Page 61 of Letters From A Stalker

I lean my head back against the chair. “I’m trying not to make her sound horrible.”

“You haven’t.”

The answer comes so simply that I look at him again.

Kai’s posture remains relaxed, one forearm resting against the arm of his chair. “You’ve told me repeatedly that your mother loves you. I believe you. You’ve also described a relationship where closeness sometimes comes with the risk that vulnerable information may later be used during conflict. Both can be true.”

“That’s the part that always makes me feel like an asshole.”

“Because?”

“Because I know why she is the way she is.”

He waits. I know enough about him now to recognize that silence, but this time I don’t resent it. It just gives me time to come to my own conclusion before I finally say. “She went through hell with my father. For years. And then there’s the depression, and everything else she’s dealt with. So when she does something that hurts me, there’s always this explanation sitting right beside it.”

Kai nods once. “Understanding where someone’s behavior comes from can give you compassion for them. It doesn’t require you to pretend the behavior has no effect on you.”

My fingers stop moving against the bottle. There it is again. One of those sentences that sounds annoyingly simple once somebody else says it.

“I’m very good at explaining people.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I can usually tell you exactly why somebody did something.”

“Yes.”

“And apparently that’s a problem too.”

“Not necessarily.” His mouth softens slightly. “It only becomes one when understanding someone else consistently replaces understanding what their behavior did to you.”

I look away because that one hits closer than I want it to.

Outside, the heavy white clouds move slowly against the gray sky, and I follow them for a few seconds before speaking again.

“I think that’s why I stopped telling her certain things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Anything I don’t want turned into a comparison.” I give a small shrug. “Relationships. Some friendships. Plans before they’re certain. Anything I’m excited about if I don’t want somebody immediately explaining why I should be careful or why their experience with something similar ended badly.”

Kai’s gaze stays on me. “So you protect the things that matter to you by keeping them private.”

I consider that. “Sometimes.”

“And does that feel like a boundary?”

The question catches me. “I don’t know. It feels more like... information control.”

A faint smile touches his mouth. “That may be the most law-firm answer you’ve given me yet.”

I laugh despite myself, but the humor fades naturally rather than turning into another exchange.

“Maybe it is a boundary,” I say after a moment. “It just doesn’t feel like a particularly healthy one.”

“Boundaries don’t always begin elegantly. Sometimes they begin because someone learns that access has consequences.”

That keeps me quiet.