Page 107 of Broken Dream
“All right,” I say finally. “What do you need to know?”
“I’d like to understand how you’ve coped. Particularly on the more difficult days.”
I contemplate her words, mulling over the ways grief has become a part of my everyday life. “Some days are harder than others,” I admit.
Though the last few days have been less difficult.
Because of Angie.
But I can’t say that.
But damn… That day after the meeting with Louisa and Gita, when I felt hope.
I was almost happy that day.
Until the powers that be decided I might not be mentally fit for the surgery.
Dr. Steel simply nods, patiently waiting for me to continue.
“I sleep less on those days,” I say. “I tend to throw myself into work or research. I find it easier to cope when my mind is occupied.”
“And when you’re not working?”
“It varies,” I respond honestly. “Sometimes it’s just…quiet reflection.”
Or more accurately lately…fucking her niece.
But nope. Can’t say that.
“And what about your support system, Dr. Lansing?” she asks. “Family, friends?”
Right.
No family to speak of.
And any friendships Lindsay and I had have dried up. My own fault. I just didn’t want to deal with the questions, the pitying looks.
“I have colleagues,” I reply.
She presses her lips together. “Colleagues can be a form of support too, but it’s not quite the same as having a close friendship. Do you have anyone you trust, someone you can confide in when things get tough?”
The question hangs heavily between us, an unwanted reminder of the isolation I’ve found myself in these past years.
Except…now I have Angie. Sort of. But a couple of good fucks isn’t a support system.
Shit. For a second I actually understand why the board is insisting on this.
Then it fades.
“Dr. Lansing?” Dr. Steel prompts.
“No,” I admit, a bitter taste in my mouth. “There isn’t anyone.”
She is silent a moment, her pen tapping lightly against the notepad in her lap. “What about hobbies? Anything that brings you joy or at least some form of distraction?”
“I run. Go to the gym.”
“Alone?”
