Page 112 of Scoring Eden

She rests her hands in her lap, palms up, and crosses an ankle behind the other. “That’s okay, we can talk about something else. Is your relationship with Eden still strictly a PR one?”

“No.” I don’t think it ever was. “I’m gonna try to do this commitment thing.”

“That’s a pretty big change for you. How are you feeling about it?”

“Scared.” A shiver sneaks up my spine. “That something will take her away from me, you know? But more than that, I’m terrified that I’ll fuck it up somehow. That I’ll get spooked by something and withdraw. That I’ll detach myself from her. Hurt her. Let her down. Let both of them down.”

“Both of them?”

“Eden and Macon.”

She nods. “You’ve made extraordinary progress since our last session, Alex, but healing is a slow process. You won’t be perfect right away, and neither will she. You’re two flawed individuals who have found themselves together, and it wouldn’t benefit either of you to hold yourselves to a standard that can’t be met. Be patient with yourself. Setbacks will happen. It’s natural, but what matters is how you choose to deal with it. Healthy relationships aren’t built on perfection but the choice to keep putting in the work to show up as a better partner. To keep choosing each other even when it’s hard.”

“But how do I do that?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” She motions at the room around us. “Looks to me like you’re already doing it.”

Huh. Maybe she’s right.

I’m here. On a Saturday, of all fucking days. All because I finally pulled my head out of my ass and decided to try my hand at this love business. I decided to choose Eden.

Is this what a breakthrough feels like?

“Doc?”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m ready to tell you about the day I lost my parents.”

THIRTY-TWO

ALEX

The day my parents died had been a good one. It was a Saturday in August and uncharacteristically warm for a Seattle summer. We’d spent the morning and most of the afternoon down at Green Lake Park, swimming and playing ball games on the sand.

My dad passed most of the time grumbling about the heat, setting up shop under a giant beach umbrella and a bucket hat that looked ridiculous on him. Looking back now, I think he only wore it because it made my mom laugh. And he lived to make her happy, hence why he’d refused to stay at home that day despite how much he hated the brightness of the sun and the sticky prickling of sweat from the heat. Because he knew how much she loved it.

Raised a Californian, Mom was at her best when the temperatures were at their highest. And that day, she’d danced for hours on the beach with six-year-old Brynn, the skirt of her peacock-printed sarong whipping up around her as some dude down the beach blasted Gnarls Barkley from a speaker, uncaring that people were watching.

At the age of ten, I thought I was too cool to join in.

But, man, I should’ve just done it.

Macon would have.

That’s one of the reasons why I think he’s the coolest little dude I’ve ever met. Play some Bruno Mars, and not even an apocalypse could stop that kid from rocking his shit out, no matter how many people are looking at him.

I don’t know if Brynn remembers, but she’d been so happy dancing with Mom that day, spinning around in the sand and giggling every time Mom twirled her under her arm, and I’d been so happy watching them. Dad too. Under the rim of his stupid bucket hat, he’d looked at his wife with this glow on his face that I didn’t understand at the time, but I do now.

That night, they were going for dinner with friends in town. We had a sitter, but Dad told me I could wait up for them if I wanted. They weren’t going to be home late, he’d said.

Little did any of us know that they weren’t going to come home at all.

Around eleven, two police officers had knocked on our door and changed our lives forever.

All of this to say, I should be well adjusted to having the floor pulled out from under me when I least expect it. I should know how to handle being blindsided by tragedy. I should know what to do by now.

But when I come home after my session with Dr. Sharma to find Eden collapsed on the cold tiles of the hallway, sobbing like Brynn was that night when the police showed up at our door, I realize I don’t know what to do at all.