On my way out of the house, I grab my phone and keys.
I’m too scared to look at my parents again.
Anya is waiting for me outside the building when I arrive. She often does this. It’s as if she’s worried that something bad has happened. Especially with my rush to get an appointment before her holiday.
She’s a petite black woman with raven black hair down to her butt. She has the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen. The woman is an angel, and every time I see her, I feel like I can cope for a little bit longer. Today, her hair is twisted into a giant bun on the top of her head.
“Indie,” she greets me warmly. I doubt she meets everyone outside, but I’ve been coming to see her every two weeks since I was sixteen.
“Hey, Anya.”
We walk through the lobby and into her duck egg blue office. I take a seat on her cream wingback chair, and I unscrew the cap of my bottled water. It always smells like vanilla in here. She has unlit scented candles and explained that vanilla is a comforting smell. It wasn’t to me before I started coming here.
“Are you looking forward to going home?” I ask her.
“The Caribbean is beautiful.” She smiles and sits opposite me on a chair identical to my own. “You would love it.”
“I’ll bet I would.”
“How have you been this past fortnight?”
“Spencer is home.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “He is? This was a planned visit, though, no?”
“Yeah. He’s early—he wanted to surprise his parents—but I knew he was coming home soon.” Everyone is going home. I have no idea what it’s like to want that.
“How do you feel about him being back?”
“Confused. I mean, I’m happy to see him, obviously.”
“Why the confusion if you’re happy to see him?”
I take a sip and screw the lid on my bottle. “It’s temporary. Very temporary. He’s talking about auditions and a second movie. He will get one, of course. Then a third, fourth, fifth. We’re doomed.”
Her smile is friendly. “Doomed is a little strong, don’t you think?”
“That’s how it feels. Our friendship has always been strong but recently—the last six months really—it’s felt so fragile, I’m scared to breathe in case it breaks.”
“Have you spoken to Spencer about this?”
Like hell. “No.”
“That might be an idea. He could have other plans.”
I frown, fiddling with the curled edge of the bottle’s label. “Plans?”
“To keep in touch. To remain close friends through the inevitable distance.”
“I’m not saying he will chuck our friendship away happily. I just think we’ll slowly fall apart. He’ll have less time, and so will I. Next year I graduate, and then I need to focus on starting a career.”
Anya tilts her head to the side. “I guess you need to decide how a future friendship with him will look. When we grow up and take on jobs, mortgages and responsibilities, we have less and less time for our friends. It happens to most people. I see my friends about once a month now. In university, we were together every day.”
“I’m being unreasonable.”
“It’s not unreasonable to want something that has been a constant source of stability and happiness to continue. It can, Indie, but things will inevitably change, whether Spencer spends months away working or he stays home with a nine-to-five job.”
“One day he’ll get married, and his wife won’t want him hanging around with his childhood friend every night.”
“Are you hoping that things could have worked out between you two when you tried?”
My shoulders sag. I long for that every single day. I will never be enough for him. “It wouldn’t work, even if he was here with a nine-to-five.”
“Because you would have to eventually introduce him to your parents. Or at the very least, tell him about them.”
I nod. That, and he can do better than the unwanted girl with the broken family.
“There is nothing for you to feel ashamed about. Your parents’ actions do not reflect on you.”
My fingernails dig into the plastic bottle. Anya’s dark eyes flick to the bottle then back to me. I let go.
She gently pushes further. “The stats on children living with a parent or parents abusing alcohol or drugs is devastating. You are not alone, Indie. The very fact that you’re excelling in university and planning a successful career speaks volumes about your character.”
I feel like I have a million ants crawling all over my body. I wrap my arms around my waist, letting the bottle drop onto the chair.
Anya remains silent, letting me digest her words and consider how I want to progress with this session.
Honestly, all I can think about is running out of the door.
“I understand that I can’t do anything about them.”
She smiles sadly. “Will you consider telling someone about your parents? It doesn’t have to be Spencer. It could be Wren or Mila.”
My eyes widen in fear, as if she’s forcing me to do this.
“Consider it. You don’t have to do it, but I do want you to think about how you would open up and what you would say.”
I press my lips together.
“What do you think they would say?” she asks.
Ice-cold fear trickles down my spine. “They would be sympathetic, feel sorry for me, tell me they wished I’d told them earlier. They would want to be there for me like I’m a five-year-old.”
“No. They would love you, tell you how amazing you are, and insist that you lean on them when you need to.”
“They would definitely feel sorry for me.”
“Who wouldn’t feel sympathy for a child who has been through what you have? That doesn’t mean they will think you’re fragile or in need of rescue. You have proven that you can take care of yourself since you were a child. All I’m saying is that you don’t always have to. There are times in friendships and relationships when you aren’t equal; one
