Chapter Forty-Seven
The Honest Truth
As I approach Wister's desk, I look around, wondering if I am about to be ambushed with brownies, cookies or some other oil-oozing baked good that Cedar dreamed up. I guess that's unlikely, as it is barely past nine in the morning. Still, I cannot think of any other reason why Wister would ask me to meet him in his office when I don't have a one-on-one session with him until tomorrow. Today was meant to be dedicated to journalling, working on a recovery art project with Sweet Pea and with any luck, a visit to the forest.
I don't take my usual spot on the faded rug and the familiar mountain of blankets, but instead, plop myself into the cushioned chair in front of the desk and begin to take in the chaos of the office. His desk is strewn with used china teacups, loose scraps of papers, and fountain pens with a variety of different nibs. When I have the edges of the cushion almost entirely frayed from waiting with my legs jiggling incessantly, I hear the door open behind me and turn to see Lady Lavender and Wister arriving.
Suddenly, the ecstasy of my birthday last week washes away and doubt replaces the love I was beginning to believe was constant. This had to be bad, or why else would Lady Lavender be here too?
Wister gives me one of his gentle smiles as a greeting, whereas Lady Lavender bends low to kiss my cheeks, her perfect curls tickling my skin and making me blush. She smells of sage and I wonder if she was cleansing her room again as she likes to do at dawn from time to time.
"Hello honeyflower," Lady Lavender says, using her preferred pet name for me, before taking the seat next to me, turning it slightly to face me. Wister sits across from us, quickly trying to tidy up the paper into piles and stacking books.
"What's going on?" I ask, not bothering with politeness as my stomach seems to have dropped into the floor below. "Are you kicking me out?"
This is my real concern, my most painful insecurity. Maybe I've been too much, made too little progress. My mind spirals and my palms are begin to sweat as the chant unloveable, unloveable, unlovable begins.
Wister raises both hands, gesturing for me to calm down.
"Hold your horses, Pop," He comforts me, still smiling. "We wanted to speak with you about a letter we received this morning."
Goosebumps rise along my arms at this. I already know who it is from, ever before I see the perfect cursive handwriting on the front of the envelope Wister holds out for me to take.
"My mother." My stomach sinks as I recall the letter I wrote to her several weeks ago. I unfold the single sheet of paper and find my mother's spidery lettering staring back at me. It isn't addressed to me, but to Lady Lavender.
Before I can scan the page, Lady Lavender reaches forward and touches my arm delicately.
"She wants you home, sweetheart," She says, her voice tender. I can't decide if she is trying to break some bad news to me or tell me that all of my dreams have come true. In reality, I don't know what I want to hear.
Looking up from the page, I see Wister watching me closely, a sad smile on his face.
"We've been keeping her updated on your progress throughout your time. She is proud, but understands that the journey ahead will still pose challenges for you as your recovery continues," Wister explains, nodding as though he wants me to acknowledge our previous conversations about recovery in our one-on-one sessions. I am too numb to do anything but lean forward and place the letter on the desk.
Was my mother proud of me? It seemed unlikely. She had expressed many of her feelings toward me in the past, but pride had never been one of them.
When I don't speak, Lady Lavender and Wister exchange a look of concern. I love them, but it's a battle not to roll my eyes.
"Are you making me leave?" I whisper, holding onto the hem of my baby blue, daisy-patterned dress with curled fists. My mind is moving in two extremes; the slowness of shock and the whirring thoughts that come with realising that leaving this safe haven is an option - and someday, a necessity.
"No, of course not," Wister begins, looking to Lady Lavender for back-up. She nods, her smile genuine. "But we wanted you to have the full facts."
With that, Wister gets to his feet and moves to a cabinet by his bed. It is an antique that squeaks horribly as he pries the top drawer open. After a short rummage, he withdraws a dark blue folder. When he holds it out to me, I don't immediately snatch for it.
When I do take it, alongside my mother's letter, the weight of the words within the pages of the folder feels like that of an elephant.
"We want you to have all of the information - to know just how far you've come," Lady Lavender says earnestly, giving my arm a small squeeze of love and comfort.
I nod, looking up through my eyelashes, promising to read my mother's words. Yet when I return to my bedroom, I tuck the folder and letter deep in my suitcase under my bed, knowing that the honesty of the pain I've unleashed on my family is too much to bear right now.
A/N:
Hello friends,
The end of another week is here and I won't lie, I'm very, very ready to go to sleep for the entire weekend! I hope you enjoyed this, a lot.
With love,
Jens x
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Evergreen Everleigh - The Wattys 2020
Teen FictionSeventeen-year-old Everleigh is a girl living on the fringes of her own life. Moving through the world like the ghosts of her dead that she sees, Everleigh struggles with an eating disorder. Desperate, her mother tries one last effort to save her d...
