Baby Fever

Jeremiah's Resolve

Jeremiah's POV (three months after Cross's birth)

Therapy session #11 - Dr. Wilson

I vigorously tapped my foot on the rug and wiped my fingers against the stubble on my chin. Quite frankly, I don't remember the last time I've shaved. I don't remember the last time I've felt normal. 

"Jeremiah." The lady in front of me said. 

My foot wouldn't stop moving. "I've been to three therapists. None of them have been able to help me."

"Whether or not you make improvements is up to you. I have a feeling our sessions will be more successful."

I looked to my left. My mom was sitting next to me, waiting for me to answer the therapist. 

It only pissed me off more. "I don't care for this."

"For what?" The therapists asked.

I gestured towards my mom and I. "I don't care for any of this. I'm only here because I want to become more emotionally available to my son. He's all I care for now."

"Jeremiah, your previous therapist suggested you take sessions with your mother for a reason. You must reconcile with her before any real progress can be made."

I rolled my eyes and kept tapping my foot on the ground. 

"It's my fault," my mom said. "It's my fault he's like this."

"What do you mean?" The therapist asked.

Without looking at her, I heard her take in deep breathes. "After my dad died, my focus became blurry. I grabbed him and my mom and moved to America without even asking him how he felt about it. I should've gotten him help, I shou-"

I balled my hands into fists. 

"Jeremiah?" The therapists asked. "Why are you getting frustrated?"

My fist loosened. "I'm not."

She kept her gaze on me. "If something your mother said upset you, I would like to know what it was."

I didn't respond. 

"Do you often get frustrated when she speaks?"

"Yes," my mom answered. "And heaven forbid Jared say anything to him."

I flexed my fingers open and close.

"Jeremiah? Why're you frustrated?"

I sighed in exasperation. "You want to know why I'm frustrated?" I faced my mom. "I hate you. That's why I'm frustrated."

Her face crumbled at my harsh words. She dabbed at the corner of her eyes with her napkin. 

"Hate is very strong word, Jeremiah."

"I know. That's why I used it, so there's no room for confusion." When I was sure the words had sunken it, I turned away from my mom. 

"Isabella, how does that make you feel?"

"Sad," she managed in between sobs. She covered her face with her hands and continued crying. 

It was embarassing. 

"She kicked me out when she found out I was going to have a kid. Do you know that?"

"Does she look like the same woman that kicked you out?" The therapist asked.

"Honestly, yes."

She nodded. 

"Jer, I'm sorry." Mom managed to say.