Page 11 of Am I the Only One

The bitter cold bites my cheeks when I walk outside, and I tighten my scarf around my neck as I head to a local coffee joint on foot. A light snow falls, planting icicle kisses on my face as I walk. I’ve always enjoyed the cold winters. It’s as if I’m living among the dead for a moment, all the while knowing rebirth is just a season away. If only human life could be the same. If only we could wipe the slate clean after each year to have our own rebirth, a chance to start over and erase the faults from the months past. I wish my own year would die just as the blooms that lie in their grave beneath the snow I now walk upon.

When I step into the bustling coffee shop, warmth thaws my cheeks, stinging the cold away. The line isn’t that long, and I take my spot, waiting for my turn to order an extra hot hazelnut latte. After I place my order and the barista announces my drink is ready, I look over and spot my therapist sitting by the oversized brick fireplace.

“Mrs. Montgomery, hi,” I say as I approach.

“Hello, Emma,” she responds, looking slightly surprised to see me. “Join me?”

I slide onto the couch next to her and nod to the shopping bags by her feet. “Christmas shopping?”

Looking down at the bags, Mrs. Montgomery smiles, answering, “I wish. I haven’t bought a single thing yet. My old snow boots bit the dust this morning.” She angles her foot out to show me her new designer chocolate-brown boots. “So, I splurged on these.”

I smile. “Nice.” Then I take a sip of my latte.

The past few sessions, Mrs. Montgomery has been focusing on having me talk through the emotions of my parents’ death. The appointments have been intense, so it’s a huge relief when she indulges me in light conversation, asking simply, “So, what have you been up to today?”

With a heavy sigh, I relax into the plush leather couch. “Studying. I had a final yesterday, and my last one is tomorrow morning.”

“How do you feel about yesterday’s exam?”

“Good. I mean, as good as I can considering the semester I’ve had.”

“With all you’ve been through, you’ve held up remarkably well, Emma. I only wish the university could extend you a little more of a grace period. I’m impressed by your determination. Most would’ve just given up on finals if they were in your position.”

I take a moment to digest the complimentary words but find difficulty in accepting them. “I’m probably—subconsciously, at least—taking this opportunity to ignore the reality that none of this really matters anymore.”

“It does matter. Maybe the grades don’t, but it says a lot about your character. You aren’t a woman who gives up. I admire that about you.”

The heat of my cup warms my hands as I mindlessly pick at the cardboard sleeve. “You won’t be admiring much when I’m degreeless and working some dead-end job that will never be enough to pay off all the debt I have, which I’m only digging myself deeper and deeper into because I can’t even make the minimum payments.”

The expression on Mrs. Montgomery’s face transforms to that of ...pity?There’s nothing worse than being felt sorry for, but I see it in her eyes, and I don’t like it.

“It was good running into you outside of your office,” I say as I stand in an attempt to remove myself from her dolent gaze. “But I really need to get going.”

She then grabs her shopping bags. “I should probably get back to work as well. Did you park out back?”

“I walked.”

“You walked?” she gapes in surprise. “It’s freezing outside.”

“I like the cold. Plus, I needed time to clear my head.”

“Let me at least drive you back. I insist.”

Reluctantly, I agree, and we make our way out to the back lot, but before we get two steps out the door, Mrs. Montgomery stops dead in her tracks, causing me to bump into her. There’s a strange expression on her face, so I follow her line of vision, which points to her husband holding a woman in his arms. Mrs. Montgomery looks on with horror as her husband embraces the girl, who looks to be around my age with vibrant long red hair.

The embrace doesn’t last long before he pulls back and brushes his lips across the girl’s cheek in a sweeping kiss before he opens the passenger door to the SUV and helps her inside.

To say this situation is uncomfortable would be a drastic understatement. Mrs. Montgomery is speechless as she stands next to me, both of us witness to her husband’s betrayal. And now it’s me who has pity in my eyes as I look at her.

“Men are assholes,” I whisper, more to myself than to her, but Mrs. Montgomery hears and responds, “It’s probably nothing.”

The saddened disgust splayed across her face tells me she doesn’t believe her own words. That she knows damn well that it isn’tprobably nothing.

“Are you okay?”

“Let’s get you back to your place,” she deflects as she watches the SUV disappear when it turns the corner.

The drive back to my dorm is filled with uncomfortable silence. She’s trying her best to appear unaffected and poised, but her façade is terrible. I can see right through it and straight to her mortification.

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