“I can tell from how far he’s leaning away from you this session.”
I observed my posture briefly and realized I was distant from her. I corrected myself and reached for her hand, but she refused to give it to me.
“Grant, do you remember what we discussed about masking your emotions?” Dr. Haynes pointed out.
“Don’t force it—feel it,” I recited, retracting my hand.
“Have you expressed to Kiyah why you’re upset?”
“She knows.”
“Kiyah?”
She deeply inhaled and exhaled before launching into an explanation—Mr. Burgess’ call informing her that she was being sued for $3 million, and our differing reaction to the call.
“He became upset when I said, ‘At least I don’t have anything in my name.’”
“You think everything is a fucking joke.”
“I wasn’t joking. I was stating a fact. I’m not on any deeds, so he can’t put a lien on the houses, and my trust fund is in an irrevocable trust—”
“—that will no longer be legally protected from creditors when you turn thirty. None of this would’ve happened if you had just listened to me and stayed the hell away from that guy!”
The room fell silent for a few moments until our therapist intervened.
“It sounds like the root cause of your frustration is Kiyah going against your wishes and working for Mr. Branson, a topic we touch base on every session. Is there more to this, Grant?”
I hesitated, turning her question over in my mind.
“More to this? In what way?”
She scrolled through the notes on her tablet.
“Here we go. Last week, you mentioned the news speculation of Kiyah being the next First Lady of Texas and how that infuriated you. Is your frustration with Kiyah rooted in fear, disappointment, or jealousy?”
I sat back against the couch and stared at the painting of a mountainside on the wall behind Dr. Haynes. It took me a minute, but finally I said, “All three—fear that something could’ve happened to her, disappointment that she ignored my warnings, but also that I ran her off, and jealousy seeing her with another man.”
“Kiyah, do you have a response?”
“I’d feel the same way if I were in his shoes, but I also can’t keep apologizing. I fucked up, I feel stupid, and all I can do is focus on the fallout—”
“But it’s neveryouwho has to deal withyourfallout! That’s the fucking issue! When you fuck up—someone else pays! You just skirt through life without any accountability. I have to take this $3 million hit until you can access your trust!”
She turned on the couch and fixed me with her piercing eyes, and I knew she was about to give me the business.
“Or you can let me be accountable and handle it myself! I didn’t ask you for money, Grant! I’m not even attached to any financial accounts with you. But here you are being a fucking martyr over shit I didn’t ask or expect of you. I’m being sued, not you.”
“You’re my wife, and I’m responsible for you.”
“We are responsible for each other, and responsibility can come in different forms, likeaccountability. The judgment will come from my trust—end of story.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but this sounds like an ongoing habit of you ‘messing up’ Kiyah, and Grant intervening or coming to the rescue. When did this dynamic start?” Dr. Haynes questioned.
“Since my mother and I moved in.”
“Grant?”
I stared into space as I unlocked childhood memories I’d rather avoid.