Page 139 of Never After Us
We roll up to a red light, and something in me shifts—the urge to solve her small worries, smooth the path in front of her, offer something that feels like stability.A house with a backyard is out of the question, but ...
I pull out my phone and call Eddie.He answers on the second ring, and I ask him to send a camera to the museum entrance.He doesn’t even question it.That’s the benefit of long-standing friendships—fast answers, no explanations.
But after I hang up, a new realization settles inside me.
I can’t fix the bike issue.I can’t step into every part of their life and repair what’s cracked.That isn’t my place.Even so, the pull to make things easier for Mara and Mila keeps rising inside me, brushing aside the lines I tried to draw around my role in their world.
I don’t know why.
I don’t understand how it reshapes my intentions or how it keeps tugging me toward something I have no right to want, but now I believe I need.
All I know is this:
Helping them makes me feel more whole than anything has in a long time.Like someone finally handed me a purpose I didn’t realize I’d been starving for.And fuck, that might be the most dangerous part of all.
ChapterFifty-Six
Mara
I handle about a thousand questions a day from my child.Some are easy, the sort she asks while brushing her teeth or tying her shoelaces.Others require encyclopedias, library visits, or existential stamina I don’t always possess.I get through them all somehow.But the one question I can’t endure—no matter how many breathing techniques I rehearse—is when my therapist, Courtney Shawl, leans forward in her soft voice and asks, “And how does that make you feel?”
It makes me want to slam my forehead into the couch cushion and shout,Are you fucking kidding?I’m here because I avoid emotions.The entire point is that I don’t want to feel.
But I smile, nod, and pretend I’m someone who welcomes introspection.
This is my fourth session with her, and I haven’t lost it yet.The lavender spray she mists around the room should probably win an award because it keeps me from unraveling every few minutes.That’s good, right?Progress in aromatherapy form.
Plus, there’s a good incentive waiting for me when I get home.Alec will be there, and he’s promised lunch.And on the rare days his friends drift through the penthouse, I get to hang out with Kit, Cleo, or Aly—women who are slowly becoming close friends.That’s the silver lining of this ninety-minute interrogation: I get rewarded for surviving it.
“Mara, are you with me?”Courtney asks.
“Yes, of course.”I stare at a smudge on her bookshelf, trying to gather an answer that doesn’t sound like a tantrum.“I’m just attempting to identify what emotion shows up today when I remember that everyone lied to me for years.”It sounds sarcastic, but I can’t bring myself to care.I’m surviving, not performing sainthood.
Mom and I aren’t talking at the moment.I know that Alec promised to fly her to us but I’m not ready to confront her.I need a minute to figure out my emotions.I need space to understand the avalanche of truths buried in my family.I have to grieve the loss of my aunt—who was actually my mother.Try to wrap my head around the fact that I was given up for adoption when I was born and no one was brave enough to tell me the truth.
Also, my biological father is alive, and the other ...I want to confront him because what he did, leaving, was shity.Confront my mother who lied about my origin.That was shitty.
I’m angry.I’m sad.I’m confused.I’m more emotions than my own body has room for.But today ...“Today I’m exhausted,” I finally say.“It’s exhausting to try to figure out how not to be angry.It drains me to try to avoid anger.I keep wondering why she left me with her sister, but never told me the truth when I was old enough to understand.”
“Those are valid questions,” Dr.Shawl states.“Have you given any thought about reading the letters Lina left?How about talking to your mom?”
“I ...”The sigh slips out before I can stop it.“I hate feeling abandoned.”The words sting, but they’re true.“Everything feels amplified now.My father left.My late husband ...even when he was alive, he was absent.I spent so many nights alone, raising Mila, pretending I was fine, and it?—”
I stop.Because suddenly it’s everything at once.The hurt, the confusion, the loneliness that built a home in me long before I learned how to live with it.The wholelet’s tackle one issue at a timestrategy collapses when every issue leads me back to the same truth: people leave.I end up alone.And the only reason I want to get better is for Mila.Not for myself.Not yet.I’ve spent years avoiding the collapse, and yes, it works ...until it doesn’t.
“It’s not like I can confront Samuel for what happened—or Lina,” is the first thing that comes out of my mouth.
“You want to confront those who can give you answers?”she asks.
“Yes.”The word comes out before I think.“I could start with my father who left.Or my mother who lied.Or my biological father who never came back after the night I was born.”My throat tightens.“But I can’t say anything to those who are no longer with us.”
“You could write letters, or in your journal,” she suggests.“Are you using it?”
“Mostly to communicate with Alec,” I admit.“It’s easier to tell him how I feel there.He listens without judging, and somehow he comforts me without pushing me to crumble in front of him.Even though he keeps insisting he can handle a sobfest any day of the week.”
“And how are things between the two of you?”
“Our relationship is growing,” I say slowly, tracing a seam in the couch cushion.“Even though we tell ourselves we’re waiting.We need emotional stability before we take the next step.”
