Page 4 of On My Side
I put everything into transforming Port Haven Inn into SandPiper Inn, expanding it and creating space for events. Aunt Olivia would have loved the inn in its current state. Her fingerprints are everywhere.
“Piper Elise, don’t forget to wear your helmet!” I know my daughter, and I know she has sensory issues with the chin strap that she’s learned to cope with. I know even better she’ll try to get away with not wearing a helmet on days she styles her hair.
“Mo-om!” she whines from the entryway.
“Pi-per!” I whine back. “It won’t matter how good your hair looks if your skull gets crushed in!”
She grumbles, but I still hear the quiet snap of the chin strap’s buckle.
“I love you!”
“You’re so annoying!” my beloved daughter responds.
“I know, birdie. Don’t forget to text me when you get to school.”
She continues to grumble under her breath, and honestly? I don’t care. I’m simply grateful she knows she’s safe enough to be unhappy. That she’s safe to grumble and stim and complain and be a teenager.
“I love you!” I call, knowing she won’t respond.
She doesn’t, and the screen door closes with a slam behind her. I smile softly and lift my mug to my lips. Piper loves me, but shows it in her own way, like agreeing to wear her helmet and putting her bowl in the dishwasher instead of the sink.
When I finish my coffee, my mug joins Piper’s bowl in the dishwasher, and I hop in the shower to get ready for the day. An hour later, I’m wearing my favorite khaki linen pants and a kelly green mock neck sleeveless top with flats. I put on the heart necklace Piper saved her babysitting money to get me for my birthday last year and a pair of Aunt Olivia’s earrings. I pull my hair back with a claw clip and quickly apply concealer, blush, lipstick, and mascara to complete the look. On the days I don’t do my makeup, a local elderly couple always stops in and the man willalwaysmake a comment about how tired I look. I’m never in the mood for that. A win for the patriarchy, I guess.
Before work is my weekly therapy session with Eva. Eva’s an older white woman with gray hair and brown sparkling eyes that get me to spill every secret. Tuesdays are the best days for my mental health: new 4Play dropsandtherapy.
“Good morning, Audrey,” Eva greets when the video call connects. “How are you?”
“Great!” I say way too quickly. Dammit.
Eva raises a brow. “Not good, huh? What’s going on?”
I shrug. “Life. Existence. Parenthood.”
“Ah, the big three.” She smiles softly at me. “How are you coping with the heavy weight of life, existence, and parenthood?”
Lying to her is useless. Eva’s been seeing me since I was a severely depressed teenager with a screaming three-month-old in the waiting room. I still remember our first session so clearly; I tried to convince her, and myself, I didn’t need to be there, that I wasn’t depressed and that I was taking care of myself and Piper just fine.
I wasn’t. I’d been getting two hours of sleep and passive suicidal thoughts were constantly in my brain. She saw through me, and sat quietly while I insisted I was fine until I finally broke down into heaving sobs. I admitted for the first time how hard it was, how afraid of my feelings I was, how I loved Piper but I felt like I loved her the way my parents “loved” me, and the idea of continuing that cycle devastated me.
“Sleeping a lot,” I admit to Eva, who nods understandingly. “But I’m still making it to work and taking care of Piper.”
“How are you taking care of yourself?” she asks, and I grimace.
“I don’t know that I am,” I admit.
“That makes sense. You’re giving so much to others that there’s not anything left for yourself. How do you think it will hurt you, Audrey? How will it hurt Piper?”
Damn this woman. She pulled out the big guns by mentioning Piper, and she knows it.
“Try to take some time to focus on yourself. Why don’t you go out with your friends?” Eva asks innocently, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“You know I don’t have friends.” I haven’t had friends since B.P.—before Piper.
“Why don’t you make friends?” I stifle a groan. I do like people, which makes running the inn a good career choice. But the people I interact with are either my employees or my guests. I love my employees, but the idea of hanging out with them outside of work and work events feels like crossing a line.
“I mean, I really don’t want to make friends with people in Port Haven,” I say, realizing how true this is. “It’s too small, and most people my age…well. They’ve already made their decision about me.”
“Sounds like a conundrum,” Eva says, tapping her pen against her chin. “Let’s circle back to that and we’ll brainstorm ideas. Besides sleeping, how else is your depression manifesting?”
