A Family Affair(47)

The woman shared his nachos. How sweet.

When Jessie was leaving with her takeout, he finally noticed her. He frowned; she glared. How dare he! He didn’t have time to even text her? But he could have dinner with a sexy woman?

Her fury grew as she drove back to Mill Valley. This, too, was familiar. She’d been down this exact road with more than one boyfriend. By the time she got home, there was a text from Patrick.

I’ll give you a call tomorrow. I’ve been slammed today and I’m going back into surgery tonight. I won’t get home before midnight.
And she responded, Yes, I saw.

He did not text back an explanation or excuse, and although she was melting down from within, she didn’t say or do anything more. But she wanted to.

It was nearly seven the next evening by the time her doorbell rang. Having thought ahead a little, she had brought home pizza and wine and beer, knowing exactly what he liked—what type of beer, what toppings, even that he preferred thin crust.

By the look on his face, he wasn’t going to be impressed by her thoughtfulness.

“Patrick!” she said.

“We have a problem, you and me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to hear something,” he said, stepping into her town house. “Let’s sit in here,” he said, throwing an arm wide, indicating her living room.

“Would you like a beer or glass of wine? I picked us up a pizza...”

He just pressed Play on his phone. Where the hell are you? You should be back by now! I’ve called several times and went straight to voice mail. I know you’re home by now! You said you had patients but surely there’s time in your very busy schedule for a call or a text to at least tell me you’re back! I had hoped to at least see you for a little while. If you can fit me in.

“I was frustrated...by not hearing from you...”

“I told you I was getting in from Boston late, that I had a full surgical roster for the next day and was operating on the east coast time change.”

“Did... Didn’t you get to rest in Boston?”

“No, Jessie. Boston was not a vacation, it was work. I was in conferences or meetings day and night. Not only was I presenting, I had meetings with colleagues to discuss spinal cord surgical procedures and other professional matters. There are not that many opportunities for one-on-one discussions.”

“Sorry. I, ah, was anxious to see you after being apart and—”

“Did you hear your tone? Accusing and reprimanding?”

“I...ah...”

“Seven angry voice mails and fourteen texts and then I see you at the restaurant.”

“So,” she said, throwing her shoulders back indignantly and lifting her chin. “Let’s talk about that! You were too busy for me but you were there with a woman! A very attractive woman!”

“That was Darcy Masters, a sales rep from the Philligan Neurological Institute, talking to me about a new state-of-the-art microsurgical robot. We’ve had the appointment for months and have had trouble getting together. I kept her waiting for a couple of hours and told her the only time I had was a break between surgeries but I was starving. She offered to buy my dinner if I’d fit her in. I had to go right back to the hospital.”

“Oh. Well, I was just getting some dinner on the way home...”

“You’re sure you didn’t make a special trip?” he asked.

“Of course not,” she said, but her cheeks flushed with the lie.

“We have a problem,” he said. “Rather, I believe you have a problem and it’s affecting me in a very negative way.”

“What are you talking about?” she said, giving her hair a toss.

“Seven messages and fourteen texts, getting more sarcastic and angry by the minute, that’s what I’m talking about! It’s insane.”

“Okay, I won’t do that again.”

“You won’t do it to me again,” he said. “This is where we say goodbye.”

“What? Just because we have a slight difference of opinion? We’re just getting to know each other!”

“And in such a short period of time you’ve managed to make me feel like a caged animal. Like a stalked and captured prey. Listen, I’m going to do you a favor here.” He stood and reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to her. “Do yourself a favor and give this guy a call. He’s very good. He’s helped me and a couple of friends. He gets very high marks for taking on big egos and disbelievers.”

She looked at the card. She laughed out loud. Thomas Norton, PhD, Bradford Institute of Psychotherapy. Counselor. “My father was a psychologist,” she flung at him. “Believe me, if there was a problem—”

“And the cobbler’s children have no shoes,” he said. “Suit yourself. But I think you could benefit from a little assistance.”

“If I agree to see this guy, can we try again?”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “I know better than to get into a toxic relationship.”

“Toxic! How dare you say that to me!”

“Can I make a suggestion?” he asked.

“I don’t think so!” she snapped.

“Get together with some of your family and closest friends,” he went on, ignoring her. “Ask them if there’s been a problem communicating or understanding each other. Feel free to use our relationship as an example—I told you I’d be back in five days but would be tied up for a day or two longer, catching up on work and surgery here. It all worked out exactly that way and yet you somehow felt slighted and ignored. Ask the people you’re closest to if they have experienced this kind of disconnect. Get help. You don’t have to live like this.”