyone a great show?”

“Well…” He adjusted his Ray-Bans. “I don’t think it’s a show. Not exactly. Whatever happened with Karen… I think it helped her?”

Mikki pressed her mouth shut.

“Listen.” I touched her arm. “It’s just us. None of us know each other. And after this weekend is over… we’ll probably never see each other again.”

She smiled wanly. “Let’s hope not.”

I felt pleased to have calmed her, but was still surprised when, back in the yoga pavilion for session two, she raised her hand as the next volunteer.

I’d been wondering when I’d be able to check in with Jonah. He had to have been acting—but how had he guessed those things about Karen’s father?

“Great.” Moon got to her feet. “Mikki, come on up.”

I snapped back to attention as Mikki walked to the front.

Moon appeared to be in charge this time, and had shed her caftan to show a black crop top and yoga pants. The spiral symbol peeked out of her strap.

“We’re going to do something different,” Moon said. “I can tell that all this…” She waved her hand around. “It’s not really your scene.”

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