Alberto owns an Italian function centre, the most common place for all events in our community. But the small banquet room is also the usual place we have any large family dinner, so it makes sense and quite frankly welcomed.
“Si, Papa. No Problem. Just tell me when.” I take the boiling coffee off the stove and pull down two cups from the cupboard.
“Good. Leave it with me.”
“Will do.”
There’s no goodbye and he hangs up, but that’s typical of him, so I’m not surprised. Since I don’t know how long Lilly will be, I pour my coffee and sit at the counter, scrolling the news on my phone.
Not long after, the door opens and Lilly walks in. When she spots me, her step falters, but she recovers quickly, and heads straight for the coffee.
“Morning,” she says not looking at me, her shoulders tense, nervous energy radiating from her.
“Are you feeling better?” I ask gently, testing the waters.
“Yep.”
That’s it? Yep. Not sure what I was expecting, but I know that I still haven’t recovered from hearing her nightmares and being behind a door unable to comfort her.
The silence is so thick that I can hear her stirring the sugar into her coffee. My eyes haven’t left her as she moves, a heavy, painful silence between us. She sips the coffee, eyes darting awkwardly as she makes a deliberate effort to avoid looking at me. But when she finally meets my gaze, I see a flash of pain in her eyes, and she releases a deep breath before looking back down at the floor.
I can’t wait any longer, there’s more I need to know and it’s driving me crazy not knowing if she’s okay.
“Does it happen often? The panic attacks?” I ask and watch every blink, swallow and rise and fall of her chest as the words hit her.
“Not for a long time.” Surprisingly, she answers the question, then frowns. “Well, except the other day. But not for a long time before that.”
I nod, remembering the one she’s talking about. It seems so long ago, but it’s only been a week.
“If you need anything, maybe to go talk to someone? See a doctor, anything—”
“Its fine.”
Of course, it is. Her guard is up and she’s still pretending, but she needs to know I can take it. That I want to.
“What can I do to help when it does happen?”
She sips her drink, eyes burning into me as she takes a moment to think through her answer. “It seems you already know what to do.”
As far as honest conversations go, when we aren’t yelling and screaming at each other, this one is different. She’s guarded by a cold exterior. The sweet, open Lilly from last night has gone, but she’s not throwing knives at me, so I keep going.
“Amari used to have them when she was little. After mama’s death, she’d have nightmares, or episodes at school. We got her help and her doctor tried to show me how to help. But I was young and tried the best I could.”
Her body relaxes, and her face softens. It still feels strange to open up like this to anyone, but if I want her to do the same, I have to show her it’s safe.
“She is lucky to have had you,” she says, then clears her throat. “I mean your family. Most in this life turn their nose up at professional help. Therapists and all that.”
“I’m not like most in this life.”
Our eyes meet again, but not with tension. A new fire is building, one that is too wild to control now.
“Have you talked to anyone about what happened?” I keep my voice calm and gentle, trying to keep this openness.
That gets me a laugh, it breaks the tension and I sense some of the anxiety leave her body.
“Oh yeah. I was a mess when I first left. Every shadow made me jump. Nightmares, panic attacks, all the fun stuff. But I had a great therapist, and she helped me sort through my shit. Eventually it all stopped, and I moved on.”
It’s like a punch in the gut, hearing how real and raw the trauma is for her. I saw it before when she jumped out of the car, and again, this morning. All I want to do is take her in my arms and comfort her, but no way she’d let that happen.