Page 26 of Unhitched

I set my dwindling Blow Pop carefully on top of my folded wrapper on the dash, then meet him behind the truck.

I wait for his lead, since I have no idea which office we are going to.

He hesitates as he shoves his keys into his pockets.

then glances at me–well, at my hand. Before I have time to piece together his thoughts, he laces his fingers in mine.

I let him and don’t pull away even when his clammy hands dampen mine.

Is he nervous? What is happening right now?

I’ve seen angry Kace. Indifferent Kace. Annoyed Kace. But nervous Kace?

I squeeze his hand lightly, reinforcing the unspoken support between us all of a sudden. If Kace is trusting me with something as vulnerable as therapy, I’m going to take this seriously.

We make our way to the glass door in the middle of the quiet row of suites. Kace takes a breath, wiping emotion from his face as he drops my hand to open the door. I follow him into the waiting room, and Kace takes it in. “This is a bad idea,” he mutters, turning to leave.

Right as I’m about to reassure him, one of the two doors in front of us opens. “Kace and Mya?” The woman waiting for us in the doorway looks exactly like the mom in Freaky Friday . To be determined if she’s the Jamie Lee Curtis version or the one with Lindsay Lohan trapped in her body.

She takes a few steps backward, and I nudge Kace.

“It’ll be fine. Promise. You can kick me out if it turns into your worst nightmare.

” I try to lighten the mood, and he smirks.

I know he wouldn’t actually kick me out, but if it makes him feel better, I’m happy to entertain him.

As we enter her office, the woman holds out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Angela. It’s so nice to meet you both.

” She shakes Kace’s hand first, then mine.

Kace clears his throat. “Thank you for fitting us in.”

“Of course,” she says in a sweet and comforting voice that reminds me of my mom. “Please, take a seat.”

Kace and I glance around the room, both of us settling our eyes on the couch next to an armchair.

Kace sits first, leaving both feet planted firmly on the ground as he shifts around for a few seconds until he’s settled enough.

I take a seat on the other cushion, but quickly realizing we should probably be closer, I scoot until our thighs are touching.

Angela situates herself in the armchair with a warm smile. “There’s something I like to ask my couples before we dive in, if you’re open to it.” She shifts her glance between the two of us.

“Okay,” I say as Kace gives a curt nod.

“Great. How do you prefer to receive support when you’re feeling stressed? Kace, why don’t you start.”

He rubs his palms against his jeans. He seems pretty nervous for a not date . He clears his throat. “I like routine. Having things I can count on. Knowing exactly what to expect.”

“That’s specific and helpful. Thank you, Kace. Mya?”

“Umm. I’ve never been asked that.” I hum, thinking about my breakup with Matt and navigating the past week.

“I think I need my feelings to be validated–to know that the person doesn’t think I’m stupid or have no clue what I’m doing.

It helps if someone brainstorms practical solutions with me instead of criticizing and expecting me to be receptive.

” I chew my lip. “That’s so much different than Kace. Is that bad? ”

“Not at all,” Angela assures. “Knowing how to support your significant other is one of the keys to success–as long as you’re willing to love them in the way they need instead of how you need.”

Nerves race through me at the idea of Kace and I being together. I know it won’t happen, but the thought of learning how to understand someone better is exciting. Thinking about someone taking the time to understand me better is all I hope for.

“So,” Angela starts. “What brings you two here today?”

I glance at Kace, planning to take his lead, but the more seconds that tick by, the more his face hardens.

He seems to be drowning in the anxiety he had outside the office, and I would sell my collector Polly Pockets to know what thoughts are whirling around with that rage building inside him.

Whoa. I actually care about Kace. Not in a curious way.

Not in an “I can fix him” way. Genuine concern washes over me.

I clear my throat, not knowing what exactly I should say.

Kace’s eyes snap to me like he’s hoping I’ll take over the conversation, and I feel my cheeks heat from the attention.

I want him to feel comfortable and supported, and while I don’t have experience with therapy, I want him to get whatever he’s hoping for from this.

Angela is patient, waiting for me to speak. “Umm…”

I must look frantic because she softly says, “Take your time.”

“Getting older is hard.” The words tumble from my mouth, and a sideways glance shows me Kace’s furrowing brows.

“How old are you?” the therapist asks.

“I just turned thirty.”

“That’s a milestone year for a lot of people.”

“Yeah. It is. But I don’t want to talk about that.” If we dug into that insecurity, Kace definitely wouldn’t have time to get anything he wanted from this.

“What would you like to talk about then?” she asks without prying or judgement .

“Umm…” I try to get a grasp on what I actually want to say. “This morning Kace said something to me about dressing like a child.”

I feel him tense beside me. “That’s not what I said,” he mutters under his breath.

Angela turns her attention to Kace. “What did you say?”

“I said,” he snaps, “she looks like candy.”

Aaron Carter’s version of “I Want Candy” pops in my head.

My Lanta , Mya, focus. I wave my hand. “This is not the point I’m trying to make.

I’m not offended by what he said. I’m struggling with the bridge between things I love from my past and what should remain in my future so I can live the life I want to. ”

“Could you elaborate on that?” Angela asks.

“I’m a firm believer that growing up in the early 2000s was the best. There’s never going to be anything better.

” I pause, putting together the rest of my thoughts.

“Everything has become dull. We discovered new things and expanded our minds playing Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego, and now we have Chat GPT and could never have to actively learn anything. We used to play neighborhood hide and seek until the street lights kicked on, and now the best part of the day is being sucked into our phone at the end of the night, doomscrolling through uninspiring crap. It’s just…

everything about being a kid screamed life . ”

“Your life isn’t that far off,” he mutters.

I shoot him a glare. He’s so far off base. “I know the point is to grow up and move on from it, but why does being an adult have to be so much worse? Why does it have to be so hard?”

“It doesn’t have to be hard,” Kace tells me like it’s simply a choice. If it were a choice, he’d be leading by example.

Glancing from the therapist to him, I glare. “Says the guy who is letting his ex control his fears every day by avoiding his feelings about his last breakup. ”

“Don’t act like you’re not stuck in the past when all you do is think about things from twenty years ago,” he fights back, and the truth of it stings.

“Well, it would help if you didn’t criticize me when I try to go out and make friends–or do anything that screams ‘fun’ for that matter.”

He rolls his eyes. “Sorry for caring about your safety.”

“Kace,” Angela cuts in. “Try to remember that when Mya is stressed, it’s helpful for her to feel heard. Do you feel like you’re listening to her before you respond?”

He clenches his jaw. “I’m sorry.” His chest deflates with a sigh. “I’m open to hearing your logic.”

I take a breath, trying not to be angry at the fact that I’m not sure he means his words.

“I’m obsessed with the 2000s because things were easy then.

You’d walk through your beaded curtains, plop down on your blow-up armchair, and flip through Seventeen .

Quizzes told you what you like and how to live your life.

You had a manual for being a teenager. There’s no guide once you’re an adult.

” There’s no one to tell me when to choose having a baby over having a happy marriage, amongst other things.

At what point should I settle for less than a ‘soulmate’ because there’s no chance of having both?

“You're romanticizing it.” Kace runs his fingers through his hair. Taking a breath, he shifts to face me. “I mean… I understand what you’re trying to say, and I agree with the fantasy of it. But I think you’re blocking out all the days you’d leave a cryptic song lyric as your AIM away message because you felt like your life was falling apart.

It’s the same thing you do now–block out the bad and pretend it's all good.”

I glare at him, not impressed by his half-assed attempt to support me and feeling the urge to scoot to the other side of the couch.

I face him instead. “It’s not misplaced nostalgia, Kace.

As a kid, it’s acceptable to be whoever you want and try different things until you figure it all out.

Then we become adults, and we’re expected to understand everything and get it right on the first try?

Not to mention, all the decisions we have to make are so monumental that making mistakes completely changes the trajectory of your life.

That’s a lot. When did I become qualified for that? ”

“You don’t figure it out by flitting about without a care in the world,” Kace says under his breath.

My body freezes, but my mind twists through my thoughts faster than a Conair Quick Braid.

Are we here because he thinks I need therapy?

Is he playing a role or did he choose this because he thinks I’ll never get back on my feet?

Is this his way of getting me to leave? He had to know that comment would hurt.