Post
by Soapy » 04 Nov 2025, 07:59
Season 3, Episode 3
Dr. Mendel sat with one leg crossed over the other, notepad balanced loosely on her knee, her gaze steady but not prying.
Connie sat across from her, legs tucked neatly beneath the chair, thumb grazing the edge of her water bottle. She smiled when she spoke, though it wavered at the corners.
“I like it,” she said. "It’s kind of quiet right now which I like. I’ve been getting into a rhythm—class, study, working out, sleep. It’s simple.”
Dr. Mendel nodded, jotting something down before glancing back up. “Simple’s not a bad thing. You sound proud of yourself.”
“I am,” Connie said. Then after a pause, “I think.”
The air settled for a moment.
“I don’t know,” Connie went on, fingers tightening around the bottle. “Sometimes it just feels like I’m waiting for something bad to happen. Like... things can’t actually stay good for long.”
Dr. Mendel leaned forward slightly, her voice soft but direct. “That feeling—waiting for the other shoe to drop—is your brain’s way of trying to stay safe. But it also keeps you from fully being where you are. You’ve worked hard to get here, Connie. It’s okay to let yourself enjoy it.”
Connie nodded, slow, like she was testing the thought out in her head. “It’s just weird. I don’t want to start thinking like everything’s fine and then…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely, as if the rest of the sentence lived somewhere behind her.
“You don’t trust calm,” Dr. Mendel said.
A quiet laugh escaped Connie. “Guess not.”
“Well,” Dr. Mendel said, leaning back, “Life isn’t about outrunning the next bad thing. It’s about trusting you’ll know what to do when it shows up. And you will. You’ve already proven that.”
Connie let the words hang there. She nodded again, eyes softening, then looked down at her hands. “I’m trying.”
“I know,” Dr. Mendel said. “And you’re doing better than you think.”
…
“You’re joking, right?”
“I don’t know,” Tom shrugged. “I think it’d be good for him.”
They’d opened a bottle of wine after dinner — more like finished it — the kind of quiet routine that had become their peace offering to each other. The kitchen was still half-alive with the evening: dishes stacked in the sink, Sophie’s bookbag spilling onto the tile, Jimmy’s running shoes kicked halfway under the couch. Neither made a move to clean. They sat with it — the clutter, the fatigue — letting it breathe with them as the day wound down.
“He’s practically scared of his own shadow, Tom,” Liz scoffed. “He’s my whole heart, you know that, but come on. He's a sensitive kid.”
“That’s why I think it’d be good for him. Help him break out of his shell,” Tom said, swirling what was left of his wine. “Not everyone’s meant to spend their whole life in this five-block radius, Liz.”
She raised an eyebrow, slightly taking offense, but decided to let it go. She took a slow sip, the wine warm now, flat around the edges.
“Besides,” Tom added quickly, picking up on his mistake, “Some time away, he might end up coming back here for college and you get your wish anyway. Wouldn’t you rather that than him bolting off somewhere for college and never coming back? Might as well get it out of the way.”
“So which one is it?” Liz asked, her voice sharper now. “Does he need the distance or does he need to come back home? Because you’re talking about sending our kid to fucking Baltimore like it’s down the road.”
“I’m just saying,” Tom sighed, setting his glass down, “Maybe a little of both. Some kids, you have to push off the ledge. This might be what he needs.”
“I think we can raise our kids just fine,” she said, waving him off.
“You’re really saying that after what happened with Brice?” he shot back. “Maybe he’d have grown up a bit if we had sent him to Gorman — learned to clean up after himself instead of thinking we’ll always be there to fix his mess.”
Liz laughed, though it came out sharp. “I don’t know, Tom. I think you deciding to fuck my boss and being gone from this family for damn near a year had more to do with Brice’s quote-unquote issues than anything else.”
The words hit him before he could brace. He froze — part ashamed, part furious. They’d agreed not to go back there. He’d promised it wouldn’t happen again. She’d promised to stop bringing it up.
“I’m sorry,” Liz murmured, eyes down. “I think we’ve had enough to drink.”
“Yeah,” Tom said after a beat. He picked up the bottle, avoiding her gaze as he walked it to the trash. “I think we have.”
…
Brice leaned against the wall, watching Skylar pull her sweatshirt over her head, slow like she was performing for an audience that wasn’t watching. His dorm was barely furnished, just a laptop on a desk and a few shirts hung in the open closet. The space had no warmth to it, no mark of permanence. It looked less like a home and more like a stopover — something to get through before whatever came next.
“You know your dorm doesn’t have to look like a prison, right?” Skylar teased.
“Clearly it doesn’t matter now, does it?” he said, dryly.
“You got another girl coming or something?” she shot back, half-smirking. “You know I don’t mind sharing.”
Brice shook his head, refusing the bait. He opened the door and glanced down the hall before stepping out. A few students lounged in the common area below, the soft buzz of a board game and quiet laughter filling the late-night air.
“When are you guys headed back?” he felt compel to make conversation as they headed down the stairs.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “We were talking about maybe driving to Chicago tomorrow, heading back Monday.”
“Shit,” Brice nodded. “You guys are going on a fucking tour.”
“Don’t worry,” she smirked. “This pussy isn’t.”
“Whatever,” he muttered, hiding his smile as they stepped outside. The air was cool for a summer night, the parking lot humming under the orange lights.
“Not a lot to do in Muncie,” she added, unlocking her car. “Not that you would know.”
“You’re literally shitting on it while being mad I won’t visit you,” Brice said, holding the door open as she slid in, "Make that make sense."
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Skylar rolled her eyes. She was slightly annoyed but used to it — the imbalance, the quiet understanding of their roles. It was what it was. And for the most part, that was enough.
“Drive safe,” Brice said, reaching to close the door.
“No goodbye kiss?” Skylar asked, her hand pressing against the window to stop it from shutting.
“Come on, now,” Brice smiled, shaking his head. “Text me when you get back.”
“Alright,” she said softly, closing the door this time.
She sat for a second before starting the car, the glow of her phone lighting her face. A notification flashed — Connie shared a reel with you. Skylar stared at it, a smile forming. Whatever this was between her and Brice — quiet, uneven, undefined — she still had a part in his life. And Connie didn’t. And that was enough.
