Page 93 of The Worst Guy Ever
“Neither did I,” she laughs, pulling her dress over her head. A hollow feeling forms in my chest knowing this is probably the last time I’ll see her naked. It’s all coming out, and there’s no going back.
“I’ve been seeing someone.”
“What the fuck? Then why am I here?”
“No,shit, not a woman. Well yes, a woman, but not like that. A therapist.”
I brace for a scream, some insults about what a useless prick I am, but when I look up Hattie’s standing over me, reaching out a hand. I take it and let her pull me up, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I look right now, half-naked on the floor, my trousers still wrapped around my ankles.
“Why?” she asks quietly when I turn away and get myself back in order. I take a seat on the sofa and rake my hands through my hair.
“Because I’m a mess. I’ve always known it, but I’ve never looked too closely, didn’t want to feel like something inside me was broken. And lately I’ve been feeling… some things I haven’t felt before and I don’t know how to deal with them. So I thought I should speak to someone and work through my shit. That’s why I can’t see you on Tuesdays. I talk to her online in the evening, and then I’m pretty wrung out afterwards.”
“That’s very mature of you.”
“Will you have a drink with me before you go? Let me explain.” She just stares at me, that beautiful mouth twitching like she doesn’t know what to say. “Please?”
“OK.”
In the kitchen I pull two beers from the fridge and flip off their caps. I knew this conversation was coming, knew I’d have to tell her I’ve been working through decades of shit. Knew I’d have to work up to admitting my feelings, telling her I want more, I just didn’t expect it to be tonight.
She takes a seat at the table and I watch her throat roll as she swallows her first sip.
“This is what I imagined we’d do last night. Get naked then have a drink in the garden afterwards,” she says with a frustrated laugh. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were talking to your therapist? I would have understood.”
“I don’t know.” The booze goes down too easily. “I’m embarrassed, I guess. It’s a serious thing. I thought you might laugh. Take your pick.”
“Is it helping?” she asks.
“Yeah, loads. I should have done it years ago.”
Hattie is quiet, and I can’t tell if it’s because she doesn’t know what to say, or if she’s giving me the space to open up. Opening up is something I’ve talked a lot about in my sessions with Paula, even rehearsing what I might say, but being here in the moment, it’s harder than I imagined.
“Remember I told you my dad left before I was born?” I say. Hattie nods, and picks at her thumb. I reach across the table to still her hand but she pulls it away and tucks it underneath her leg. “When she told him she was pregnant he went to the pub and never came back. They’d only been together for a few months but she never heard from him again.”
“What a dick.”
“Yep. My mum is amazing though. She decided to keep me and raise me with my Auntie Sheila. I didn’t think anything of it until secondary school when I started to ask questions. She was honest with me, which I appreciate, but having this therapy has made me realise that finding out at eleven that your dad didn’t want to know you kind of fucks you up a bit.
“I love my mum, and so much of me is like her, but I’ve grown up hating the part of me that comes from him. I hate thinking that her life should have been better somehow, but he robbed her fucking choices out from under her feet. I hate knowing I could turn out like him. My worst nightmare is knowing I could do to someone what he did to her. So I don’t let myself get close, I don’t let people get attached.
“Unfortunately, I also really like sex, but I’m starting to realise that, despite my best efforts to avoid being like him, I’m actually doing exactly what he did. Avoiding relationships, commitment, avoiding happiness.”
“For what it’s worth,” Hattie says, “I think your mum did an amazing job with you. And she seems really great.”
“She doesn’t talk about him much, but I don’t think she ever got over it. I sometimes wonder if she’s half hoping he’ll come back. So that’s why I don’t date. I can’t bear the idea of breaking someone’s heart. I never met anyone who made me even want to consider changing my mind until you.”
Hattie brings her knees to her chest, and her shoulders roll inwards.
“I was seven when my dad left. My sister was four so she doesn’t really remember him, but I do. And the thing that hurts the most is that they are good memories. We had a good life, I absolutely loved the guy. He was my hero.”
“What happened?” I ask. “Is it OK to ask?”
“He was a long distance lorry driver. On the nights he wasn’t with us he was with someone else and he started a new family. He just stopped coming home. My mum told me he was away for a really long driving job but eventually I overheard her crying to a neighbour about it. He didn’t even say goodbye to me. Never sent me a birthday card or a present at Christmas. Never tried to contact me again.”
“Fuck, that’s awful. Come here, sweetheart.” I reach out, and she lets me pull her into my lap.
“Mum was a wreck. She had two kids, only a part time job, no family around to support her. She was never the same again after him. I have all these nice memories of her from before, but afterwards she was just exhausted doing everything alone.
