Page 77 of Dual

"And how has that gone?"

I sigh, sinking deeper into the chair. "Fine, as far as I know. I mean, I haven't gotten any bailout calls."

"So maybe some space between you wasn't such a bad thing."

My glare cuts back to Dr. Ezra, sharp enough to draw blood. "What's that supposed to mean? She's me feckin' sister, an' she always will be. Family means somet'in' where I come from!"

He leans in, the scent of his aftershave---clean, clinical---reaching me. "Tell me about that. Tell me about your first memories of your sister. Or your first memories at all."

I shuffleuncomfortably in the overstuffed chair, the leather sticking to my palms. "I dunno."

"Take your time."

It gets all quiet, and I shift again, my leg starting to jiggle as my foot taps against the plush carpet. The rain has slowed, no longer pounding but still steady. A dull ache builds behind my eyes.

"I guess my very first memories are things like---it was brighter in the house," I finally say, the words feeling rough in my throat. "Dad was still there, and I remember Mam... happy. At least, happier. Sometimes. She still drank, but it wasn't like later."

Then my chest gets tight as more memories flash, so fuzzy at the edges I'm not sure if they're real or if they're just stories I've told myself so often I think they're real. I can almost smell the damp of that old flat, hear the drip of the leaky kitchen faucet, and feel the worn carpet under my small feet.

"Then, Mam got pregnant again. It made Da mad, I think. Or maybe they were just always arguing by then. Throwin' shite. I remember plates cracking against the walls when it got real bad." I swallow, pushing back the tightness in my throat. "Then one night, after Moira was born and she wouldn't stop crying, Da just went out and never came back."

I shake my head, the memory like glass shards in my mind. "It got real bad then. Mam got in bed and wouldn't get out. I'd have to take the baby over to her so she'd feed it, and I learned how to change diapers."

"How old were you?" Dr. Ezra asks, his voice soft but not pitying. I'd have walked out if I heard pity.

I shrug, trying to push away the image of myself, small and scared, holding a screaming infant while my mother stared blankly at the wall. "I dunno. Four? Four and a half? I cuddled up with the baby so she wouldn't cry, and we just... She was just mine to take care of."

"Wow. That was really brave of you." Dr. Ezra's voice is gentle but firm. "But also, you know that you were just a little child too, who never should have faced pressure like that."

My jaw goes hard, teeth clenching. "It wasn't pressure. It was family."

"Your mother was family, too. But she didn't step up like you did."

"Well, she was a shite excuse for it." The bitterness in my voice is an old, familiar taste.

"So, where did you get your understanding of what family should be?"

I run my thumb over the scar on my palm again, pressing until it stings. "It's just what's right. What most others had. And me and Moira always had each other."

"So what has it been like while you and Moira have been in this... fight?"

I shrug again, my shoulders heavy. "She's been fine, I guess. And I've had Anna. Mads."

"Who you've had to take care of."

I'm back to glaring at Dr. Ezra, heat rising up my neck. "She takes care of me, too."

He nods, not questioning. "But maybe the dynamic feels familiar, too? Because you create family by taking care of the needy?"

The words hit me like a physical blow. I leap out of my chair, the movement so sudden the furniture rocks behind me. The calm office suddenly feels too confined, the air too thick to breathe.

"You're totally off your rocker, Doc," I snarl, my accent thick as Dublin mud. "I don't even know why the feck I thought comin' here would do me any good. My family's just fine and always has been. I'll figure things out wit' Moira, an' things wit me an' Anna are jus' fine!"

I storm toward the door, my heart hammering in my chest, and yank it open, needing to escape before I say something I'll regret. Or worse, before I admit he might be onto something.

Only to come face to face with a shocked-looking Anna.

"Anna," her name comes out a little strangled. Did she overhear any of what we just said? Then I shake my head clear. "Is something wrong? Shit, I'm sorry I didn't come straight home first or text you that I'd be---"