Cat & Drew's Whirlwind Adventure

27. Questions of

The windshield wipers whir evenly, back and forth across the glass in a smooth rhythm. Pattern, routine, something I'm very much trying to get back for myself. I sit slumped in the passenger seat, leaned up against the door as I look over the text Troy had sent the day before last. I doubt Coach let him willingly have his phone back, gauging from how well he received my pleas to let me see his son when I ambushed him at work, but my mischievous, rule-breaking boyfriend must have found a way somehow to send me this one text letting me know he wants to be here with me more than anything, but that he's okay. It's been back to silence ever since, but I'm staying afloat however I can—I go to school, and I don't look at Cat, or Chad. I go to work, and try not to bother Coach. And I continue to stay trapped, pulled in an impossible direction between my parents and this perilous situation that's quickly deteriorating.

I go to therapy too. Dad's just picked me up from there, we get to have dinner together before he drops me off back home so mom can pry as to whether or not he said anything about her. Yet again I reassemble my pieces by counting the things I can be grateful for, and one such thing is that he's the one I'm here with. He's comfortable in the quiet, like me, not at all like my mom who will say anything she can to fill the dead space just so she won't have to bear that quiet. We come to a red light and the car stops, the pitter patter of sleet-like raindrops the only noise next to the even woosh of the wiper blades.

A sloshy mixture of ice and rain makes a mess of the January snow, all turned up and coated with mud, and I find it strangely comforting. I don't know why, or how I even get there, but when I check my phone again I'm no longer on Troy's text, I've pulled up my messages with Cat instead. She's been on my mind a lot too, and I've beat my head against the wall thinking that if I could just come up with the right thing to say I might be able to save whatever is left between us before it's too late. That way I at least won't have to be as alone as I feel right now. I type out a message, nothing fancy, a simple hi to test the waters, but I hesitate when I go to hit send.

"You haven't said anything since I picked you up. Did you decide where you want to eat for dinner?" Dad intercedes. He may not mind the quiet, but it obviously still worries him. For good reason too, I'll admit, as I shrug my shoulders forlornly in response. His distraction provides all the clarity I need, and I backspace the message I had typed out to Cat before putting my phone down, only half listening. "I'm not one to pry, Drew, and I'd never ask what you talk about in therapy, but it's important to me that you know I'm always here if you need anything at all."

"I'm fine, we mostly talked about Troy and Resthaven." I answer anyway, staring out at the little frosty droplets on the outside of my window. Besides my therapist advising me to avoid developing a codependency, we spent the bulk of our session rehashing the pointless exercises I'd gone through when I was inpatient, and all the pointless stuff that came after it. It led into so many things, the way it does, like my parents' marriage, but I'm trying hard to avoid thinking about the stuff that makes me angry. I utter it anyway, perhaps a tad spiteful. "You and mom came up too."

"You know, we can talk about it if you want. I can't do much about Troy, I'm sure you miss him, but I can answer any questions you have about your mother and me." Dad proceeds, careful.

"I don't have any." I tell him. This would be difficult for any kid I imagine, but while I can't blame them for making decisions that are best for themselves, there are things I simply don't understand. So I suppose I do have questions, though they're ones I don't want to ask. But what more could go wrong? There's nothing else that can break me down more than I already am. "I just don't get why you didn't say anything sooner, I had to find out after you'd already moved out to stay in some dumpy motel. Obviously I realize you guys have been fighting a lot, but I'm going to therapy like you wanted, I thought that would make it better."