“She was complex,” I tell Eddie now. “I don’t think even she knew how complex she was. You can say what you will about her, and I’ve said most of it myself at one point or another, but I still think there was some good about her.”
“You truly believe this,” Eddie says.
“Yeah.”
He shakes his head. “Just when I think I’ve got you figured out, you throw me for a loop.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”
“Have you thought about getting in contact with her?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Bear, for one. He’d be pissed.”
“Forget Derrick for a second,” Eddie says. “Is that it?”
I shake my head slowly. “Because no matter what good I think there might be, she still left.”
“Even if she had her reasons?”
“Nothing she could say could justify what she did.”
“You sure?”
I glare at him. “You’re damn right I am.”
“So that door is closed.”
“Firmly.” That feels like a lie.
“And what about the other doors?”
“What other doors?”
He waits.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“Indeed,” he says.
“How’s Dominic?” he asks.
“Fuck you, Eddie,” I reply weakly.
“Grief, Tyson. It all comes back down to grief. Your mother. Mrs. Paquinn. Dominic. Not all can be fixed, but some of it can.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
He shrugs. “There’s only so much I can do. I can lend an ear and give you fancy words like ‘regression’ and ‘repressed,’ but it’s up to you to do the work. Can I tell you a secret, Tyson?”
“What?”
“Therapy is bullshit. I sit here and listen to you and offer you pretty words of advice, but it’s up to you to figure it out. And that’s what happens. Most of the time. I just let you think I’m helping you. But really, it’s you who needs to help yourself. I can teach you the art of breathing, Tyson. But it’s up to you to actually do it.”
“And you think I can?”