Page 4 of Keepsakes and Kismet

“We heard you moved to a new place. Congratulations! Your mom said you’re in the townhouse development off Main Street? Not too far from our place, as you know. We’d love to see you soon. It’s been so long, and we miss you, buddy. Maybe you could stop by? Or we could. Whatever you want. Take care.”

Dr. Jain waits patiently after the message stops. I’ll talk soon, but right now I close my eyes, focusing on my breaths.

After a few minutes, I unclench my teeth and make eye contact with her. “Okay. It’s done.”

She sets her mug down on the side table and picks up her notebook again. “Another one down. How do you feel?”

“I feel okay. I feel better than I felt the last time, which was better than the time before. I think it’s getting… not easier emotionally, but easier to hear. If that makes sense.”

“That makes sense.” She takes a quick note. “And that also brings us to the end of our session. Great work tonight, Cal.”

I stand and gather my things, giving one last glance at the box of tissues. “New box design this week. How many do you go through?”

Dr. Jain smiles. “I buy wholesale.”

* * *

“So, how are you… really?” Carter waggles his eyebrows, dramatically emphasizing the “really” like his master’s degree is in psychology and not kinesiology.

“For fuck’s sake, Carter, which Understanding Trauma book did you pull that one out of?”

He grins, the freckles on his face scrunching as he bends over to spot me. “What? I can’t ask how my big brother’s doing—really?”

My family means well, and I love them fiercely. Ma and Dad were the ones who got me into therapy at sixteen, and my siblings have always been gracious during my particularly dark spells. By the time I left for college, I’d found meds that worked for me and learned to endure my new normal. When my therapist announced his retirement, everyone supported my decision not to continue therapy.

And eight years later, after realizing that enduring isn’t exactly thriving, my family once again became my biggest champions on my journey to find someone new. Though even with Dr. Jain in the mix, they treat well-being check-ins like they’re an Olympic sport—and the Galvins are going for gold.

“As always, I’m fine,” I grit out, pressing the barbell up one last time to finish my set.

Grabbing the bar from me and helping me rack it, Carter dramatically feigns concern. “Uh oh. The podcast said that if your loved one says ‘fine,’ they may be on the brink of a mental breakdown.”

I sit up and grab a towel. “Or they might just not be the type to wax poetic about their feelings to their annoying brother.”

He clutches his chest and staggers backward, wiping beads of sweat dripping down his pale skin. “You wound me.”

I place my elbows on my knees, resting for a moment, and take a closer look in the mirror. My gaze snags on the undereye bags from yet another night of tossing and turning. Stubble covers my usually clean-shaven face. I finger comb my wavy hair back behind my ears. Probably time for another haircut.

“Man. Maybe getting four hours of sleep is something I was only able to do in my early twenties. I look rough.”

Carter rolls his eyes. “Please. Rough or not, I have it on good authority your chin alone has its own fan club. Remember Priya? She almost ditched me on the spot when your dimple showed up to my gym’s grand opening.”

I snort. “I wasn’t interested in her.”

“You’re never interested, period. And thank fuck for that. You’d be absolutely dominating at the bars if you’d ever leave your townhouse.”

My laughter echoes throughout the empty gym. Carter specifically schedules me early in the morning when his facility’s closed. And while some mornings feel a little more obligatory than others, exercise really does seem to prevent my PTSD from taking control of the day.

“We wouldn’t be going for the same girls anyways. You’re still a little baby.” I punch him in the upper arm as I stand, but his stocky frame barely moves.

“I’m barely younger than you, and I’m a business owner. I pay taxes.” He raises an eyebrow. “Would a baby pay taxes, Cal? Hell, I’m the one with the graying sideburns. Is a side effect of your medication hair growth and vitality? I might need to get some for myself.”

“Shockingly enough, better hair is not an off-label use of anti-depressants,” I deadpan. “And I’m pretty sure my meds are the last thing you need. You’d probably agree to board a rocket ship to Mars after one dose.”

“Nah, I’m not famous enough to be an astronaut. Celebrity status is a requirement to leave the atmosphere these days.” Carter takes a swig of his morning protein shake. “How’s your job going? Any rats lately?”

“Eh, only one.” I shrug. “Turns out he was the chef, so I didn’t dock any points.”

He cracks up, nearly spitting out his shake. “Oh, the Health Inspector has jokes now.”