The flight home went fine, considering. Considering I was in coach and not first class, and considering that I was deathly afraid of the air craft falling out of the sky and considering I had taken a pill that a celebrity gave to me and said it would ‘calm me’.  I was calm, alright --passed out for damn near all of the flight.  Whatever he gave me, I wanted one of those every time I had to fly.

At baggage claim, I yawned and tried to wake up, because I still had to drive home.  I was tired, but calm. Not shaking, not nervous, not nearly the wreck I normally was. I spotted my suitcase coming around, and easily stepped forward and picked it up off of the belt. ‘See. You’re perfectly capable,’ I told myself, making my way toward my car parked in the lot.

It was good to be home. LA was awesome. Wonderful, even. I loved it, but I also loved home and it was good to be back. I waited in the line to pay for my parking and reached over to my bag to turn on my Blackberry. Messages and voicemail started to roll in and I scrolled the list quickly. A text message from JC: ‘you home yet? Let me know you got there without jumping out of a window’. He was so funny. I returned his text with a simple: ‘Safe and sound, no problem’.  I would answer the rest of the messages and email when I got home. I paid for my parking and drove through the dark toward my normal, regular, not gigantic house, but a place I sure loved to call home.

The house I lived in was a complete surprise find and I was very proud of it. The economic downturn hit hard, and Atlanta was no exception. At one point, we were leading the nation in foreclosures. I fell in love with the three-story home on a spacious, wooded lot the second I saw it.  I felt a bit guilty, like I was stealing someone’s home out from beneath them, but I was buying the home from the bank, and was assured that the family that owned it previously had moved on. One look at the brick front, those gleaming wood floors, large bay windows and bright, open kitchen and I had to have it. My heart leapt as I turned the corner onto the cul-de-sac and my garage door slid open.

After unpacking and running a load of laundry, I ran a hot bath, adding one of the fragrant bath bombs that my sister in law had given me for my birthday. They made the water soft and soothing and provided a lovely scent. I sank into the almost scalding hot water and sighed, resting my head against a pillow, sipping a glass of wine.

What a weekend. I mean, really. I couldn’t have asked for a better time, and it would have been unrealistic for me to wish for what had happened to actually happen. I worried about myself, though. It was too easy to get caught up in his world, his life, the fairy tale he spun. There wasn't any way I could measure up to the kind of women he had to be used to being with, and I wasn't really in the mood to try.

I felt my cheek and neck where stubble had rubbed a little raw red patch. I remembered his touch on my skin and shuddered. No matter what he said, he had to have a routine. A game. A line that he used with women he thought would respond. I felt like a sucker, because I fell for it. All of it. I had no idea if it was real. If I would even hear from him again, ever. I set my empty wine glass on the edge of the tub and pulled the plug with my toe, letting the water escape down the drain, then stood and wrapped myself in a towel and padded through the closet to my bedroom.

I toweled off, tossing the towel into the closet hamper and, picking up my favorite bottle of lotion, sat at the lighted vanity and began to apply the lotion to my feet, and working my way up my body. I stared at my own bed, small in comparison to his, and tried not to remember the night before. Rolling around with him, laughing, talking, playing. Spreading out, and in the middle of the night being pulled closer to him, his breath in my hair, his arms wrapped around my body. I tried not to remember—or miss—how comfortable that felt.

I slipped on a long t-shirt to sleep in, set the alarm and flipped off the lamp next to the bed. The TV was on, just for background sound, and a little light. The flickering images reflected up onto the ceiling, bringing back memories of the first night we were together, in the eerie glow of the TV, discovering each other.

‘Stop it,’ I screamed, inside my head. ‘Just stop it. Don’t romanticize him. Don’t make what happened part of some love story. It was what it was, and you’ll be lucky to hear from him twice before he forgets your name. Don’t do this.’ 

Frustrated, I flipped to my side, turned off the TV and drifted to sleep.

The next few days were busy, but monotonous. The same old work, for the same old clients, answering the same old questions, over and over and over again. Having the same old conflicts between Development and Client services. I didn’t expect any communication from Qwest, and they didn’t let me down. We heard nothing.

I hadn’t had the chance to see Melissa or Jen or any of my friends, or even my parents since I’d come back. I’d talked to them, and they all thought it was odd that I hadn’t checked in over the weekend, asked any questions, done any gushing about LA. I tried to stay calm and casual while I talked about it, leaving out all the really important parts, which was hard because I had pretty much spent my weekend with JC. I had dinner with them—Jen, Melissa, a few other friends—that Friday night, and I brought the trinkets I had bought on the Santa Monica Pier.

Melissa’s living room was sunken, a soft, comfortable place to rest after stuffing yourself with dinner. After everyone else had left, I claimed my usual spot, kicked off my shoes, uncapped a beer and relaxed. She sat a few seats away from me, the TV on but the volume low, some concert on Logo that she’d made a huge deal about not wanting to miss, but wasn’t even watching.

“What’s his name?” I heard, as I stared at the musician writhing on the screen, the guitar a mere extension of his body. My head slowly turned toward her, my forehead creased with my frown.

“What?” I asked.

She lifted the bottle of beer to her lips and tipped it up, swallowing before she answered. “You heard me. You’ve had sex. I can tell. What’s his name?”

My eyes floated to the ceiling, then over to her, then back to the TV. She had to be joking. “You can tell no such thing.”

“Oh, but I can, my dear. I have a sixth sense about these things. Don’t bullshit me. I can see it in your face. His name. Out with it.”

“There’s no name, Melissa,” I said quietly, wondering how long I could keep up the charade.

“You don’t know his name? Because there is definitely a man. You smell like him.”

My mouth dropped open. “I smell like him? I could smell like anyone. I work with men.”

She tapped her chin, thinking. “Nope, it’s different. You smell like him. Different.” She sniffed twice. “Spicy. Pumpkin, or something.”

Oh, shit. I had laundered the shirt I was wearing. There was no way I still smelled like him.  I remembered, then, that I had worn the same jeans over the weekend, and I hadn’t washed those. How I had missed a residual scent was beyond me. Then again, among Melissa’s super powers was the sense of smell. She could smell things no one else could—like the obscure mix of spicy cologne and pumpkin scented shampoo that a certain handsome gentleman used.

I was too quiet. Her grin went from curious to smug and she rested her chin in her hand, her elbow propped up on the armrest of her chair. One eyebrow rose, as if to ask, “So?”

There was no way I was getting out of that house without telling her. I was caught. “You can’t say anything. To anyone. Ever. EVER.”

“Okay.”

I held my hand out to her, pinky up. “Pinky swear.” She rolled her eyes and held her hand out, linked her pinky with mine and shook it.

“Spill already.”

I tipped my head back, bumped it against the couch cushion. My words rushed out in a jumble—I wasn’t even sure what I was going to say until I had said it.

“So, I met someone. And he’s awesome. So… awesome.”

She blinked. “Okay. And I can’t say anything because…”

“Because he’s a celebrity.” I expected a lot of questions, hoped for a lot of questions, because it would be easier to answer questions than tell the story.

She didn’t ask them. I rolled my head over and glanced at her. She shrugged, blinked, looked bored. “Oh?”

“And. I don’t know what else to say.  I had a good time, though.” A slow smile turned into a wide grin, which turned into a bout of nervous giggles.

“Obviously,” she said, dropping her hand. “So…details. Who is he?”

“Oh, I don’t want to say. He’s wonderful, though. I might never hear from him again, but I had a great time. I met him on the plane, I freaked out, as only you know I can.” I glanced at Melissa, her blond hair spilling over her arms as she laid her head down, laughing.

“Yeah, poor him,” I said, laughing with her.

Melissa’s head rose, her face red from laughter. “And so, what, he felt sorry for you?”

 “I guess. We talked a little, on the plane. I flirted a little. A lot.  He held my hand when I got scared. When we got off the plane, after I had embarrassed myself twice, he asked if I wanted to meet him for a drink later. I said yes, he called me at the hotel, suggested dinner first, and it went from there. He was really very nice to me.”

Mellissa looked confused. She scratched her head, flipped her hair back, twisted her mouth in thought. “And so how do you go from drinks to dinner and drinks to sleeping with him?  And you DID use the condoms I packed, right?”

I brushed my hair out of my face and glared at her. “Yes, I used the condoms you packed. Well, we went out Friday, and then he asked if I wanted a tour of some fun places in LA. So he took me to lunch Saturday. We had a great day, we talked, had fun. Came back to my hotel room, ordered dinner from the restaurant and uhm…” I blushed. “And then we met up Sunday night. And again Monday, after the meeting with Qwest. You know, to celebrate. He took me to the airport Tuesday.”

Her eyes fluttered as she blinked rapidly, then a knowing smile crossed her face as she realized I had been with him at his home. “Well. So you had a good weekend, then.”

“I had a great weekend. I had a fantastic weekend. But really,” I said, sitting up, jabbing a finger at her. “You can’t tell anyone. You and Jen have the biggest mouths, ever. This can’t get around.”

“I promise, I promise, I won’t say a word. But. What now? Do you think you’ll see him again? Because seriously, Serena-- you look really happy.”

“I don’t know, Mel. Before I left, he said he wanted to see me again. But he could have been blowing smoke up my ass, you know? I could totally fall for him. And he could totally hurt me. I can't go through that again. So, I’m just… I’ll just take my time and enjoy him when I can see him and miss him when I can’t.”

Her head bobbed slowly. “I guess that’s the best way to look at it. One day at a time. Have you heard from him since you’ve been home?”

“A text here and there. Nothing deep. No phone calls but he’s been pretty busy this week, I guess. I mean, not making excuses for him, just…” My voice trailed off. I was making excuses. If he wanted to talk to me, he’d certainly find the time. I wasn’t going to do that with him. Make excuses.  Melissa saw it too, but pursed her lips and averted her eyes. 

The screen caught our attention for a few minutes—the concert was nearly over and now she decided she would watch it. At the commercial break, she turned to face me, a devilish smile on her lips.

“So, you aren’t telling me anything else I have to swear to my soul?” She winked.

I burst into laughter. I should have been expecting that question but I wasn’t.  “Nope," I said, hiding my smile behind the bottle I held.

“Oh, come on, you can tell me. I don’t know who he is. I mean… I’m just…should I pack Magnums next time, or do I need to uhm… rotate down a size?”

I tried hard to keep the smile from my lips. I sniffed, stared at the TV as the concert ended, then suddenly blurted out, with a nod, “You might pack a couple of Magnums next time.”

Melissa squealed and jumped over the armrest onto the cushion next to me. “Seriously? Like the ones I packed are way too small, or…?”

“You’re pretty nosy for a lesbian,” I said, draining my bottle of beer.  "They were fine, in a pinch. They saved my ass, actually. He forgot to bring any, the first time. But uhm." I blushed madly. I couldn't even look at her. "HIS fit better.”

She clapped and bounced on the seat, giddy. “I’m just so excited for you. So, then. You know… he was… good?”

I wasn’t going to get out of saying something. Melissa was like a pit bull when she grabbed hold of something. Truthfully, I was bursting at the seams to tell her all about him, about the weekend – I just didn’t want to read about myself on the cover of a magazine.

He was….” I let my eyes roll to the back of my head and wilted against the seat. She giggled like a teenager talking about sex for the first time. “The best I’ve ever had. The best.” I shivered, remembering.

“That good?” One eyebrow shot up.

“That good,” I said quietly. “At everything. Before, during, after, too. We had great talks about… random stuff. I told him about Regina.”

Melissa sobered, then. I knew that would be a surprise. Few people actually knew about her, and she wasn’t someone I talked about with just anyone. She leaned against the couch and crossed her arms.  “Really. This guy must be somethin’ else.”

“He is. He is…” I drew in a shaky breath, and let it out. “Somethin’ else. He’s also adopted. And I’ve always wanted to ask him about that. I’m glad I got the chance to. In fact, our situations are almost identical except he was five when he was adopted, and his birth mom is… not Regina. She turned him over to good folks that she knew, and they raised him. They have a good relationship and she’s turned her life around. Something… something about knowing that’s possible…it just frustrates me. Regina isn’t ever going to be what I want her to be.”

Melissa sighed heavily, scooting closer to me. “Serena,” she said, a sarcastic chuckle escaping her. “Did it ever occur to you that you’re never going be what Regina wanted either?” Her green eyes met my glassy gaze, near tears, as she challenged me.

“Look, the whole situation was fucked up. She won’t ever be the mother she should have been. She won’t ever have the daughter that she gave up to a good home, and good people. Imagine what that’s like for her. I mean… you call her by her first name. You’ve called Donna ‘Mom’ your whole life. Shit, I’d get high everyday if I had to deal with that. I’m not saying it’s your fault. I’m saying she can’t deal with it. When she’s high, or drunk, she doesn’t have to. No daughter. No family. No job. No purpose for being. What’s there to be sober for?”

Her brows furrowed so tightly they seemed knit together. I felt my face swell and turn red-hot and a tear leapt out of each eye. Her hands were warm on my skin, through the thin material of my t-shirt as she rubbed my back until my bout of emotion passed. She always had a comforting, soothing touch. “It’s good that you found someone you can talk to about that. Who understands. I’m glad you did. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

I swiped at an errant tear, and shook my head. “No, not at all. You know I prefer the truth.” I sniffled. “I need to head out though, I’m pretty tired.”

I set down my empty beer bottle and started to make my exit. The drive was dark and quiet… lots of time to contemplate Melissa’s words. My phone buzzed inside my bag, and I reached across the seat, pulling it out of its pocket in my purse. My heart hit the bottom of my stomach. It was JC.

“Hi,” I answered, happy. Casual. I hoped.

“Well, hi. How are you?”  Hearing his voice for the first time in days made me miss him so badly. I wanted to be with him. I shook my head to clear it. I needed to get a grip.

“I’m very good. It’s good to hear from you. How are you?”

“I’m good. I was waiting for you to call me but since you didn’t, I’m calling you. Do you want to talk or do you want me to hang up?”

“Why would I want you to hang up? And why didn’t you just call?”

“I don’t know. Just... thinking maybe you didn’t want to talk to me after the weekend. Which was great, by the way.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling into the phone. “It was. Thank you, for that.”

“I wasn’t fishing. I was complimenting. Thank YOU.”

I chuckled. “Well, you’re welcome.”

“When can we do it again?” His voice, just the tone of his voice, right then and there made me wish he was waiting for me at my house. I would shove the gas pedal to the floor and speed to him, so fast, if he were.   

“Uhm. I don’t really know. I won’t hear from Qwest for awhile, so I don’t know when we’ll be back out there. For business anyway.”

“And for pleasure?”

“I… don’t know, JC.” This was becoming complicated, rather quickly. “We’re coming up on the holidays and this is a busy time of year, for us.”

“Oh.” No, no no. No. Don’t do that disappointed thing with me, Chasez. Don’t. Fuck.

My mind raced. What do I say?  “Uhm. B-B-But maybe… maybe if I planned ahead. Or… well, you could come out here. I know it’s hard for you but it’s just as hard for me.”

"It’s not that hard for me,” he argued, but he perked up a little. “Uhm…I could come out.  In a couple weeks, maybe. I need some time to push some things around, but I could. I want to see Dallas anyway. You uh…have to promise to show me a good time, though.”

“You know I would,” I breathed, hoping I sounded sexy. “You’re really coming?”

“I guess it’s my turn. We’ll take it from there. Or maybe you’ll hear from your client by then.”

“Maybe. Hang on.” I pulled into the garage, got out of the car and entered the house, making my way upstairs to the bedroom. “Okay. Sorry, I had to get in the house. What are you doing? It’s Friday night, you should be at some stuffy, boring lounge, rescuing a girl from drinking too much.”

There was that laugh. I remembered feeling it, my head leaning against his chest. “I did that last week. I’m home. In bed. Thinking about you.” 

I peeled off my clothes as best I could with one hand, and crawled into bed. “What a coincidence. I’m home, crawling into bed, thinking about you.”

“Really. What are you thinking about?” His voice was low. He sounded relaxed, like he could drift off to sleep at any moment. I wished myself there, in the crook of his arm, listening to his heartbeat and the steady in and out of his breathing.

“I miss sharing a bed with you,” I said, my tone matching his. “Waking up at all hours of the night being dragged across the bed, closer to you.” I picked up the tiny teddy bear he’d sent me home with and snuggled it to me, breathing in his scent.

I heard a low rumble. I wished he wouldn’t do that, not when I couldn’t do anything about it. “Mmmmm…yeah, that’s a nice memory. I have this whole bed to myself. It feels lonely.”

He sounded sad, and there was just no reason for it. Didn’t he know who he was? Couldn’t he just step outside of his house and get anyone he wanted?

“Well, you know. Far be it for me to make suggestions but I’d think it would be pretty easy for you to find a date.”

“I got Serena on the brain. I want to be with you. I wish I was with you, right now. I don’t know if I can wait a couple of weeks.”

“Well. I don’t know what to say to that, JC.”

“I know.” There was that disappointed sound again. “I don’t know why I said it.”

“I mean, I miss you too, and it would be nice to be with you right now. Uhm… so, did you really mean what you said? At the airport?”

“I’m coming out there, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but...it just makes no sense-- there are a hundred million girls out there you can have sex with.”

He was quiet, very quiet for a long moment. I thought I’d dropped the call, and then I heard sounds on the other end, like the phone shifting to another ear.

“Why are you making it sound like I picked you up at some seedy bar and like… made you my bitch for the weekend and now I should just move on to a new victim?” His feelings were hurt, which wasn’t my goal at all.  I didn’t know of any other way to put it. It didn’t make sense for him to run after me—what did he want from me that he couldn’t get from anyone? Anywhere?

I rolled to my back, flipped off the light, enveloped in the dark. All I wanted was his voice in my ear.

“I don’t know,” I said, apologetic. “I guess I’m trying to be realistic about you and the weekend and… everything. It was amazing, but so… not real. I’m trying not to get hurt, mostly.”

“But I’m not trying to hurt you. And this is… Serena, this as realistic as it’s gonna get. I’m on one side of the country and you’re all the way over there. This is reality, for us. Unless… " He paused. It was the most painful pause in the history of pauses.

"Maybe I misread something," he continued. "Unless you don’t want an ‘us’. I mean, is there nothing there, for you? After all of that 'don't high five yourself because you fucked a fan, did you just fuck a celebrity and walk away?”

“JC, that is… not fair. You know it wasn’t like that, for me. But you made it clear, over and over, all weekend that I don’t know you. No matter how many interviews I read or watch, or how much I pay attention to you, I have no clue. And you don’t know me, really. Four days and good sex does not equal knowing me.”

“That’s… I know that. Isn’t that the point, though? To get to know each other?”

“We should probably do some of that ‘getting to know each other’ before we start calling us an ‘us’.”

I heard a short, irritated breath on the line, and the scratch of him rubbing his face. “Okay. I… if that’s how you want it, I can deal with that, I guess. But just so you know, Fan Rule number three: the ‘I can have anyone I want’ thing? Isn’t really true. In theory, one would think that. In practice, it doesn’t quite work out that way. I can’t, in fact, have anyone I want, if I want you, and can’t have you.”

“Oh dear,” I said, amused at his logic. “We’re laying it on awfully thick, aren’t we, Chasez?”

He let out a hearty laugh. “Maybe. Maybe I’m trying to pluck your heartstrings, I don’t know. Just… just give me a chance, before you write me off as some kind of celebrity whore who sleeps with anything and everything and also girls he meets on airplanes.”

“I guess I can do that.” I paused, for a heartbeat.  “I’m not perfect, you know. I’m kind of fucked up, actually.”

“Well that’s a shame,” he said, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “Because I’m perfect in every way. I’m not fucked up at all.”

“Okay, there’s ‘has problems and issues’, and then there’s fucked up.”

“And you’re saying you’re the latter.”

“I’m saying I’m kind of the latter. Just fair warning.”

I heard his chuckle deep in his throat. “Awesome. I love an adventure. So tell me one of the ways you’re fucked up, then.”

“Well, you already know the first one. Regina has driven me stark, raving mad.”

He sniffed. “I kind of promised myself I wouldn’t bring that up, again. I upset you, and I don’t want to do that. If you want to talk, I’ll listen. I mean, I understand, of course I’ll listen.”

“Don’t censor yourself, JC. If you have something to say, say it. I like hearing your perspective, even if it doesn’t match mine.”

I heard the muted swish of sheets and his breathing changed—he must have rolled over. “Okay. Well. My perspective is that you should go to therapy. Or back to therapy. What you’ve got going on isn’t fair to you but you feel so obligated and you shouldn’t. You can’t even see how it limits you.”

“And you can?”

“ ‘Course I can.” He gently reminded me that he knew where I was coming from. Maybe he had been there before and could lead the way out.  “So you promise to think about it?”

“I guess,” I muttered.

“Good girl,” he said quietly, sounding very sleepy.

“I think I should let you go,” I said softly. “But I love that you called. You should do it more often.”

“Same to you,” came a sleepy voice, yawning. “Goodnight, sweet girl.”

“Goodnight, JC.”

I set the phone in its charger on the nightstand and sighed, staring at the ceiling. I was doing it again—getting myself wrapped up in something that seemed too good to be true, and probably was. Eventually, something would happen, and I would I know, at that exact moment in time, why I shouldn’t have done or said or felt things, and I would justify, justify, justify, trying to hold onto it. In the end, I would be the one hurting and he would be the one who had moved on and I would swear, swear on my life that I would never do it again. This… whatever it was… with JC had all the markings of something I should stay the hell away from, but I couldn’t.

Not that he would let me. He called, or texted or emailed several times a week, sometimes multiple times a day. Sometimes just to say hello, sometimes to really talk. The more we talked, the more I wanted to talk, the more I wanted to know about who he really was, and I wanted him to know who I really was—not the girl he met on a plane and felt sorry for and spent a wild, passionate, tawdry weekend with (as fun as that weekend was). I was a real person with a real life and real feelings, and not hard and seasoned like those actresses and models he was used to dating. I hoped he would figure out that I was fragile, in a way. Fractured. If he broke my heart, it would shatter into millions of pieces. I just wanted to make it through this, as long as it lasted, in one piece.

Regina went missing, again. This time, I didn’t go looking for her. She showed up every six weeks or so, like clockwork for food, money, clothes, whatever she needed and didn’t have enough to buy. I drew the line at giving her money—she would be high before she got to the end of the block—but anything else, if she needed it, she knew where to go. She was weeks overdue for her next handout, and I had no idea where she was. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, I was actually nervous about where she could be. Somehow, I had the strength to try and distance myself from her. A little. ‘Love her from afar,’ JC said often.

“So, what brings you here, Serena? Can I call you Serena?”

I was nervous and twisting Kleenex in my hands. Though I had practiced what I would say the night before, it was much different being in the office, in front of the doctor, and saying it. My therapist was a small woman, mid forties. Short, pixie haircut, stylish pantsuit and wire rimmed frames. Her brown eyes seemed to bore into my soul, but her voice was gentle and prodding.

“Yes, please do,” I said, my voice quivering. I breathed, trying to relax. “Well. I guess I start in the middle and work my way out, huh?”

“Start wherever you like, we’ll put it all together later.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath and blew it out, then started to talk. “Well. I… am adopted. I have always known I was adopted. My adoptive parents are great people. We get along, I love them, they are my parents.

“My… birth mother, Regina, has always been in the picture, but not always present. She is a drug addict, she disappeared a lot. It was eight years before my parents could adopt me. Every time they got close she would clean herself up, make herself presentable, like she actually had an interest in being my mother. Eventually my parents had to resort to—I don’t want to say, but it’s not legal—to stop her from interfering. Most of this I wasn’t aware of until I was about 18 or 19, I can’t remember. All I knew as a kid was that this situation was messed up and all I wanted was to not be forced to go with her.”

“Do you feel she used you to get money, then?”

I breathed a sigh of relief that she understood what I was getting at. “Most definitely. And she admits to it. The biggest thing is that… I am her only living blood relative, for all intents and purposes. So... she’s still in my life. And she’s still… the same. It’s not like I could turn 18, and choose to be free of her. I feel like I can’t get away from her. And I can’t keep her clean. And I can’t…I can’t make her my ‘mom’. “

I felt the dam that had built up for so many years start to crack. It was hard, admitting you wanted your mom to go away. I disappointed myself with that feeling, but it was real and I had to turn around and face it and deal with it. JC was very right, though I didn’t want him to be. I was limited by this—it festered and kept me from being completely happy. I would give anything to be rid of it, even bare my soul to a stranger who charged me $150 an hour to listen.

“Do you really want her to be your mom, though? Don’t you have a mom?”

I nodded. “Yes. I have a mom who is great. Donna Willis is a great woman. My dad is great, too, especially with how generous they were with Regina.”

“Okay. Are you saying, then, that you want a relationship with your birth mother that you can’t have, because you’re so much caretaker and not enough daughter?”

Yes. That was exactly it, but I hadn’t found the words. I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, hands clasped. “Here’s what I want. Really and truthfully. I want her to have really wanted the best for me. I wanted her to realize that she was gonna fuck—excuse me—screw me up, and to want a better life for me and to give me up and let me be raised in a normal home. Instead, she couldn’t let go and I felt like I was in this giant tug of war and I felt like she was just being selfish, and in the end, it was about what she could get, and she sold me for it.”

“That’s a serious allegation.”

“It’s also true,” I spit out. “At least, that’s how I feel,” I added, calmer. I looked up at her, expecting her to be angry and react to my outburst. She was seated in her leather wingback chair, one leg crossed over the other, a compassionate expression on her face, waiting for me to continue.

“So. My biggest issue right now is my life revolving around her. If you could see her, you would see me. I mean, she’s ragged, and she looks really bad. But, when I look in the mirror, I see her.” I drew a breath, feeling the tears coming.

“And that makes me rebel. I straighten my hair because she wears hers curly. I hate my nose, because it’s her nose, exactly. I have body issues because we could share clothes, if we really wanted to, and she sells hers for drug money. And she’s… SUCH a failure and I overachieve to compensate. I have a hard time letting people love me and when they do, it’s in all the wrong ways and then I… I make excuses to hide what’s going on and do whatever I can to cover it up, so they’ll stay.”

“Are we talking abuse?”

I nodded slowly, pressing my lips together to keep the tears at bay. She closed her eyes briefly, took in a deep breath, through her nose, her lips clamped shut.  “Let’s deal with that in another session, shall we? I want to dig into that some but I don’t want to cut it off. You’ve done well, today, though. How do you feel?”

How did I feel? Okay. “I feel okay.”  And tired. But okay.

“Okay is okay,” she said with a warm smile. “Not angry, not nervous, not worked up?”

I really felt okay. Which was great. I hadn’t felt okay in a long time.

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