Forty-one

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"Take a seat, Sophie." Doctor Mallory indicates at the two chairs across from her desk, her gray eyes watching me closely as I choose the same as every other time, slowly sitting down, crossing one leg over the other, interlacing my fingers over my knee.

It's my fourth therapy session in as many weeks. A month of opening my heart to this complete stranger, allowing her to see absolutely everything, and then hoping she might be able to patch me back together.

The first time I'd barely spoken for twenty minutes, simply staring at the small objects she has lining her desk. But then I'd thought about how sad Jayden would be if I hadn't even given it a chance, and I'd opened my mouth, and all this shit came out.

By the end of our one-hour session, I was blubbering like a baby, taking her through the events surrounding my diagnosis.

Every time has been like that. For some reason, this woman makes me feel very comfortable. I know it can be tough to find a therapist you click with, so the fact that this happened so easily for me is a small miracle.

"How have you been?" Mallory asks, finding a pen and paper for her notes. I pick up one of the stress balls from her desk, playing with it absentmindedly.

"Okay. Good. Just, I don't know, things are a little difficult right now," I say, shrugging.

"Jayden?" she asks.

A small part of me had been worried telling some stranger about my famous swimmer boyfriend. I know Jayden doesn't want Ollie's story smeared all over the tabloids. But Doctor Mallory exudes trustworthiness.

Also, she's bound by law to keep my secrets, which certainly helps.

"Yeah. He's really busy with swimming since they have the Big Ten conference or something soon." I shrug, still not completely caught up on the world of water-related sports. "But also, Antonella is moving in a few weeks, and Jayden is taking it pretty hard."

She nods, scribbling something down. "And how about you? How are you handling it?"

I snake an arm across my torso, essentially hugging myself. "Me? This isn't really about me."

"Well, everything in these sessions is about you," she deadpans, and I can't help chuckle a bit.

Maybe that's why I like her. She's professional and asks those dumb therapy questions, like how I feel about things, but she also has a dry sense of humor and isn't afraid of calling me out on my shit.

I'd been hesitant about getting a younger therapist because I was uncomfortable with the idea of having someone who could be my sibling tell me what was wrong with me.

But also, the idea of sitting down opposite someone my mother's age or older made me want to gag. I don't want to be judged by a grandma, thank you very much.

So I'd gone with someone young but accomplished. It was the lesser of two evils. And female. That part had been non-negotiable.

"Yeah, I suppose you have a point," I say. "I'm fine, I guess. It's... difficult. I don't really know what he needs from me, and I certainly have no idea how to give it. It's..."

"Scary?"

I look at the big, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Ann Arbor. "Yeah."

I hear her pen running over the paper. "You're afraid you won't be enough?" she brings up something we'd spoken about at length last time.

My skin feels itchy and uncomfortable, and the telltale pricks of tears begin as I blink my eyes. I've barely been here ten minutes, like damn.

"Why?"

It's the question of the hour, and maybe if I could just answer that, I wouldn't need to spend my money to have someone rummage around inside my head. But I can't.

"I don't know." I look back at her, frowning, my fingers drumming against my leg. "Sometimes I think about how much easier this would have been if he'd met the old Sophie. Like, I know logistically that we would never have gotten together if he'd met me before because patchwork families and soft swimmer boys weren't in my future at all, but still. Like she would have known what to do. She could have given him a shoulder to cry on, and she could have stepped up and actually helped with the Ollie situation. She could have been a good role model for him..." I can't help the bitterness that rises in my throat. "And Jayden got stuck with the new Sophie."

"I've noticed you say that before. Old Sophie and new Sophie. Why do you use those terms?"

I frown, lifting a shoulder. "Well, isn't it obvious?"

She's leaning forward, her elbows on the desk,  fingers folded under her chin. "No, it really isn't. Do you think you used to be a different person?"

"You don't?" I ask, disbelief coloring my tone. Has she even been listening?

"Not necessarily."

"I don't know about you, doc, but I can't really imagine this Sophie waltzing down a grand staircase in a big, white dress, being introduced to society.

I cringe internally, fighting off a full-body shiver at the idea that I actually did that.

Mallory waves a hand dismissively. "I'm not saying you haven't changed, but I don't believe this idea that there was an old you and a new you. And I definitely don't agree that the older version was better." There's a sternness to her voice, calling out something I haven't even said explicitly.

But maybe that's why I pay her the big bucks; because she can read between the lines.

"Mallory, I left behind an entire life. I changed pretty much everything about myself."

"Yes." She nods. "But you brought Max. Because he brings you a sense of calm. Of home." She pins me with a look, raising an eyebrow. "And you came here. You could have gone anywhere. Why Michigan, Sophie?"

I stare back at her defiantly because she knows the answer damn well. Eventually, I sigh, leaning back in my chair, crossing my arms. "Jen," I grumble.

"Yes. You chose to come here because your best friend was here. And you still read, don't you?" She doesn't wait for my answer. "I think that when you left Oklahoma, you shredded the parts of your life that didn't really fit you. The parts that no longer made sense. But you still kept the parts closest to you. You know, changing in your early twenties is completely normal. Everyone does it to some extent. And most people do it all their life, grow and adapt and discover a bit more about themselves every day."

She wags her head from side to side, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Do most people do it overnight? No... But it's still completely normal."

"But I dropped out of school." It's like an ace up my sleeve. Because if what Mallory is saying is true, that I held on to the most important parts of me, then why on earth would I drop out when I'd just begun my masters? Loving learning and wanting to teach others have been an integral part of me for as long as I can remember. It still is; even though I gave up that dream, I still long for it. So obviously, Mallory's theory doesn't hold water.

She doesn't look fazed in the least, though. "Yes. You dropped out of school and got a job in a field where you have zero interest in advancing yourself. And you started smoking. And made a one-night rule for every man and woman you slept with. And before you met Jayden, had you made a single friend out here besides Valentina from your work?"

Her gray eyes scrutinize me, and I squirm under her gaze. "No..."

"No," she says, looking triumphantly. "What do all those things have in common, Sophie?"

"I don't know." I throw my hands up. "Isn't that part your job?"

She grins. "Yes." Then her expressions morph, thoughtfulness and a bit of sadness creeping in. "They all have that in common that it's the kind of decisions a person might make if they weren't planning to stick around for very long."

You've been banking on the cancer to kill you before you had to deal with the consequences of your terrible life choices.

Jayden's words echo in my head, sounding quite similar to Mallory's.

"What are you saying?" I ask, avoiding her gaze.

"Sophie, do you believe the cancer will return?"

There isn't enough air in this room. It's stuffy, and the walls are too tight, and she should open one of those giant windows. I feel like I'm choking. My fingers form small fists in my lap. "Statistically, there's a-" I begin, but Mallory cuts me off.

"I don't care about the numbers. Do you believe it will come back?"

My heart beats wildly in my chest, and I look at a spot just at the right of her head. "Yes."

"And then what would happen?"

"I would die."

I don't doubt it. I go in for checkups every six months, and there's been no change in the last three years. I'm healthy as can be. But if the cancer returned, it would be to finish the job. I'm sure of it.

"Let's say that's true." She cocks her head. "Would that make you unworthy of love?"

"Jeez," I say, cringing. "Just straight for the jugular, huh?"

"Sophie."

I huff, looking out at the snowy landscape again. "Maybe... I don't know."

"Well, that's ridiculous," she states, folding her hands on the table, shooting me a look as to say that I'm being an idiot. "A person's worth isn't determined by how many days they have on this earth. It's about what you do with those days."

"So I'm unworthy of love because I fuck around and don't take my life seriously?"

"God, you're so morbid," she says, shaking her head exasperated. "Obviously, you're worthy of love. Everyone is. You don't have to collect a certain amount of karma or whatever for that. I'm saying that actions matter because they make us who we are, and you shouldn't focus on what may happen in the future or how your endeavors might be futile. You need to live your life like there'll be a million tomorrows. And then it's fine if what you want to do is work at the hotel and destroy your perfectly good lungs. As long as it's what you want."

"I don't know how to do that," I admit quietly. "Living like I want to."

"Well, let's find out, shall we." She looks down at her papers flipping through them. "What about kids? Do you want kids?"

She's so to the point it gives me whiplash sometimes. Nothing about easing me in. No anesthesia, alright.

"I can't have kids."

She rolls her eyes. "No, I understand the medicine. I'm asking if you want them."

"I can't have kids," I say through gritted teeth, looking straight at her. "Because if the cancer does come back, I would leave them behind. How's that fair? There's already Jen and Jayden and Ollie. I don't want to add more people to the list. How would that be okay?"

Her expression softens, and she takes a deep breath. "Sometimes shitty things happen."

"That's the best you can do? Life is unfair?" I ask, unimpressed.

She shrugs. "It's the truth. Shouldn't stop you from living."

I look away from her again, feeling the tears prick at my eyes yet again. How do people do that? Just go about their day and plan their futures without any guarantee that they'll live to see it.

Mallery jots something down in her notes. "You didn't answer my question. Do you want kids?"

"I wouldn't be a good mother."

"How come?"

"Because a mother should be soft. Nurturing. Compassionate. Traditionally very feminine traits." I want to shrink in on myself if it gets me out of this conversation.

"And?" Mallory pushes.

"And I'm not really a woman anymore."

One of her eyebrows rises slowly. "And why is that?"

"Biologically-"

"Biologically, you were born with two X chromosomes. Did one of them get up and wander off?"

"Of course not," I huff, crossing my arms.

"Then, biologically, you are just as much a woman as I am," she says, rolling her shoulders. "Listen, if this is about you not identifying as a woman, that's okay, and we should talk about it. But if this is because you no longer believe you are entitled to the term 'woman,' then I will have to, respectfully, ask you to shut up."

I let out a strangled laugh as she looks at me stone-faced.

"Being able to carry children isn't the deciding factor regarding the female gender. Because it's incredibly narrow, and it would disregard the identity of millions of cis women who, for some reason or another, are unable to procreate, including those who's gone through menopause. And that's without mentioning every trans woman. So, really, wouldn't it be kind of ridiculous if that was the only thing that mattered?"

She's looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to agree with her. Or disagree and get verbally beat down for my dumb opinions. Of course, I agree with her. I'm not saying that trans women or infertile cis women aren't women. This isn't about anyone but me.

"When you grow up like I did, being taught certain expectations from a young age, it's hard not to think like that sometimes," I say.

She breathes deeply, shutting her eyes shortly. "It takes time to untangle ourselves from the fucked up things that are ingrained in us during our formative years. But it's not impossible."

I nod slowly. Because isn't that why I'm here? To like heal and shit.

"So, what now?"

"You still haven't answered my question. Do you want kids?"

I narrow my eyes at her. Persistent little shit. I don't pay her to be tortured. Okay, I kind of do, but whatever.

Closing my eyes, I pull in air through the nose, releasing it slowly. "Maybe... I don't know."

"Well, it's a big undertaking in any regard, so it's fine to think about that for a while. But maybe it would make sense to allow yourself to get closer to Ollie? Be caring and warm and all those things, even if you feel like an imposter." She sends me a tentative smile.

"Yeah," I say. "Maybe."

"Something to think about until next time," she says, scooting back her chair and glancing at the clock. Our session is over. And somehow, I managed not to cry my way through it.

I stand, making my way to the door. "See ya next week, doc."

"Later, Sophie."

A/N: 
I hope you understand Sophie's struggles a little better now 😢

First of all, I'm not a therapist, so like, take this with a grain of salt. Also, this chapter touches on biological sex vs. gender identity. As always, please let me know if anything about my writing doesn't sit right with you. I don't want to offend anyone or misrepresent something 🥰

- Hanna 💙


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