Page 7 of The Bonds We Break
RAE
There’s a sliver of sunshine slashing across the last of my vegetable beds. Two proud stalks of brussels sprouts and some red onions I planted so late that I’m going to overwinter them . I want to be out there, doing something, even though December is only a few days away.
Instead, I focus on my laptop screen, where my latest client is looking at me expectantly. “You can’t make Miles show up for therapy if he isn’t ready, Daisy. All you can do is work on yourself. We can help you get back some of the confidence you’ve lost and help you find some of the faith you had in your own decisions. Once you are on stable ground, you’ll be much better positioned to then have the conversations you need to have with Miles.”
“What if he decides he doesn’t want therapy?”
“I usually subscribe to the theory that we don’t want to borrow trouble. Who knows where Miles’s head will be by the time you’re ready to talk to him? But I’ll say this: once you are ready to clearly articulate what it is you need out of your relationship, you’ll know whether his attending therapy is a deal-breaker foryou. Sometimes the work we do on ourselves makes us realize how we can make our relationships better. Sometimes it’s enough to spark the change we need in our partners. And if it’s not, you’ll need to decide whether you want to accept his refusal or not. But given this is our first session together, let’s make sure we stay focused on you.”
Daisy nods and bites her lip. She cold-called me through my website three days ago, fearful her three-year marriage was already on the outs.
I didn’t really have the time in my calendar to speak with her, but after living in a home with an abusive father, I know sometimes answering the call of those who reach out for help is the difference between life and death.
“Okay, that makes sense. I’ll do the exercises you suggested and will be here, same time, next week.”
“Great. Take care of yourself between now and then.”
I disconnect the call after a few more words of goodbye and lean back in my chair. I prefer seeing people in the small office I rent, but people are more and more wanting to have sessions online. I’m too young to be old-fashioned, but I seem to be in the minority of people when I say that meeting in person allows me to be more effective. There’s something about all the filters on videos that makes it hard to read the nuances of body language. Especially when people are using filters to smooth their foreheads so I can’t see their wrinkles of concern.
Yet I still love the freedom that comes with having my own private practice.
Unable to resist the pull of the earth, I stand and walk through my home to the yard. In summer, it’s a riot of flowers. Now all the color is in the leaves and berries. There’s a crispness to the air. The raspberries are neatly pruned and caned, the strawberries are dormant, and the beds that grew summer corn are back to soil. I run my hand over the leaves of the sprouts, making sure there are no mites clustering, even though it’s unlikely in such cold weather.
I’ve made an uneasy peace with this time of year, when all the plants go back inside themselves for winter. Intellectually, I get it. By returning to the darkness of the earth, they build strong root systems and can grow more effectively come spring. But every time, I miss the joy of spring, the first shoots, the early buds, eating what I’ve grown, creating my own compost.
Gardens are the greatest analogy for life. Like, do we ever question why strawberries won’t flourish in dark spaces? No. We just assume we put them in a spot they couldn’t thrive. How many times do humans do the same thing? Trying to flourish in relationships and in jobs that aren’t the right environment for them.
I turn my face to the watery sun. It’s barely warm, but it’s enough to give me the dopamine hit I need before I go back inside to do some Christmas shopping.
Just as I reach the door, my phone rings, and I slip it from my back pocket.
“Ike,” I say after I accept the video call and my brother’s face fills the screen. He looks rested. The bruises from his chest are gone.
“Raester,” he says with a grin. It’s the easy one he always had as a child. It’s a relief to see it after all the years of watching him wither away as an ATF agent. Do I love the idea that he blew up his job to join a motorcycle club? Not really.
But I think back to those strawberries planted in the dark. His whole life, Ryker has been in the wrong location. He signed up for the army to get me out of our abusive home. He joined the ATF because he felt like he was meant to. And he didn’t thrive there either.
Now he has Rose—he refers to her by her nickname, Briar—and a way back to his club, and I’m so freaking happy for the two of them.
“Urgh. It looks so sunny and warm there,” I grumble.
Ryker laughs. “I won’t tell you how I was just sleeping on the hammock with Briar then.”
“Please don’t.”
“You doing okay?” he asks.
“I’m good. You?”
It’s rare to see Ryker’s smile grace his eyes, but it does today. “I’ve been thinking, I’m going to try to consolidate all my stuff. Property, line of credit, etcetera. While I appreciate you going in with Briar and Spark and Iris and Cillian, I don’t want you spending your money on me.”
I’m glad to see him out of the ATF. And while I don’t know if the devil he’s gone to is better than the devil he left, at least it’s a chosen home that suits him—even if I had to remortgage my house to make it happen. “You seem to forget that you gave me the money to buy this place. You gave me the down payment. You helped me renovate. Any value in this house is due to your investment in it. And the amount I remortgaged for was nowhere near its actual value. Call it repayment of a loan.”
“That was never the deal, Rae-Rae.” He raises an eyebrow, which usually means he’s about to argue with me. He calls me a million different version of Rae. Raester. Rae-Rae, Hoo-Rae. I call him Ike.
“I don’t care whatyouthink the deal was. To me, it was always a loan. And this was the right time to pay it back. I’m glad it helped you out. But you try to pay me back, and I might have to throat punch you when I see you next.”
Rose appears next to Ryker. “Hey, Rae,” she says. Her blonde hair is up in a messy bun. They’re a matched pair and so good for each other. My brother needed something that was his. And I know, as a therapist, I should consider my choice of words, but I think Rose is happybeinghis. Not necessarily in a sub and Dom dynamic—although I don’t need to know my brother’s sexual proclivities—just in that give and take of needs met and answered.
