Maybe This Is Love, |✔️

Chapter 8

"How do you feel today, Harley?" She squints at me through her glasses, most likely noticing a difference in my demeanour.

"I don't know," I sigh. I pushed my hair up this morning so I knew a migraine was incoming. "Better, I guess?"

Tracy's eyes light up like a child on Christmas. I'm guessing this is because I usually reply with "the same as it always is" and nothing else. I suppose it's now my signature thing to her but today it's different and I'm different and I'm sure she's aching to know why.

"Don't get too excited. I don't know how long it'll even last for." I roll my eyes ever so slightly. I feel sheepish today like a little girl playing truth or dare at a sleepover.

"How long will what last for, Harley?" She asks softly.
I hate the way she always says my name after every sentence, for some reason it felt very patronising. "Is it...a boy?" She asks tentatively, raising her eyebrows.

I contemplate on whether I should tell the truth or not and then I am reminded of the fact that we're paying a lot of money for these private sessions and the sooner I get "better", the sooner I get to leave this place.

I nod, biting my lip.

"Do you like him?" She asks, more like an eager classmate than a psychiatrist.

"Who doesn't?" I scoff. Literally, everyone loves Parker and he loves everyone. Who am I to think that I'm anyone special to him?

Tracy writes something down in her little notebook before she looks up at me. "And this is a problem?" She squints at me again.

I don't respond. Is it a problem? It doesn't make me happy but at the same time, it doesn't make me sad. "Hmm." Is all she says and continues to write some more bullshit down.

"I also understand that you have a cell phone now," She smiles. I notice the blue cellular device poking out of my pocket. Blue is my favourite colour but it looks ugly on a phone. "Do you regularly call him on it?"

"No, I usually call him on my seashell." I scoff sarcastically.

"He's the only normal person my age that I communicate with," Which I realise is definitely not a good thing for a 16-year-old girl. "So, yes, I do call him on it regularly."

I smile just thinking about him. He was so kind to everyone he sees, even when he was angry.

"And this boy...what did you say his name was again?" She asks, trying to catch me out. Foolish of her to think I would fall for that.

"Nope," I cross my arms like a spoilt child and shake my head. "Not telling you that."

"And why would that be?" She regards me quietly. "I believed you were finally opening up to me and that we were getting some progress."

I roll my eyes at her while she scribbles something down. It doesn't even feel weird anymore to have a therapist. I used to get really anxious at the thought of anyone seeing me entering and leaving the old psychiatric building, regardless of whether it was an old man walking his dog or a little kid skateboarding up the park; I didn't want to be seen.

But now, ever since I've met Parker, I haven't cared about all that. All I cared about was the way he regarded me as normal, something I never thought I was. It was a nice feeling, almost like taking a deep long breath of fresh air after years of being underwater.

"Maybe next time Tracy," I check my watch quickly, "However, it has come to my attention that it's time for me to depart," I gathered up my things with one hand, quicker than ever. "I'll see you next week." I wave my hand behind me as I abashedly leave her office.

"See you next week, Harley-Blair." She says with a slight smile on her face. I wish I knew what she was thinking.

I decide to rendezvous at the dainty little coffee shop around the corner before I catch my bus. Would I finally be able to use my voice to order something now? For all these months, I've been daring myself to enter and order something but like the coward I am, I always chicken out. Hopefully, with all this progress with Parker, I'll finally be able to do it.

As soon as I enter the shop, my nostrils take in all the scents and aromas of the different spices they use to make their coffees and hot chocolates so delicious. I remember coming here once with pops when I was around 10 and we sat and drank hot chocolate until it came out of our ears. That was when he was alright, when he was normal, when he was happy.

"Hello dear, how may I help you this lovely morning?" Says a cheery old man. He had red rosy cheeks and very kind eyes. I vaguely remember him as Mr Atwi, an Arab man who has owned this shop for many years. He was the same man who took our orders all those years ago. I wonder if he would recognise me but I doubt it. He probably has thousands of customers coming in and out of his shop all the time.

Suddenly, I feel the nervousness creeping up from my toes all the way to my chest. Just the thought of pops made me stuttery all over again, "W-w-wh-" I start to panic.

How useless am I that I can't even order a simple cup of coffee?

"It's okay dear, take your time," I can see the sincerity in his kind eyes which makes me feel even worse. I hate pity. Can he sense that there's something wrong with me? Does he think I'm mad? Does he know what happened to Pops? Who am I kidding? Half the town knows. Here come all the paranoid and irrational thoughts. I start to control my breathing to calm myself down a little.

I feel a single tear roll down my cheeks. They just keep coming and I can't stop them. "C-can-" I stop trying and I think Mr Atwi understands. He probably did see all the newspaper headings.

He turns around and swiftly conjures up a cup of hot chocolate filled with marshmallows and whip cream. The exact same drink I ordered as an excited little ten-year-old. He smiles tenderly as he hands me the cup. I begin to fumble in my purse for the change when he says "On the house,"

I shake my head, "No. No," are the only words I can manage to say. My heart warms with gratitude and I manage to thank him with my hands.

Mr Atwi shakes his head and says "Jazakallah Khair, my dear," I make a mental note to google the meaning of 'Jazakallah Khair' later and I thank him once more before I hastily leave the store.

Next time I'll do it. Next time.