2 years ago
  • We wend up holding each other, clinging together in the kind of group hug we haven’t shared since I was a little girl and I’d stumble upon my parents kissing in the kitchen. They would sweep between me between them and pin me there, holding me in place with steady arms. Arms that wouldn’t let me go, no matter what. Arms I took for granted every day of my life.
  • Then Sir Boyle pulls me aside and asks me privately if therapy is helping, or if the constant reminders are too much and we should try a different approach. I shake my head and tell him therapy might be the greatest blessing I have ever received and it’s a cheesy movie playing out before my very eyes.
  • Then I snap into the present, where my mother stands with her lips pressed tightly together, hands on hips. My father stands beside her, scowling. His eyes, sapphire like mine, are cold, hard, and unforgiving.
# Therapy Quirks# 09# The Boyles senior