Mine Would Be You (23)

She says it with a stoic face, her lips forming their signature pout as she doesn’t dare crease her perfect makeup. But I notice a certain softness in her eye as she looks over me, even if she never says it.

“I couldn’t be more thankful for the opportunity.”

I feel like I’m under a microscope between the warm office and the power her gaze holds, but I stand tall and straight. My tan paper bag pants are pressed neatly, with a sleek black bodysuit and black booties, and I feel all the more confident in my work.

“Thank you, Valentina. We should have the decision by the end of the week or by Monday,” she says, placing the paper on her desk and moving around to the other side.

“Have a good night, Miss Bisset,” I respond before pulling her office door shut behind me and letting out the deep breath I had been holding. I’ve never wanted an article approved more in my life. I make my way out of the office building and step into the sun that always seems to beat down in this spot at five p.m. My therapist’s office is only five blocks away, and I start the walk, basking in the feel of summer in the city.

It’s a whole different atmosphere than any other season. Winters are a different vibe with the decorations and Rockefeller, but also the insane number of tourists. Summertime, even with the hot temperatures and heavy humidity, the appeal of it is unlike any other. Trips to the Hamptons or Long Island, the liveliness of Central Park and rooftop bars.

I hop over a puddle left over from a rainstorm a few days ago as I cross another street. Even aside from all of that, it’s the sun beating through the tall buildings and the breeze that comes with it. It’s the sheer energy emitting off people. Even with our East Coast attitudes, we’re just a tad bit warmer than usual.

Marissa’s office is the same as usual, except she’s got the curtains open, and the sun streams in onto the carpet as I collapse in the leather couch. It molds around me like it always does, and I breathe in the underlying scent of almond from her incense.

“So, tell me about the wedding? Better yet, how are you feeling?” Marissa asks me with a soft smile.

“It was a lot. Surprisingly, different from what I was expecting though.”

She crosses and uncrosses her leg. “How so?”

For once, I’m not biting my lip or my cheek as I dive back into the wedding. The same sense of resolution I got sitting there listening to Myles read his vows, and Emma hers, washes over me.

“Well, I got some unexpected closure,” I start, and she nods for me to continue. “In Emma’s, his wife, in her vows she mentions that they met in college and started dating a few months after he broke up with me.”

Her eyes widen just slightly, and I know she’s recalling all our early conversations about my insecurities and anxieties about that time of my life. How he would call me or facetime me like everything was normal, but when he came home, we’d never be officially back together.

“So, that confirmed for me that I wasn’t crazy. That I was right.”

“While I’m sure hearing that wasn’t wonderful, I’m happy that it wasn’t this big emotional overload for you. That the overwhelming emotion you felt was closure.”

“I was angry too, but it faded. I want to talk about relationships in general,” I say, playing with the ring on my finger and turning it in circles.

“What about them?”

“Well, another thing I noticed was that Myles told her that I was an old friend. It’s not the biggest lie in the world, but when you’re inviting that person to your wedding? That’s huge. And I think he’s grown up but obviously not all the way,” I ramble. “I know we’ve talked about my attachment style and that it’s anxious, but I feel anxious about relationships in general.”

“Are you concerned that everyone you view as a possibility will be like Myles? That any relationship will have all the same pitfalls as that one?”

Even though I’ve been coming to Marissa for almost two years, and she has always seemed to be able to hit the nail on the head or figure out what I want to say but won’t, it surprises me every time.

“Yes. Pretty much. It’s hard for me to have an open mind.”

She takes a slow sip of water and leans back into her armchair, mulling over her words.

“I think a first step is being aware of things that actually make you anxious. Maybe look back at the things Myles did that you vividly remember making you feel nervous or jittery or untrusting. At the same time, you need to not compare everyone to Myles.”

I nod along as she says the words, and it doesn’t seem as hard as I make it out to be on my own. Because I know the red flags I paid attention to all those years.

“You can’t walk into something new with the assumption that they will just be another him. Because our hope is, that they aren’t, that you’ve gained the skill to avoid those that are. But you have to give them a chance to prove that.”

“I think that’s the hard part for me. Removing the idea, that age-old tale, that every guy is the same.”

Marissa nods with a small smile. “I won’t say it’s easy, but it is possible. The good thing about Myles’s actions is that you know immediately what not to look for. What to put in the negative category versus the positive category.”

“Like a pros and cons list.” I smile.