Dear Journal:
I usually leave therapy feeling pretty good about myself, or at least better than when I came in. Last night was NOT one of those times.
“What did you tell my mother to convince her that Michelle needed therapy?” I asked Dr. Chen after we’d settled in.
“I just told her I thought Michelle could benefit from it. Your mom agreed. And more importantly, so did Michelle.”
I nodded but didn’t say anything. I must’ve looked concerned because Dr. Chen continued…
“Don’t worry. We didn’t discuss anything your mother didn’t already know.”
At that point, I relaxed. I was curious how much mom actually knew, but I was more curious about his time with sissy. “How did your first session go?”
“Good. We made a lot of strides.”
I almost made a crack about that being too much exercise for her, but I thought better of it. Instead, I smiled softly. “What did you two talk about?”
“Jessie,” Dr. Chen said in a measured tone. “If you want me to respect your privacy during our sessions, you need to respect your sister’s.”
“Fine.” I decided to change tactics. “What did you think of her?”
“She’s a sweet girl.”
My expression soured. There’s nothing “sweet” about sissy. “Do you think she’s pretty?”
Dr. Chen shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with my questions. “She’s very pretty, yes,” he answered after clearing his throat.
I was so disappointed. Even after all the stories I had told Dr. Chen, he’d been beguiled by my sister just like everyone else.
All bets were off at that point.
“She used to be prettier," I said with a sly smile. "It’s a good thing you don’t charge by the pound, or we couldn’t afford you.”
Dr. Chen leaned forward in his chair, and his eyes locked with mine. “There’s something you should know about your sister,” he said, shaking his Mont Blanc pen for emphasis. “She’s been going through a rough patch lately, but she told me there’s been one bright spot. Do you know what she told me that was?”
I shook my head.
Dr. Chen’s pen froze in my direction. “You.”
My jaw must’ve fallen open, because Dr. Chen reacted as if I’d exclaimed “Bullshit!”
“It’s true,” he said. “She told me that her improved relationship with you has been the one saving grace.”
“I…I…I was just trying to be nice.”
I suppose that’s one way to spin all the Trenta-sized Starbucks drinks I’d brought her, or all my surprise fast-food runs, or the brownies I’d baked, or the treats I’d left around the house, or…
“Sometimes being nice is enough.” Dr. Chen settled back in his seat, tapping his pen against the plush leather armrest. “I’ll tell you one last thing. Michelle said she’s come to think of you as a confidant. That you’re one of the few people she feels like she can talk to about what she’s been going through.” His eyes met mine again. “And I’ve encouraged her to do so.”
My eyes retreated to my lap. I was no confidant. I was a drug supplier. All I’d done was compound her problems with steady doses of sugar, fat, and calories. I was there for her, sure, but it was only so I could stuff her with brownies, pizza, and hamburgers.
Now, she may knock on my door at any minute, hoping to talk.
I think I liked it better when she wanted to kill me.
--Jessie