Will
"Well, one more quarter left of sophomore year, Will. Finish it out strong— don't fall off with your schoolwork just because it's the end of the year," my Mom's voice said from the other end of the phone.
I didn't need her to remind me how close the end of the year was. It was almost all I could think about.
Almost all of my friends had so many big senior events approaching within the next month and a half— signing day, decision day, prom, graduation, etc. And I was so excited for them, but it was really bittersweet. It all reminded me how different next year would be without them.
"I know, I know," I replied, then going quiet for a moment. I wasn't sure how to bring up what I'd been wanting to tell her, the real reason I'd called her.
By no means was our relationship back to where it was. Two years can really change things, I guess. But it's still better than it was, than it has been. It's getting somewhere.
"What's wrong, sweetie? What are you thinking about?" She asked.
"What?"
"Oh come on. I know you. I know there's something on your mind. You can tell me."
I paused. "Um, yeah, actually. So I... I made an appointment at the health center today. To go talk to a therapist."
After we'd returned from our spring break trip last week, things had slowly fallen back into place. School started up again, and I resumed volunteering in the school's infirmary.
I'd overheard the office ladies talking about a new hire. Apparently, the old therapist we'd had at the school got a new job. His replacement had started right after the break, a young woman named Dr. Brooks.
I'd been thinking about what Nico told me that night in Montauk. You think it's normal to feel this sad, but it isn't.
I think he was right, and I think it's time for me to do something about it.
I heard my Mom's breath falter. "Oh."
"What? You don't think it's a good idea?"
"No! No, no, no. I think it is. I just... didn't know you were considering it."
I shrugged even though she couldn't see me. "Well, yeah. I just..." my voice cracked. I cleared my throat— before calling, I told myself I wouldn't get emotional in front of her— and tried again. "I just think there are some things I need to work through."
She didn't answer for a moment. Then: "this isn't... is this because of me?" She sounded sad.
What I wanted to say: "Well, kind of! You sent me away and made me believe you didn't love me, didn't accept me. Lied to me for years. Kept me away from the truth!"
But instead, I replied with, "no. I mean, partly I guess. But this isn't your fault, okay? And don't think it's a bad thing. Lots of people go see a therapist. I think it'll be good for me." I didn't feel like I should have to be reassuring her in this moment. Maybe it should've been the other way around.
"Well," she says, her voice sounding even though I know she was really holding back tears, "I'm proud of you for making such a mature decision. You're so independent. I've never had to worry about you, Will. Sometimes it feels like you don't need me anymore."
My blood started boiling. I wanted to remind her that she was the one who forced me to grow up quickly. She was the one who shipped me off states away on my own.
But she was already so upset, I didn't want to make it worse. I said my goodbyes to her and hung up the phone.
Perfect timing, too. The door creaked open right then as Leo entered our room. "Hey, Will. You wanna hop on fort?"
