28. new world

28

NEW WORLD

"So, uh, you looked pretty cozy with your therapist in the car. You guys were all whispers and cuddles most of the drive."

I ignore Jameson and focus on the electric buzz of a nearby vending machine. My head feels like it's been through the blender, pounding out retribution for sobbing all over Leo. As much as I would have welcomed them, there were no cuddles or whispers. At least none in line with what Jameson's probing for. Leo was Leo—professional, kind yet fierce, and brutally honest.

"No more accidents or stunts, Amelia. When you feel overwhelmed, remember that feelings aren't facts. The storm will pass. Always. Find something that brings you happiness and give it all your passion."

No suggestion of seeing me again, no asking for my phone number or slipping me his. No response other than platonic, doctorly affection. I almost hate him for his superhuman ability to ignore what happened between us .

Almost.

What's really strange is I don't feel the urge to jump off a cliff or out of an airplane right now. I don't feel like maxing out a credit card or surfing big waves or skipping town for life as a beach bum in Puerto Vallarta. I actually did that once, and it wasn't nearly as glamorous as I'd imagined.

"Are you going to talk to me or just stare at the wall?"

"Stare at the wall."

"It speaks! Hallelujah!"

My lips twitch, too tired to smile. The fluorescents are starting to get to me, pulsing in my periphery, as is the long day of waiting around the hospital. We've been in our dad's room off and on over the last hours. He's on a lot of drugs and not really conscious, but he did open his eyes long enough to see us and smile.

"Thank you, Jaybird," I whisper, dragging my eyes from the vending machine to his face. "For shipping me to that place. I'm sorry for everything I put you through. Especially the last couple of years."

He nods, scanning my features. "You're welcome. Dr. Chastain didn't tell me much, but he did say you remembered everything."

I know he's talking about more than the accident.

My eyes sting. "Yeah, I remembered. Something inside me turned off when Mom and Phillip died, but whatever it is, it's on again. I think Dr. Chastain might have saved my life."

He nods, eyes soft with relief. "I think you might be right. Told you they had the best drugs. "

I manage a laugh. "If by drugs you mean therapy, then yes. The best drugs on the West Coast."

One day later, when the surgery is over and my dad is resting comfortably in a recovery room, I call Kinsey and ask if she wants a temporary roommate. Her scream of acceptance almost blows my eardrum out.

I take a cab to a house nestled in the Hollywood Hills, where a newly brunette and natural-looking Kinsey greets me with tears and hugs. I meet the infamous Teacup. The tiny, yapping shithead pisses on my leg within five minutes. But I have to concede he's pretty cute.

Five days later, Jameson and I take our dad home from the hospital. A sweet-faced and cheerful in-home nurse arrives after us. Her unlucky job for the next six weeks is to manage his medications and assist him in developing better physical and dietary health. He's not a happy camper, but he's alive.

One week later, I get a full-time job at a new restaurant in Venice. Then I borrow money from Jameson to put a deposit on an apartment within walking distance .

As much as I like her, a week living with Kinsey turned out to be six days too long.

One month later, I pick up my surfboard from Jameson's house. I haven't felt like surfing yet, but I want it just in case. I also make an appointment with a new therapist recommended by Kinsey. Thankfully, Dr. Wilson isn't anything like Dr. Reynolds. She actually reminds me a bit of my mom.

When I see her every week, I tell the truth. Not because I don't have anything else to lose, but because for the first time in a long time, I do.

Two months later, I still have a job, an apartment, a therapist, and I surf every morning before work. Dad's doing better, thanks in part to a massive crush on his nurse, Jessica, who still comes by a few times a week to check in. We've also started a new tradition of family breakfast every Sunday at the Malibu house. Sometimes Jessica joins us.

And I've made friends. A few at work and a couple I met out in the water. All women. We do things like see movies and go to concerts and art museums. Activities that once upon a time would have bored me to tears. I kind of like them now.

My best friends, however, are Kinsey and Nix. The odd-yet-somehow-perfect couple drag me out on the town at least once a week. The three of us keep in touch with Callum, who's back in New York, and Tiffany, who's in Massachusetts—I was right about her father being a senator. I also recently saw a flyer for Amy Falls' new tour, and a tabloid photo of a smiling, healthy-looking Declan.

Wherever Preston is, I hope he's okay.

My therapist has me journaling a lot, automatic writing being her "thing." My homework is to spend at least ten minutes a day scribbling down anything that comes into my head. It was hard at first—more days than not, I forgot to do it—but now I look forward to journaling at the end of the day. I call it my daily exorcism.

During therapy, we often talk about topics that come up repeatedly in my writing. Fears and uncertainties about the future. Regrets and unresolved issues from the past. In yesterday's session, I made the unwitting mistake of mentioning I was writing about Kevin a lot. Thinking about what kind of girlfriend I was and feeling conflicted about how things ended.

Thanks to my confession, I have new homework. Homework that makes my bones itch. For the first time since leaving Oasis, I want to jump out of an airplane.

I go surfing instead, for hours and hours until I can barely stand when I hit the sand. The itch is still there, but it doesn't control me anymore.