Page 25 of Tight Ends & Tiaras
BEN
Dr. Patricia sitswith her pen poised mid-air. Lifts a bushy eyebrow. Waits for me to say something. She started doing this, making me talk first, as a way to get me to break out of bad habits.
I clear my throat again and wipe my palms on my thighs. After another minute where it feels like my heart is going to beat out of my chest, I force myself to lean back on the leather couch and sigh. “I don’t know why it’s easier to leave messages on your voicemail than talk face to face.”
She gives me a patient smile. “Human contact is difficult for a lot of people. You’re not the first person to convey this.”
I let out a relieved breath. Dr. Patricia has a grandmotherly vibe, but she doesn’t let me get away with shit. “A lot happened this weekend.”
“So your message suggested. How are you feeling?”
That knot in my chest returns. Any time I’m dealing with feelings, I turn into a kindergartner, unable to articulate even the simplest emotions. So I don’t name them. “My chest is tight. I haven’t been sleeping.” But there’s an upshot to that.
“Well, if you’re not sleeping, then you’re not having nightmares. Correct?”
I give her a grim smile. “Exactly.” The nightmares are the worst. They’re a recurring dream I’ve had since I was a kid that someone I love will die in a horrible accident.
She studies me. I’m sure she takes notes of the circles under my eyes. “You’ve made tremendous strides, Ben. The fact that you called to give me an update is commendable. It may not feel like it, but you’re taking control of your life. However, you do need sleep or your exhaustion will amplify your emotions.”
“It’s hard to sleep when your ex tells you she’s been hiding your baby since she was born.” Dr. Patricia nods, her eyes sympathetic. I rush to tell her the details of what happened, leaving out the fact I was thinking of sleeping with Janelle to put a nail in that coffin. Somehow, though, I get the feeling she gets why I went to that motel in the first place.
“Talk to me about your daughter. What’s her name?”
“Liliana.” Pausing to consider her words, I look around her office, not really seeing anything but the beige walls. “I... This is going to sound terrible, but I don’t feel anything. It’s like I’m numb.” Shame rushes hot through my veins. “I know that’s fucked up. My buddy found out he was a father last year, and you could tell he was smitten with his kid from the beginning. I’m worried I’m not... I’m not going to be a good parent.” My heart thumps harder.
My dad was a good parent until he died. My mom was exceptional—until that truck slammed head-on into her car.
Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and I swipe at it with the back of my hand.
“Liliana doesn’t feel real to you yet. This is a huge shock to your system that will affect your entire life as you know it. As we’ve discussed, feeling disconnected is your internal mechanism that gets flipped on in your subconscious when you’re overwhelmed, particularly when you’re dealing with family. As was the case with your sister when you were separated as children.”
I take a few deep breaths. Slow and methodical. She asked me to do this when I felt like I wanted to break shit, flip out, or punch a hole in the wall.
“I still... I still have so much... fury over that. Which makes me feel guilty. Like I’m ungrateful for everything my aunt and uncle have done for me.”
“Have you had a chance to tell your sister about the rent yet?” Dr. Patricia asks gently.
That was supposed to be my homework.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. With everything going on, I forgot.”
“Understandable.” She reaches over to her mini-fridge and hands me a bottle of water. “Focusing on Liliana is probably enough for one session.”
I open the water and chug it, relishing that it’s ice-cold.
She sits back in her chair. “I’d typically say dealing with your aunt and uncle first might be helpful in accepting this new situation with your daughter, but it sounds as though things with Janelle and Liliana are pressing. And as we know, when you get cornered or experience significant stress, you tend to wall yourself off emotionally.”
“Which is what I’m doing to my kid. God, that’s fucked up.” Liliana did not luck out in the parental department.
“You’re not doing this on purpose. What is it?” Dr. Patricia tilts her head forward.
“A defense mechanism I learned as a child to protect myself.”
“Correct.” She taps her pen on her legal pad. “Tell me how your first interaction went with Liliana.”
“It hasn’t happened yet. Not really. She was asleep when I spoke to her mother, and she was still asleep when I went back an hour later to swab her cheek for the paternity test.” I’ve believed enough of Janelle’s lies over the years. I can’t take her at her word this kid is mine, even though she definitely looks like she could be. I gunned it to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy where I bought one of those mail-in tests. “She slept through the whole thing, and I haven’t been back since.”
“It’s only Monday. You say you saw them late Friday night?” When I nod, she continues. “When do you get the results?”
