Maia

22

Word Count: 1563

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MAIA'S POV

I find myself in the waiting room of the therapist's office, sitting beside Lorenzo. The atmosphere is quiet, punctuated only by the soft hum of distant conversations. Unfortunately, Alessandro and Wiremu had work commitments that kept them from joining us, and Giovanni was busy with his university classes, leaving only Lorenzo and Rawiri to take me.

Lorenzo, looking distinctly uninterested, is slouched in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. He glances around the room with a mixture of boredom and scepticism, taking in the bland decor and softly lit space. A few other patients sit quietly, engrossed in their own thoughts, while the faint sound of a clock ticking in the background adds to the sense of time stretching before us.

"Maia Smith," a deep voice calls out, drawing my attention. The man who speaks is dressed sharply, donning a crisp, long-sleeved white shirt underneath a charcoal woollen vest that adds an air of sophistication to his outfit. His tailored pants fit impeccably, conveying both professionalism and style, and his polished brown leather shoes shine subtly in the light, reminiscent of those typically worn by successful businessmen.

His hair is meticulously styled, not a strand out of place, giving him a polished, put-together appearance. Perched on the bridge of his nose are round glasses that lend him an intellectual look, catching the light as he shifts slightly to focus on me. There's an aura of confidence about him. According to Alessandro, he is supposed to be the best in the city.

Lorenzo and I both rise from our seats, moving toward the man who is patiently waiting for us. As we step into his office, my eyes take in the bright, airy atmosphere; the walls are painted in soft pastel colours, and an array of cheerful pictures lines the shelves and frames. Each image seems to radiate positivity, creating an inviting and warm environment.

We make our way to what feels like the most comfortable chair I have ever sat in, plush and supportive. The therapist approaches, his demeanor relaxed as he takes a seat across from me, a warm smile playing on his lips that instantly puts me at ease.

"Good afternoon, Maia," he says in a friendly tone, his voice calm and reassuring. "I'm Tom Bush, but you can call me Tom. And I assume you're her older brother, Alessandro?" He gestures toward Lorenzo with a welcoming smile, creating a sense of familiarity in the room as we prepare for our conversation.

Lorenzo rolls his eyes dramatically, clearly uninterested in the conversation at hand, and turns away from the man. Sensing the tension, I take a breath and gently clarify, "Uh, no... this is actually my other brother, Lorenzo." I gesture towards my brother with a hint of apology in my voice. Tom, however, seems unfazed by the antics of Lorenzo, who often finds ways to express his irritation. He simply nods, maintaining a calm demeanour as he takes in the dynamic between us.

"So Maia, I was thinking we could take things slow since this is your first time here," he said, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "Perhaps we could start by getting to know each other a bit better. What about sharing our hobbies and favourite singers? I think that could be a fun way to connect."

I nodded in agreement, feeling a sense of relief wash over me at the thought of a lighter conversation. Discussing personal interests seemed much more inviting than diving into the heavier issues that loomed over me. I smiled back at him, grateful for the suggestion. He begins by expressing his passion for cooking and baking, mentioning how he finds joy in preparing meals and treats. He suggests that during the next session, he might bring along a batch of his homemade cookies to share. He looks at me encouragingly, waiting for my response.

"I suppose I like reading and biology," I reply to Tom, my voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. As I speak, I notice Lorenzo's head pivot slightly in my direction, his eyebrows lifting in surprise, as if my admission has sparked his curiosity.

"Ah, lovely! And who's your favourite singer?" he inquires, a curious glint in his eyes. I smile warmly and confidently reply, "Taylor Swift." He nods thoughtfully, a hint of a smile on his lips as he shares his own favourite artist.

The conversation flows effortlessly as he digs a little deeper with a few simple questions. "What's your favourite colour?" he asks, and I don't hesitate to respond, "Green." I can tell he's listening attentively.

Then he poses another question: "If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?" Without a moment's doubt, I answer, "Italy." As the words leave my lips, I catch a glimmer of amusement in Lorenzo's eyes—a slight smirk that suggests he finds my choice intriguing or perhaps unexpected.

I've realized that I'm becoming more comfortable with communication. When I first arrived in this city, I felt so overwhelmed that I barely wanted to talk to anyone. The thought of striking up a conversation made me anxious. However, as I've settled in and started to explore my surroundings, I've found that I've gradually grown more open and willing to engage with others. It seems that living here, with all its unique experiences and people, has helped me come out of my shell slightly.

"And Maia, what is your family like?" Tom inquires, prompting me to freeze for a moment. My brothers are wonderful, but when it comes to Mama and Jacob... I feel a tightness in my chest. I take a brief moment, and I notice both Lorenzo and Tom exchanging concerned glances. "Um, my brothers are lovely," I reply softly, trying to keep my voice steady. Tom nods as he processes my words, then he gently asks, "And what about your parents?"

I swallow hard, the memories swirling in my mind. "I... um, my mama died just recently and my stepdad is... well, he's been missing for a while now. I don't really know who my biological father is," I admit awkwardly, feeling a wave of vulnerability wash over me.

Tom's expression softens as he responds, "I'm really sorry to hear that, Maia," he says gently, his voice filled with compassion. The weight of my words hangs in the air.

"If you're comfortable, perhaps we can delve deeper into the situation later. For now, though, it might be a good idea to focus on getting to know each other better," Tom suggests with a gentle tone, his eyes searching mine for reassurance. I take a moment to consider his words, feeling the weight of the conversation hang in the air. "Maybe, um, we should just stick to getting to know each other for now," I reply, feeling a bit shy but hopeful. He nods in agreement, his expression warm, and then proceeds to ask me another light, casual question that eases the tension.

-

I sit in the front passenger seat beside Lorenzo, my heart racing as a wave of anxiety washes over me. The car hums quietly, but the atmosphere feels heavy with unspoken words. I steal a glance at Lorenzo, who meets my gaze with a raised eyebrow, an expression of curiosity. "Yes?" he prompts, his voice calm.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I muster the courage to ask the question that has been weighing on my mind. "What happened to Papa?" The words come out in a shaky whisper, filled with uncertainty and hope for a reassuring answer.

Lorenzo lets out a long, heavy sigh, closing his eyes momentarily as if bracing himself for the revelation. I notice the tension in his shoulders, the way they instinctively rise as the burden of my question sinks in. The silence that follows feels almost unbearable, and I can feel my own heart pounding in my chest, waiting for him to respond.

"He's... still alive," he responds, his voice tinged with uncertainty. The air between us feels heavy and charged with unspoken worries. I turn to him, my brow furrowing in confusion. "Why isn't he at home, then?" I inquire, my heart racing with concern.

Lorenzo shifts uncomfortably in his seat, a look of tension etched on his face. He pinches the bridge of his nose, as if the weight of our conversation is almost too much to bear, wishing desperately for an escape from this moment. "He's been in a coma for a year," he finally reveals, his gaze drifting away from mine.

The car accelerates, and I catch a glimpse of his knuckles gripping the steering wheel, drained of colour and tight with anxiety. The hum of the engine fills the silence between us, amplifying the gravity of his words. My mind races with questions, each one more pressing than the last, adding to the tightness in my chest as I process what he just said.

I decide to remain silent for the moment, recognizing the emotional impact this conversation is having on him. I can see the weight of his thoughts affecting his demeanour, and I want to be respectful of his feelings. Rather than press him further, I plan to talk to Alessandro later this evening. I hope to gather more information and ask if it would be possible for me to visit him. I think Papa would like that.