“How to control it.”
I hold up my finger. “Way ahead of you there. I’ve totally got it under control.” Kara raises a skeptical brow and I continue, “I’ve been going to all my classes even though I wanna walk around aimlessly all day, and I’ve got C’s across the board even though I hate college. Not to mention, I’d kill for a drag or a drop of Grey Goose, but I haven’t touched any of those things. I don’t even go to parties, because we all know parties are just breeding grounds for pot, alcohol, and sex.”
I shoot her an arrogant smirk then finish my cookie. She can’t get me after that. I’ve been good. I’ve busted my ass to be good.
“That’s commendable. I appreciate your restraint, but that’s also the bare minimum. You shouldn’t be drinking and partying it up anyway.” She pushes her glasses up. “College is your time to learn, to discover yourself, to see what kind of things you like, and for that, we have electives. So, I ask you again, any thoughts?”
Sighing, I look away. I’m back to staring out the window. The grounds are white and the trees are naked. It’s all desolate and sad, like we’re living in a post-apocalyptic world where things like electives are mandatory.
“What are my choices?” I ask.
Kara beams at me, swatting at a wayward curl that’s getting in her eyes. “Well, we’ve got a great writing program. Maybe you should try some of the writing classes.”
“You mean, like, writing writing?” At her nod, I shake my head. “I don’t even like reading.”
“You should probably pick up a book sometime. Who knows, you might end up liking it.”
“Yeah, no, I don’t think so.” I sigh. “Do you have anything else? I don’t think I’m cut out for writing.”
“In fact, I think you’d be great at it.”
“Really?” I scoff. “What do you think I should write about?”
This time her smile is both sweet and sad. “Write about New York. I know you miss it. Or maybe something about winter.”
“I hate winter.” I wrap my arms around my body and hitch my shoulders to huddle in my purple fur coat. Another thing I like: fur. It’s soft and cuddly, and it’s the only thing that can somewhat keep me warm.
“Then why do you keep staring at the snow?” I shrug, and she dips her head in acceptance of my non-answer. “How about you try writing something about what you felt when Caleb left? About the way you acted up?”
Caleb.
I’m jolted at the mention of his name. It’s not an outward jolt, more a tremor on the inside, like when you hear a sudden loud sound in a quiet apartment and you know it’s nothing, but your body tenses nonetheless.
I don’t think I’ve heard his name spoken out loud since I moved here six months ago. It sounds so exotic in Kara’s voice. On my tongue, his name sounds loud, shrill, wrong somehow. I shouldn’t be saying it, but hey, I’ve got no impulse control, so I say it anyway.
I hate her for bringing him up. I hate that she’s going there in a roundabout way.
“I didn’t act up. I just…got drunk…every now and then.” I clear my throat, pushing my anger away when all I want to do is storm out of here.
“I know, and then every now and then, you went shoplifting, crashed your mom’s parties, and got behind the wheel.”
Should therapists be judgy like this? I don’t think so. And why are we talking about these things, all of a sudden? Mostly, we stick to neutral topics like school and my teachers, and when things get a little personal, I evade and make jokes.
This one time when she tried talking about the days leading up to Caleb’s departure, I took my top halfway off and showed her my newly acquired belly button ring, and maybe even the underside of my bra-less boobs.
“I didn’t kill anyone, did I?” I say, referring to her earlier comment about drinking and driving. “Besides, they took away my license, so the people of Connecticut are safe from the terror that is me. Why are we talking about this?”
“Because I think you can channel all of your emotions into something good, something constructive. Maybe you’ll end up liking it. Maybe you’ll end up liking college.” She lowers her voice then. “Layla, I know you hate college. You hate seeing me every week. You hate being here, but I think you should give it a chance. Do something new. Make new friends.”
I want to say I do have friends—I do, they are just not visible to the naked eye—but I don’t, because what’s the point of lying when she knows everything anyway?
“Fine.”
Kara looks at the clock on the wall to her right. “Tell me you’ll think about it, really think about it. The semester starts in a couple days so you’ve got a week to think about the courses, okay?”
I spring up from my seat and gather my winter gear. “Okay.”
“Good.”
It takes me a couple of minutes to get ready to go out in the snow. I snap my white gloves on and pull down the white beanie to cover my ears.
Winter is a cruel bitch. You gotta pile on or you’ll get burned by the stinging wind, and no matter how much I pile on, I’m never warm enough, not even inside the heated buildings. So, I’ve got it all: hat, scarves, gloves, thermal tights, leg warmers, fur boots.
I’m at the door, turning the knob, but something stops me.
“Do you think…he’s doing okay up there? I mean, do you think he misses me?” I don’t know why I ask this question. It simply comes out.
“Yes. I do think he misses you. You guys grew up together, right? I’m sure he misses his best friend.”
Then why doesn’t he call? “Boston is cold,” I blurt out stupidly, my throat feeling scraped. A chill runs through my body at the thought of all that snow up there.
“But I’m sure he’s fine,” she reassures me, with a smile.
“Yeah,” I whisper. I’m sure Harvard is taking good care of their genius.
“You know, Layla, falling in love isn’t bad or wrong or even hard. It’s actually really simple, even if there’s no reciprocation. It’s the falling out that’s hard, but no matter how much you convince yourself otherwise, reciprocation is important. It’s what keeps the love going. Without it, love just dies out, and then it’s up to you. Do you bury it, or do you carry the dead body around? It’s a hard decision to make, but you have to do it.”
I know what she’s saying: move on, forget him, don’t think about him—but how can you forget a love of thirteen years? How can you forget the endless nights of wanting, needing, dreaming? I love you. That’s all I ever wanted to hear. How can I let go of that?