Page 6 of Fresh Canvas
Running the rest of the way while dodging sheets of ice, I flung open the frosted glass door to Thatcher and Brown Therapy. I tried to ignore my twisting anxiety as I panted my apologies to the receptionist for being late. Plopping into a chair, I unwound my scarf and stuffed it unceremoniously into my bag.
“Samantha?” A woman poked her head through the door. “Your therapist will see you now.”
While it felt like the universe was out to get me, I smiled at her anyway. It wasn’t the receptionist’s fault I had a weird name.
Trailing the woman down the hallway, I felt like I was walking onto a stage, buck-naked. Vulnerability wasn’t my strong suit—it felt more like my birthday suit.
Even though I’d been seeing Linda Brown since Ryan ruined my life two months ago, I still dreaded these weekly sessions. Ironic, since I willingly subjected myself to the torture and paid the co-payment. How much of a masochist was I?
Regardless, my life was hanging by a thread, and it was starting to fray.
“Come in, Amantha. It’s good to see you!”
Today, Linda’s billowing pants were patterned with maroon paisley, and her loose, cream button-up contrasted beautifully with her ebony skin. Streaks of gray peppered her black hair.
“Thank you. Sorry I’m late,” I mumbled and plopped down on the comfortable couch. “I couldn’t find parking nearby, so I had quite a walk.”
“It’s alright. How are you today?”
Ah, the niceties. The calm before the storm. The pleasantries before the proverbial full-body cavity search.
I found it funny that I always responded with “Fine” or “Great,” before proving why I was, in fact, neither of those things.
“I’m great.”
“That’s good to hear. So, let’s check in with you. How are you handling everything?”
I blew out a long breath, not knowing where to start. Notwantingto start. Everything felt easier to ignore. After all, grief and loss didn’t sting as badly if they were left alone in their hive. Poking the wasp nest seemed like averystupid idea.
“I know these last few months have been hard for you,” Linda said.
Understatement.
I would have rolled my eyes if they hadn’t been smarting with tears. I bit down on my lip, swallowing the sob threatening to ruin my composure. The last few months had been a train wreck.Ihad been a train wreck. The divorce was nowhere near settled, though it seemed likeVanessahad settled—into Ryan’s city apartment.
“It’s alright if you’d rather not discuss it today,” Linda said. “Let’s start with a different question. Amantha, who are you?”
My brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Who are you?”
“Um…”
It’s not like we haven’t met before, Linda.
“I’m a mother? A daughter? A wife?” I winced. “Wasa wife.”
“Those only speak of your relations to others. Dig deeper. Who areyou, Amantha?”
Panic sped my pulse. Surely I should know this answer. I racked my brain for any semblance of the woman I once was. Nothing seemed to fit anymore—like half the jeans in my closet.
“I don’t know.” My throat tightened. “I’m not sure.”
Sympathy settled in the lines framing Linda’s hazel eyes. “Have you lost yourself?”
A lump continued to swell in my throat. Where had I gone?
“Yes,” I whispered, ashamed and embarrassed all over again. How much had Ryan taken from me? How much had I willingly given?
