“Excuse me, I’m going to see my son. You can’t stop me.” She smiled and kept her fake light tone, but it didn’t faze me.
“Leave,” I repeated.
“I just want to speak to him.” She put on a frown, her lip wobbling a little.
“Leave before I call his private security to escort you out.” That was a huge lie, but I didn’t care.
“You wouldn’t.” She dropped all of her acts.
“I know you hurt him. If he wants to forgive you, I won’t stop him. But I never will.” A smile, that I knew looked evil, spread over my face. “Get out of here, you bitch.”
She looked so affronted. Maybe no one had ever called her that to her face before. I was glad to be her first. It was also the first time I’d ever called someone that. She looked like she was deciding what to do, but finally turned around and returned to her car. I stood in the doorway watching her car back up out of the drive and off our property.
It was a strange feeling. People were always calling me too nice for my own good throughout college. I let too many nasty people slide because I wanted to get to a good place in the fashion world and was afraid to make enemies. I knew Hana Hirano had money and some sway over his grandfather, but I didn’t care. It turned out I did have a line and she had crossed it. As long as I lived here, she wasn’t going to come into our home.
Taylor arrived an hour and a half later and found me doing some small sketches on our kitchen counter.
“How was therapy?” I asked when he came in.
“Good. We had a lot to talk about.” He put a small bag in front of me.
“What’s this?” Whatever it was, it smelled amazing.
“A new bakery opened downtown, I got you a chocolate croissant.”
“Aw, thanks.” I opened the bag and pulled the little treat out. Ever since our talk, instead of greeting me with kisses, he started bringing me small treats or giving me compliments. Occasionally, I would still get a kiss if it was a particularly good day. I hoped that with couple’s therapy we’d have more and more good days.
Chapter 13: Lydia
“Are you ready for therapy?” I said it enthusiastically, my voice crescending like I’d hear people hype up a football game. I wasn’t sure if I was ready, so I thought acting a little goofy might help get me in a better mood.
I caught a small upturn of his lips. “I’ve been going for two years now. I never know until it’s done.”
“Do you ever, I don’t know, finish therapy?” I asked, genuinely wondering but hoping I didn’t sound too ignorant.
“You can,” he said. “If you’re showing steady signs of improvement and stay at a satisfactory base level for a while, you graduate. Therapy is for helping you, if it’s done helping, you’re done.”
“That makes sense.”
“Mrs. Tupp has said recently I’m close to graduating.”
“That’s great news,” I said, my expression lighting up with excitement.
“Yeah. She wants to see how I do with couples’ therapy. If after we figure that out, I’m still doing good, she thinks I’ll be done.”
“Maybe Christmas can also secretly be a therapy graduation party,” I teased.
“Even when I graduate, I won’t be able to keep the Tupps away. Mrs. Tupp loved the idea of the party. She’s bringing a casserole.”
“That’s still two months away.”
“She insisted.”
We shared a small laugh. When I pictured married life when growing up, did I ever picture domesticity being anything like this? Casually talking about therapy over our morning coffee? Despite that, it all felt perfectly normal, as normal as I felt waking up and seeing Taylor’s face across from mine.
“Let’s get going, we don’t want to be late.”
At Mr. Tupp’s, a floor above his wife’s, we went from the waiting room to the office. The walls of his office were covered with several framed, completed puzzles on the wall. All of them were abstract art pieces. They must have taken hours to complete. How could someone sort through that kind of mess?
We shook Mr. Tupp’s hand. He was a taller, round man with a carefully cared for mustache and a deep, almost bellowing voice, like you might think a mall Santa would have.
“So, Taylor, Lydia, is it fine if I call you Lydia?” Mr. Tupp asked.
“Of course.”
“Thank you for coming here with your concerns. I hope I can help work them out with you.” He had a wide smile that made me feel safe here, even with my complete lack of knowledge of these kinds of things.
“What are we going to do?” I asked.
“I’m going to teach you some common ways of avoiding what triggers your,” he nodded at Taylor, “fears and trauma. I will also be teaching you strategies for making sure both of you are in the position to know when the other is really consenting, even when they seem to want to engage in sexual acts or even say that they do. When in doubt of course, don’t engage.”
I nodded. That seemed like what we were already doing.
“When your control is violated, it can be hard to set boundaries. I’m sure Taylor’s heard this a thousand times, but often convincing yourself you want to even when you don’t want to is a coping mechanism developed by the victim to make the abuse not seem as bad as it is. Abusers will often insist that the victim does want what is happening in order to shame them into not telling anyone and to guilt them into keeping it going.”
That was a lot to hit me with all at once. I understood it all fine, but it didn’t make hearing it any easier. Mr. Tupp had a very understanding and relaxed tone, which helped. I could tell he wanted to help us. I just selfishly wished that Taylor never went through with what he did. That he
