The Show Must Go On

Chapter Twenty-One: Amsterdam

Chapter Twenty-One Soundtrack: Amsterdam by Gregory Alan Isakov

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Important note for this chapter:

This chapter has a therapy scene, but I am not a therapist, and so I have no idea if this advice is good or not - please don't take it as gospel or as qualified advice for yourself! It's there to give Ellie someone to talk to, and because she needs some help, but is entirely fictional.

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'Should we talk about Ben?'

'Not today.'

Does this sound convincing? Does this sound sane/healthy/functional? Not that therapy is something you can win, but I really want to win. I want to graduate with a handshake and teary eyes and for Sandra to promise that I am her favourite client.

From her seat in the overstuffed armchair, Sandra doesn't crack a smile. No graduation today, I guess.

Sandra has been my therapist for two years. I send her Christmas cards that she politely thanks me for, I have cried in front of her eighteen times, and six months ago I managed to tell her about something that upset me without adding 'Sorry, I know that's stupid', which made her smile for the rest of the session. She laughed for five minutes when, in our first session, I told her I could leave early if I was wasting her time. This is a long way of saying that I love Sandra and if I recover from my grief, it will only be to please her. Nothing motivates me more.

Sandra never wants to give me the answer that will fix everything, or even tell me the script to get through calls with my mother. Instead she always wants me to talk about Ben, or my family, or both. That's annoying, but I guess that is her job.

I imagine that this feeling - trusting her enough to share every dark, squirrely thought, while also wanting her to see those thoughts and like me anyway - is how some people feel about their mothers. I haven't told Sandra this.

I crack first and break the silence. 'What should we talk about instead of Ben?'

'What would you like to talk about?' Behind her glasses, Sandra's eyes twinkle. 'How's work?'

'I think it's good.'

'You think?'

'I like it. I like what I do. But I feel like I should be happier.'

'Is something making you unhappy?'

Sandra's face tells me nothing. I don't know what answer she's looking for. She adds, 'Don't tell me what you think I want to hear.'

Oh. Well then.

'I guess...' I draw out the silence, hoping she'll fill it, but she's undeterred. 'I guess I do a lot for everyone, but it feels like the more I do, the less seriously they take me.'

A familiar frown flashes across my memory. These aren't my words: these are Nas's, months ago, snapping at me after a meeting, telling me that being a pushover won't win anyone's respect. I wanted to stab him when he said it. But there are those words, coming out of my mouth, because somewhere inside, I think he may be right.

'It seems like you do a lot for people, in all areas of your life. Your mother, for instance. Ben's family. Your colleagues.'

'My mother likes to be looked after.'

'Did you ever feel her love was dependent on you serving her needs?'

'Of course.'

'Hmm.' Sandra writes something down. A long something. That's never a good sign. I distract myself by counting the crochet stars on her throw rug. Eighteen. Then she asks, 'Do you still think of love as service?'

'What do you mean?'

'Do you feel like you need to help someone to prove that you care for them? And so, when you can't be of service, or be of use, do you feel you don't deserve their love?'

I turn these words over and over in my mind. It sounds so blunt when she says it. If anyone I loved described my love like - so transactional - I would be heartbroken. But there's something real in what she's suggesting. I can hardly admit that to myself. It sounds so wrong. But it is, also, true.

'Maybe,' I admit. 'How can I change?'

Sandra laughs. 'There's never a quick fix. But it's good to notice that tendency. Helping people you love is important, but you're still loved if you aren't useful. Try reminding yourself of that, and try challenging your instinct to put other people before yourself. It won't feel comfortable, but when you're safe with someone, you won't need to question their love.'

I was hoping she'd say there was an injection to fix that, but I guess not. Sounds like I'll have to actually think about how I think, which is never fun.

She asks, 'Is there anyone you don't feel the need to serve?'

'Mei,' I say immediately. Mei expects nothing from me. I can share my deepest insecurities with her, and then share a viral TikTok recipe. I can admit to something truly unforgivable and end up sobbing with laughter, or falling asleep curled up together, or swapping takeout orders when we're both too indecisive. I can speak to her knowing that I will be happier at the end of our conversation, every time, because all I have to do is enjoy her company. In many ways, I think Mei will be the greatest love of my life.

There's one other person I don't try to help. But that's only because I hate him. Not relevant here.

'Do you think you're still serving Ben?'

This question stabs. I couldn't serve Ben when it really mattered. I couldn't save his life.

How much penance can make up for that? How much love can you hold onto, when there's no one left to receive it? I've lost the day-to-day memories of him, by now. I've lost the snippets of his laugh that woke me up, or the feeling that I'd walk into the kitchen and find him humming. The memory of him is sanded away by time. And, while I will always love him, the feeling of being 'in love' has faded too.

But that doesn't erase what I owe to the people who love him, like his family, who welcomed me wholeheartedly and stayed with me through our grief. They still think of me as their daughter. So when Sandra asks about serving Ben, I assume she means his family too - and don't I owe them that? Isn't helping their daughter plan a wedding the least I can do, since I killed their son?

Sandra sees my turmoil, and continues, 'Let me rephrase that. You never mention dating, or even making changes to your flat, or changes in the job you took before Ben died. Do you feel that's because of loyalty to his memory?'

'I guess so. I guess it's scary to imagine changing my life to things that he didn't see. Like I'm leaving him again.'

'I understand.' Sandra finishes our session there, leaving me with more questions than solutions. I haven't admitted to her, yet, that I haven't even visited Ben's grave since the funeral. Mei and Gabriel go a few times a year, and each time they invite me, and each time I brush them off. I'm not ready to see Ben in the ground. But maybe, whether I'm ready or not, it's time. After all, everything ends in change. I can't fight it forever.