Confidential(37)

But for how long? He’d been running so hot and cold. In my presence, he remembered; I left, and he forgot. I didn’t know what to do to make a more lasting imprint.

“You can’t come inside,” he said. His lips pressed together tightly to let me know that his proclamation was final.

“I’m sorry. I should have called first.”

“My phone was off.”

“I thought you’d like the surprise.”

He didn’t soften. What I needed was for him to harden. Just let me come inside. Let yourself come, Michael. Come home.

“I’ll call an Uber.” I made a move to go inside. He stood firm.

“No. And don’t wait in front of my house, either; I have neighbors.”

“They don’t know that I used to be your client, Michael. This is crazy. Where am I supposed to go? It’s midnight.”

“There’s a well-lit Safeway three blocks away and besides, you should have thought of that.”

So scolding, so devoid of empathy. He was a therapist, for fuck’s sake. He’d been my therapist.

“Do you have a woman inside?” I asked.

His eyes widened. “Are you serious? You’re the one who lied to me. You told Kate about us months ago.”

“Do you have a woman inside?” I repeated.

“Of course not.” He opened the door wide. “You want to search my house? Go ahead, do it.”

It was a dare. Search his house, and it could be the last straw. I shook my head.

This was all my fault. I never should have betrayed him by talking to Kate. If I’d just followed our agreement, if I hadn’t invited her to town, if I could have kept my mouth shut and been patient, I could have had everything I’d ever wanted. We’d been so close.

The door was shutting, and I was hoofing it down the street. Safeway was, indeed, well lit, and I was exposed. A crying, humiliated wreck, makeup running in rivers. I’d ruined things for good this time.





CHAPTER 29





GREER


Dr. Michael looked exhausted and out of sorts. Residually surly, maybe, like he’d been stewing over what someone else had done to him, and while he wasn’t exactly taking it out on me, he couldn’t contain the leftover emotion.

I dealt with wealthy and powerful men all the time. They were often a ball of thinly disguised aggression, so I was largely unfazed by Dr. Michael’s bearing. If anything, I was intrigued. He was a real person with real feelings. Real anger. Honestly, it was manlier than I’d considered him before. Nearly sexy.

But then, apparently, I also found him sexy as a manny in an apron.

It wasn’t like I’d been nursing that image, but as I sat across from him, I could feel that something had shifted. I didn’t know if he could tell. I hoped not. I didn’t even understand the nature of the shift. I wasn’t understanding much these days. That made me feel out of control and, worst of all, out of character. Was I having a growth spurt at almost forty? Or could it be that my whole life, I’d never truly known myself? I wondered if what Dr. Michael seemed to think could be true: that all this time, I’d just been living out my parents’ script, that their boundless ambitions became mine, and maybe, just maybe, the desire to have a baby was the first true motivation I’d ever had.

If I became someone completely different, I might not like her. I’d always had good self-esteem. In college, all those girls with their cutting and their eating disorders mystified me. I would never deny myself food or slash my skin. It was mine.

Now, though, I wasn’t sure who was in my skin. Dr. Michael treated it as an evolution, but he was clearly biased.

There were two conversations going on: the surface one about my parents, and then the undercurrent of his anger as it interacted with my—what, desire? I was very aware that I was across from a man and not merely a shrink. I could smell him for the first time. Had he always worn cologne that was like leather and tobacco, or had he recently taken up smoking?

Normally, I hated cigarettes. The old me had, anyway.

I was sitting differently, showing my legs to their best advantage. I was distracted, and so was he. But I didn’t think my legs were doing it to him. He was reacting to someone who wasn’t in the room, while I was reacting to him. It felt unfair somehow. Unequal.

“I need to apologize,” he said. “I’m not at my best today.”

“I’m not, either.”

“But you don’t have to be.”

“Because I pay you.”

“Because this isn’t your job. If part of you is elsewhere, then I bring you back. If part of me is elsewhere . . .” He looked down at his hands. “It’s my responsibility to give you my all.”

“You’re only human.” I smiled. “So where’ve you been?”

“I’ve wasted enough of your time without answering that question.”

“With someone else? A woman, perhaps? Or a man?”

He sighed. “I’m not going to charge you for this session, okay?”

“I’ll pay. Then you’re free to answer.”

“I’m not free. That’s the problem.” His eyes were still cast downward. “I have to make a tough decision.”

“You’re debating whether to break up with someone, is that it?” I was rather enjoying this game of Twenty Questions. For once, he was in the hot seat.