Maybe It's Real

“I think you should get a therapist.”

I didn’t think those seven words would ever leave my mothers mouth. But, they did. I’m wrapped in blankets on my bed, a mug of hot chocolate between my fingers. I stare at my mother who has one hand clasped on my leg, the other on a cup of tea. I shake my head, my eyes wide.

“No,” I whisper, “I’m perfectly fine.” That’s a lie. Eli dropped me off yesterday, a sopping mess, after having an outburst at the park. I’m sure he thinks I’m a complete loon. I shiver and grip my mug tighter. My mom frowns.

“You are not fine. I’m calling someone tomorrow and you will go. That’s that.” She stands up, squeezing my leg. I flinch and squeeze my eyes shut for a second. I lift my mug to my lips and pour the warm liquid in my mouth, swallowing stiffly.

☼

“Stella, put on that dress I bought you and I could French braid your hair.” My mother says to me as I sit on the couch in the living room watching TV. “We are leaving in an hour.” I stare up at my mother who sternly stares back.

“No.”

I’ve never been angry with my mother, I’ve never had much of a reason, but right now, I’m mad. I can’t believe my mother thinks I’m crazy enough to see a therapist.

“Stella, listen to me,” Her voice softer, “I want you to do this. Your father would want you to. So does Melody. So do I. Please, sweetie.” I furrow my eyebrows; she’s bringing my dead father into this?

“Don’t you dare bring dad into this, mother. You know better.” My mother is quiet for a moment and then her face crumples and she sits down beside me.

“Stella, I just want to help you because I couldn’t before. I want to do this for you. I want you to be that same little girl you always were. Please, honey. Please.” My mother faces me, tears streaming down her face. Shouldn’t I be the one crying?

“Fine.” I whisper, standing up. My legs are shaky as I make my way back to my room. I take off my sweats and ripped shirt and put on the dress my mother bought me. It’s red, yellow, green, and pink with flowers sprouting over it. I look like a garden, but it’s a cute dress. Sort of.

My legs are too pale and blue and green bruises are placed gruesomely, decorating my legs. I slip on some tights and find a cover-up for my arms, which match my legs. My mother knocks on my door, “Come in.” I say loud enough for her to hear. She opens the door and gives me a sad smile.
“You look so pretty.” I suck in my cheeks and fold my arms across my chest. She leads me to my bed and slowly French braids my hair down my back.

“I’ve always loved your hair color. I think you got it from your father,” My mom says when she finishes. I give her a weak smile and stand up. We walk to the foyer, Melody stands there in her pink pea coat and snow boots with Dora printed on them. Her curly hair covers her face and I put her orange snow hat on her. She gives me a smile and my mother picks her up. I put on my scarf and coat.

We walk to our beat up Toyota and I turn the heat on high. Outside, the sky is a dark gray with white puffs of clouds. My mother buckles in Melody who holds two Barbies, a girl and a boy, making them talk gibberish back and fourth. I wrap my arms around myself and my mother pulls out of the driveway, turning on the country station so it’s quietly playing, almost like background music.

☼

The waiting room is different from what I thought it would be. There are overstuffed couches and lamps with exotic shades. A fireplace burns and crackles loudly in the corner. Real plants decorate the tables and a bookshelf with dozens of books is built onto the wall. When you walk in, the first thing you see is a lady, old and wrinkly, sitting at a desk with a fancy laptop and Fiji water bottle. She gives a bright smile as we walk in, Melody attached to my mother’s hip and me, a zombie, walking next to her.

“Hello, you’re here to see Dr.Quaid?” She asks, her voice brighter than the snow that is falling outside. My mother nods and sets Melody down, “Honey, why don’t you sit on that comfy looking couch. Stella, go with her?” I nod and grab Melody’s hand. I lead her to the couch and she crawls onto it. She again makes the Barbies converse and I stare at the fireplace. I put my hands together and rub my numb fingers.

After a minute my mother takes a seat across from me, setting her purse on the ground, “Marion said Dr.Quaid will be done with his other patient in a minute or so.” Patient? Everyone here is called a patient? I don’t want to be called a patient.

I stay quiet.

A door opens by the front desk and a familiar boy steps out. Our eyes meet and my cheeks flush.

“Hi, Stella.” He says, giving me a smile. I lift my hand to wave and a man with a thick head of hair steps out of the doorway, a hand on the boys shoulder

“You know Stella, Eli?” The man asks. Eli nods, walking over to me. My mother watches carefully, her full attention given to Eli. He holds out his hand and I take it. He helps me up and then, unexpectedly wraps his arms around me, giving me a hug. I flinch and hold my breath. Eli lets go, confusion set over his face. I look up at him with wide eyes and he gets it.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He whispers. I shake my head, “No, I am.” Slowly, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and I know everyone in the room watches us. Even Melody, who has her Barbies in her lap, watches us.

Finally, I let go of Eli and he walks over to the coat hanger by the door. He puts on a gray pea coat and a think wool hat over his messy hair. He bids everyone a goodbye and opens the door. Flakes of snow drift in and he steps out, giving me one last glance over his shoulder.

“Stella?” The man asks. I look over at him and he gives me a smile. I bite my lip and look at my mother who looks awestruck. I turn away from her and follow the man through the door, closing it behind me.