“Listen to me: this conversation is not an indictment of your mother. She clearly had many strengths if she raised a daughter as strong and bright as you.” Rebecca ducked her head, trying to get me to look at her. “Resist the urge to defend her in here. We’re all conditioned to accept bad behavior in order to maintain peace within the family unit. To present that unit as happy and functional to the rest of society.”
“Is that conditioning or loyalty?”
“Conditioning. Sugarcoating our memories only impedes us on the path to our Maximized Selves. I don’t want you to condemn your mother—only to admit that, at critical times in your life, she failed you.”
I blew out a long, reluctant breath. “I guess you’re right.” If what I’d admitted was true, why did it feel like a betrayal?
Rebecca closed her eyes. “You’re tougher than you know, Kit. I have no doubt you’ll work the path quickly.”
I brightened. Some of the uneasiness subsided.
“Now about your sister. Natalie, isn’t it?”
I glanced at her warily.
“She’s always been available if you need her, but doesn’t she admonish you every time you try to explain your unhappiness, your desire for more from the world?”
That had definitely come from April or Georgina or both. I’d said as much about Nat when we were talking in my room the other night. The duplicity stung.
I gnawed my bottom lip. “She wants to make sure I’m healthy and happy.”
“Are you?”
I stared.
“Happy?” she prodded.
I gazed at the bookshelves behind her. Random titles jumped out at me: Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer, Can’t Hurt Me by David Goggins.
“For the most part,” I said too late.
She leaned forward to finger the rubber band around my wrist. “What about this?”
My stomach turned. “What about it?”
“You snap it to stop yourself from pulling out your hair, do you not?”
My face flooded with red-hot shame. I’d tried to be careful, to keep it private. The urge to pull coursed through my fingers. I sat on my hands again.
“When did you start?”
Talking about it deepened the urge, like thinking about an itch you weren’t supposed to scratch. “After she died.”
“Do you feel guilty about her death?”
“I feel guilty about a lot of things.”
“Then you’re not happy, Kit, are you?” She sat next to me on the couch. “Not if you have to punish yourself like this.”
I willed the heat to leave my cheeks.
“Don’t be embarrassed.” Rebecca pulled my hand from under my leg and held it. “We’ll work this out together. By the end of your time here you won’t need that anymore.” She gestured to the rubber band. “You’ll see.”
The mix of mortification and hope and mortification at my hope—the way I glommed onto any glimmer of it so desperately—brought tears to my eyes. I blinked them away before she could see. I would never be as strong as Rebecca.
“Let’s bring the conversation back to your sister.” She patted my hand. “She wants you to be her version of happy, not yours. How many times have you tried explaining as much to her?”
This process wouldn’t work unless I made myself vulnerable. If I couldn’t be as strong as she was, I could at least be as honest. “Many.”
“How many times have you gotten through?”
I pressed my lips together, sending a silent apology to Nat. “None.”
“What does Natalie think about you being here?”
“She thinks it’s a waste of my time and money.” I bit the inside of my cheek. “She doesn’t believe in this stuff.”
My sister had been like that since we were kids. I’d wanted to pretend our neighborhood playground was an amusement park, and she would list all the reasons that was impossible. I’d wanted to make the LEGO building a few inches taller, and she’d launch into a lecture about architectural stability. We’d be lying in the park on summer break and I’d say I heard the music of the ice-cream truck, and she’d say no, I didn’t, that the ice-cream man didn’t come on Mondays.
Why can’t you believe? I wanted to ask her.
Rebecca nodded knowingly. “So Natalie has also turned her back on you by minimizing your needs. Notice I did not call them wants, but needs. Because I believe you are in critical danger. Even as you sit here composed in front of me, you are crying out for something more.”