It was a Friday night, and Catherine was sitting on her couch, contemplating what it would be like to live in a trailer in the middle of nowhere. The glass of cheap cabernet sauvignon in her hand was so astringent that she could probably have cleaned her face with it. She’d started going to different stores to buy wine now, hoping to avoid that look from the cashiers, the one that said, “Back already?” It didn’t matter, though; she was warm and glowing inside, halfway to the pleasant haze she was looking for.
A knock at her door startled her out of her reverie. Who would possibly come to see her? Hadn’t David given up already? With Aimee not speaking to her and the only other friends she had either dead or far away from Earth on a spaceship, nobody should be at her door. Wrong apartment, she thought, a little blearily, and ignored it.
“Cath? Are you in there? I can hear the TV going. Come on, it’s Julie. Let me in.”
That cut through her haze. Catherine set her glass aside, blinking slowly, and pushed to her feet. “Julie? What are you doing here? Is Mom okay?” She undid the flimsy locks and slipped the chain, then opened the door.
Julie stood there with just her purse, no sign of luggage, and her eyes wide. “Cath, what the hell is going on? I got calls from both David and Aimee. David said you wouldn’t answer the door. They’re worried sick about you.”
“I’m fine.” Catherine swung the door open to let Julie in. “We just had a fight.”
“You don’t look fine.” Julie gave her the worried big-sister look. “You’ve been dodging everybody’s calls. I came to check on you.”
“From Chicago.”
“Yes, from Chicago. Cath, I don’t think you know how freaked out everyone is. Why are you avoiding our calls?”
“Does David know you’re here?” Catherine bristled, feeling defensive. Were they all going to gang up on her now?
“I called him before I left Chicago. When you wouldn’t talk to me either, I didn’t know what else to do. What’s going on?”
“Haven’t felt like talking.” Catherine turned to go back to her seat on the couch, stumbling over the coffee table. “Bottle of wine on the counter if you want a glass,” she said, picking hers up. “It’s kinda shitty, though. I wouldn’t.”
“You’re drunk.”
Catherine lifted her glass in salute. “End of the week. Time to celebrate.”
Julie came around the table—managing not to trip—and sat next to Catherine, plucking the glass out of her hand. “You look like hell,” she said brusquely. “And David said you showed up at work drunk.”
“Well…” Catherine reached for the glass, but Julie wouldn’t hand it over, so she just went to the kitchen for a new one. “Turns out I was a shit astronaut, then I came home and found out I was a shit wife. And guess what? I’m a pretty shitty mom, too.” She came back and took a sip from her new glass. “Can’t pick wine worth a damn either.”
Julie sniffed the glass she was holding and wrinkled her nose before setting it on the coffee table. “So, you’re throwing yourself a great big pity party?”
“Just until I figure out what else I wanna do.”
“Meanwhile, your kid’s not talking to you.”
“I don’t blame her. I walked out on her for nine years. Then you know what I did? I hit her. Slapped her right across the face.” Catherine blinked rapidly, determined not to cry. “I wouldn’t wanna talk to me either.”
“Did it occur to you to apologize?” Julie asked.
“I tried.” The truth was, Catherine had started to dial Aimee’s number dozens of times more than she actually managed to call. The times she didn’t chicken out and actually made the call, Aimee didn’t answer. She was almost grateful. She couldn’t bear the thought of Aimee hanging up on her.
“Catherine, you’re the grown-up here. If you let this go, you are going to lose her.” Julie touched her arm. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, Catherine turned to look at her big sister.
“Have you talked to your therapist about this at all? Any of this?”
Catherine shrugged. “I haven’t seen her since Aimee was here.”
“And you didn’t call her?”
“Didn’t see the point. I was wrong. I don’t need a professional to tell me that.” She could just imagine how Dr. Darzi would tsk at her over the whole mess.
“No, but a professional might give you some ideas on how to fix things. Why don’t you call her?”
Uh-oh. Catherine knew that tone in Julie’s voice. In about a minute, Julie was going to offer to make the call for Catherine, but either way, neither of them was leaving this room until someone called Catherine’s therapist.
“Julie…”
“Catherine…” Julie said in the same tone. “You know I’m right. Where’s your phone?”
“It’s Friday night; she won’t be available.”
Julie didn’t relent. “Then we’ll leave a message.”
“I can’t call her. I’m drunk.” Catherine had a line of excuses ready to keep throwing out.
“I’m sure she’s gotten drunk calls from clients before. Come on.” She stood up. “Don’t make me call David and get the number from him. Phone, now.”
God, they were ganging up on her. She could hear the smug tone in David’s voice already. Catherine sighed. “My purse. Hand it here.” She pointed vaguely in the direction she remembered leaving it.
Julie handed it to her and she dug out her phone. There was no way out of it now.
Dr. Darzi insisted on seeing her the next morning, even though it was a Saturday. And then, to make sure she didn’t avoid it, Julie drove her to JSC for the appointment. Which was probably just as well. Catherine’s hangover wasn’t the worst she’d had, but it was bad enough.
“I was wondering when you’d come see me,” Dr. Darzi said. “I was concerned when you canceled your last appointment.”
“There’s been a lot going on.”
“That sounds like an understatement. I heard about you and David. I’m so sorry, Catherine.”
Catherine wasn’t surprised that she knew. “That’s not the worst of it. I… I had a terrible fight with my daughter.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Catherine didn’t want to. But this was why she was here, wasn’t it? “She was at my new place, helping me unpack groceries, and something just… snapped. She got mad at me.” Some of the truth bubbled out of her before she could stop it. “She said I didn’t need anybody. That’s close to what David said the day we split.”
“Do you think he said that to her?” Dr. Darzi’s voice had that tone that said she knew Catherine was getting close to something major.
“I… I don’t know. She said… she said it was easier when she thought I was dead.” Catherine’s throat ached, and her eyes were stinging with tears that she hadn’t let fall, that she couldn’t. If she started crying now, she’d never stop. “She said she wished I had died.”
“That must have been incredibly hurtful.”
Catherine stared at her hands. “I slapped her across the face. I’ve never hit her before, not ever. We didn’t spank her as a kid. I don’t know what got into me.”
“You were upset, and you’ve been going through a lot.”
“I know, but I hit my child!” Catherine made a frustrated noise, thumping her fist against the couch cushion. “That damn Lindholm. He’s trying to trot me out like I’m some big hero, but all I am is a drunk who hit my kid. I’m so fucking sick of it.”
Dr. Darzi let her drop the subject of Aimee. “Director Lindholm is just doing what he thinks is best for NASA.”