It’s the kind of kiss worthy of fireworks, the kind of kiss that makes superheroes weak in the knees.
•
I wait almost six weeks before I go back to see Liz. I’ve decided to call her Liz because I’d seen her bristle ever so slightly at the nickname when I used it last time.
This time when Jan sees me, after a look of surprise and maybe disdain crosses her face for a split second, she simply nods and pushes a little button on her desk that I assume alerts Liz to a patient waiting. Liz appears in less than a minute, a surprise in her smile when she sees me pacing the small room.
“Lola. How nice to see you,” she says, stepping aside in her doorway, one hand out gesturing me inside.
“Uh, sure. You too.” Everything is the same as last time. I sit on her leather couch. She sits across from me and crosses her legs, heels digging in to the rug and the sound of her nylons brushing together as she adjusts herself.
“I’m glad you came back…” she begins, dragging her sentence out and waiting for me to reply. I just nod and give her a conceding half smile. “What made you come back, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I don’t know. Mostly I think I just wanted someone to talk to.”
“That’s fair. A lot of people see therapists for that reason. What would you like to talk about?”
“It’s just I’m pretty new to L.A., I don’t have any friends here,” I pause, realizing that while this is true, it’s also kind of a lie as it implies I have friends elsewhere, which I don’t. “Actually though, I don’t have any friends anywhere.”
“Do you have trouble making friends?”
“Yeah. I’m not that interested in trying to make any new ones…considering what happened with the last ones.”
“Do you want to talk about that?” she asks. I pause, making sure my answer is honest and realize that right now I honestly don’t want to and so I tell her so.
“No.”
“Okay.” There’s a pause in the room, which becomes a long silence. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable and while it doesn’t seem to make Liz uncomfortable either, I think she’s going to break before I do. She does. But maybe she didn’t know it was a contest.
“Do you want to talk about your mother?”
“I suppose,” I say.
“Were you and your mother close?”
“No. I mean, there was totally a time when I was very young that I wanted to be just like her…she was like a god to me and I just bathed in her presence, but she was very checked out, even then. There were times I saw her make an effort, but not many, and usually she couldn’t focus on the effort long enough for it to pay off. She was a drunk. I’m pretty sure she was a drug addict too. She was out of it almost nonstop, I’d say since the time I was six or seven.”
“That must have been very difficult.”
“I wouldn’t use that word.”
“What word would you use?”
“I’d say…disappointing. I was always pretty good at taking care of myself, ever since I can remember at least, but it was disappointing to have to, I guess. I expected more of her. Especially as I got older and realized what she could have been, who she should have been.”
“Who should she have been?”
“Well, for starters, a good mother, among other things.”
“Are you angry with her?”
“I was. No, I still am. Yeah, I’m angry with her.”
“Why?”
“For a lot of stuff. Being a crap mother, not telling me stuff she should have told me…” I pause, considering my next statement carefully.
“Can you finish that thought…you seem like you were going to say something else.”
“Yeah, I just, I think her dying was overdue, but I wish I’d asked some questions before she bit it.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Y’know, like who my father was, or where he was. I mean I could be Immaculate Conception or some shit, for all I know.”
“Do you wish you knew your father?”
“Not really, I just wish I had the information. Y’know I was just a stupid kid when she died, I didn’t know anything about my family or where I came from, or even much about her.”
“You know, you’re still a kid, Lola, I don’t think you should be so hard on yourself.”
“Trust me Liz, I’m no kid, regardless of how I may look to you.”
“How do you mean?”
“I’ve just been through a lot.”
“Do you see that as your fault?”
“Um, no, actually. Y’know, I thought it was at first, because I did bad stuff and I kind of knew it was wrong when I was doing it…but the more I’ve lived with myself, the more I’ve realized I don’t really have a choice about it.”