| Chapter Nine ~ Lott |

"Thomas?"

I could barely hear her. I knew I was facing her; I knew she was there. But her voice was faded, muffled. It felt as though she was more of a thought of mine, rather than an actual human sitting across from me, waiting.

"Thomas?" She repeated, a bit louder.

I shifted my gaze so as to meet hers. The atmosphere changed just as soon as I did.

"Huh?" I said, finally back in the room. "Sorry, what was the question?"

"How are you," she said. "That was my first and only question so far,"

"Oh,"

I thought about it for a moment before repeating: "how am I?"

She nodded.

I took a deep breath. "I don't think we have time for that, I'm afraid,"

"Why not?"

"Fifty minutes won't cover it all,"

"Good thing you're my last patient of the day," she smiled. "We don't need to have just fifty minutes. We can have a hundred, if we need to,"

I scoffed. "God, that's terrifying,"

She smiled, but was quick to turn serious.

"All right. Let me rephrase my question, then," She said.

"Shoot,"

Me.

"How are you dealing with everything that's happened?"

"Are you really never going to let me smoke, like Alicia did? It made things so much easier,"

"It also took years off your life, most likely,"

"And that's a bad thing?" I was quick to ask.

"Do you really want to waste this double session?"

"Yes?" I smiled.

She raised a single brow.

"No? I dunno,"

"Thomas?" She leaned forward in her chair. "Talk to me,"

I took a deep, long breath before I was able to speak.

"I dunno where to start," I quietly spoke.

She sat back, crossing her legs. "You weren't allowed at the service?" Dr. Lott asked, fingers firmly pressed around her pen.

"No," I said. "Norma actually made it a point to inform me of that fact." I went on. "Tried to, at least,"

"Norma?"

"Emma's mom,"

"How did she tell you that you weren't allowed to go?"

"She called me. All of us, really,"

"Who's all of us?"

"Summer, Jonas, Marcy and I," I said. "The very morning after it happened, she called to let them know we were not welcome,"

"But, you said she called you, too,"

"Yeah," I said. "I mean, I assumed it was her, because my phone never rings in the mornings and everyone in my life knows better than to leave voicemails,"

"So, you didn't answer?"

I shook my head.

"I've no interest in talking to the woman,"

"I see," she said, holding both ends of her pen and turning it, slowly.

Unlike Alicia, Lott never took notes. She preferred to record our sessions.

"My mother went, though." I said. "Noah, too,"

"Let's break this down, shall we?" She asked, all excited about analyzing the shit out of me.

"Sure, Sidney." I replied, earning a single eyebrow raise that could burn a hole through anything, including my forehead—which might've been the intended target, actually.

The thing about Dr. Lott? She was great—she really had always been amazing. I fully understood the fact that I was lucky to be her patient. She and Dr. Foster went to University together, and had remained friends ever since, referring patients to one another on a regular basis. And while Dr. Foster could be accused of anything except orthodoxy, Dr. Lott was quite the opposite. That meant no cigarette smoking during sessions, little to no swearing—though she did turn a blind eye for some of those patients who simply could not help themselves, like yours truly here. However, the one rule no one could ever, ever break, was calling her by her first name. She utterly hated it, and I had no idea why because it was beautiful, other than perhaps a wish to keep things separate and professional.

So of course I did it. And I did it often.

She really was awesome, though. Extremely warm, kind and understanding. She also was, as people would perhaps say, a creature of habits. Her lips were always coated in the lightest shade of pink; her brown eyes always delineated with thick black mascara, and her long, lustrous brown hair was always up in a bun held together by a number two pencil that would always come undone in a session whenever she lost her pen—which happened pretty much every time. She also published a lot, and that meant she traveled, so I'd grown accustomed to the odd Zoom, or FaceTime session. We even had one via text once, just because reception was awful in Casablanca.

A few months ago, we had to change my dosage and add an extra session due to a bit of an oopsie, which meant I was back to having, aside for my usual Monday appointment, yet another one—on Fridays, no less. Just the thing someone wished to do: start and end the week being mind fucked. It also meant a lot of me being in a bad mood, her losing her pen more often than usual, and the traditional first name calling she'd grown to tolerate from me being enhanced, tenfold. Tolerate, mind you. Never, ever enjoy.

"Why do you suppose she didn't want you or your friends at the wake?" She ignored me and pressed on.

I scoffed. "She literally hates us?"

"Thomas." She said, as though I was exaggerating.

"No, she actually does. She loathed Liam, and when Emma's family found out about them running away together a week before they were supposed to go, Emma left the house and went to Marcy's. From then on, we were all blacklisted."

"I see," she said. "And your mother? Why is she not hated by them?"

"Norma once downed a bottle of Zoloft after finding out of one of her husband's affairs, and my mom was the one who took her to the hospital and helped her keep it quiet,"

She seemed a bit confounded. "You know this?"

"I was ten. They spoke around me as though I couldn't understand what was going on,"

She smiled.

"I could, though," I wickedly smiled.

Dr. Lott raised both eyebrows, and to this day I've always liked to think it was because she was impressed.

"This was way before any of us even knew Emma, though. My mom and her were friends for the longest time before Liam and Emma started dating."

"And Noah?" She asked. "Why did she allow him to attend?"

"She never had a problem with him. Probably because he was too young and didn't hang out with us," I said. "But, yeah. That's why Norma hates me, specifically. And most of my friends."

"And your mother?"

"Her, I dunno." I smirked.

She ignored me yet again. "Did you two talk afterward?"

"After the funeral? Yes, she called me."

"And how did it go?"

"Well, apparently. Lovely casket and all that."

"Thomas," She warned me yet again. Something she could do, and in fact seemed to enjoy doing, quite a bit.

"Sorry," even I knew that was a line I'd just crossed. "She said it went as well as something like that can go,"

"Warmer," she leaned forward, basically coaxing me to the providing the right answer.

"And...how long it took for us to exchange that piece of information was also fine, comparing to the last time we spoke?" I said. "My mom loved Emma, so I know she's taking this pretty hard. I wasn't mean or anything. I can't imagine how it must be for her. Or Dad, even."

"There," She said. "So, tell me. What's bothering you?"

"I'm good," I lied.

"Sing and dance, Thomas," she said. "I can do this all day. The question is, can you?"

I let out a breathy sigh.

"Not today," I truthfully said, so damn tired. "I need you to tell me how to not be such a shit brother,"

"You think you are?" She asked, as though I were high.

"Have we met?" I asked, as though she were.

She didn't say anything, though. Merely stared, quite unimpressed.

"Noah, along with the guys, spent the night at the apartment the day Emma died," I said. "He snuck out in the middle of the night and came back high off his ass on coke and pot. Then, he tried to pull the 'you've done it first' card,"

"But you have done it first,"

"Oh, please. If he's gonna try to properly use such a bullshit excuse, he should know that to equal all the stuff I've done, he'd need classes,"

She smiled. "So, that didn't work on you?"

I scoffed. "Never will," I said. "Especially coming from him,"

"Good,"

"It's been getting worse, though," I admitted. "My...temper,"

"Well, that's to be expected..."

"No, I don't mean because of my dosage, or Em," I said. "I mean in general,"

"Since when?"

"Oh, I dunno Sidney, about four months ago?"

"Ah, of course,"

"I know I've been like this with everyone, and the drugs have their say on it a bit, but him? I've been able to shield him from it for a while—until now,"

"Is this when I remember you I told you this could happen?" She asked, utterly amused.

"And I ignore you? Yes it is," I said.

"You knew it would, though," She insisted.

"What I know is that Emma may have written a letter to me and her mother won't let me have it. I know that."

"She did?" She asked, surprised.

I nodded.

"I see." She said, looking around for her pen and obviously giving up after about two seconds, then going for the pencil in her hair, allowing it to drape her shoulders and bounce, ever so lovely.

"What?" I asked, pretty bewitched.

"How was her relationship with your friends? Lately?"

"No one knew much about or talked to Emma for the past year, I think,"

"You did," She pointed out.

"Two minute phone calls, random texts, and the quick FaceTime every two or three months do not count,

"Are you sure about that?" She asked. "When did you talk to her last?"

"About three days before she did it,"

"How did that go?"

"Normal. She asked about Noah, wanted to know about Ethan and I, our friends," I said. "I filled her in on what everyone was doing, but she was really interested in Ethan,"

"How do you mean?"

"She kept asking if he still made me happy,"

"I see. And what did you tell her?"

"The truth?" I said. "I told her yes. She was in love with him from the moment she found out we first slept together, before even meeting him. And when they did meet, it was as though they had known each other their whole lives. Though I think she—"

"Yes?"

"She saw herself, and what she had with Liam. And it hurt her. I think I hurt her."

"What makes you say that?"

"I look like him, for one, which has always been hard on her. And if my relationship is something that also reminds her of the one they had, that's another way I hurt her."

"You're speaking in the present tense, Thomas."

Every bit of air that was in the room seemed to vanish.

"Shit."

"It's okay. It will take time, especially for you."

I just shook my head, so fucking sad.

She took a deep breath. "Moving on...This letter. Do you want to know what's in it?"

"I'm not gonna hold my breath for Norma to become a decent human being and just give it to me—if it even is mine, like Marcy said,"

"Marcy?"

"She's the one who made her stop calling me," I told her. "The only one of us who actually stood up to her. I mean, it is Marcy, after all,"

"Does that mean your friends are not acting like they did before? When Liam...?

"No. They won't leave me alone, actually. It's a bit annoying." I said.

"Good," she said, smiling. "So, do you think you even need the letter?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, she kept in touch with you while avoiding all of her other friends, and even called you days before she did it."

I started getting nauseous, all of a sudden.
"What are you saying, Sidney?"

"I'm saying that it may have meant something for her. And while some people need letters," she told me. "Others get goodbyes,"

I frowned. "She didn't say goodbye to me,"

"Yet you were the one she allowed in, even as she failed," she said.

I stared at her for the longest time. "Are you saying she said goodbye without me noticing it?"

"I'm saying that a letter may be a nice thing to have and hold, but those last few months of contact? They might be just as precious."