Sweeter Than Fiction

Chapter Twenty-six

Abby

“It’s been a while, Abby,” My therapist, Dr. Green, says to me as we sit down across from each other.

“It has! How was your trip to Brazil?”

“Wonderful. It’s always nice seeing family. Thank you for asking.” She gives me a warm smile, showing off every one of her perfect teeth.

“What’s the weather like in Brazil this time of year?”

“Abby, no stalling. This is your therapy session. Not mine.”

Damn. She’s always onto me. “I know, I know.”

I started going to therapy a few years ago. When I was going through my true-crime kick, the world suddenly seemed like a super scary place. I got to the point where I was scared to leave my apartment. Even after I stopped all the crime stuff, I still didn’t want to go anywhere.

That’s the wrong way to phrase that.

It’s normal that I don’t want to go anywhere.

But depression hit me hard, and I couldn’t force myself to do anything. I’d only be up long enough to work and eat, and I’d sleep for close to sixteen hours a day.

As much as I like my hermit-like life, I knew something had to change. The first therapist I saw was an old man who told me depression was all in my head.

No shit, Sherlock. Just because it’s inside my head doesn’t mean it’s not real.

The second one was younger and much more new-age. He thought cutting out gluten would solve all my problems.

Spoiler alert: it did not. All it did was make me cranky.

Finally, I found Dr. Green who took the time to help me find the right anti-depressants as well as help to pull me out of the funk I was in.

Now, I go see her every couple of weeks—except when she goes to Brazil for a month.

“So, Abby, what has been going on in your life lately?”

“Oh, man. Where do I even start? I have a boyfriend.”

She grins. “Wow! I did miss a lot!”

I give her the abridged version of how Don and I came to be.

When she’s got the gist, she asks, “And how are things going between the two of you?”

“Really, really great,” I answer. “He’s from Nebraska, so he’s got this whole Midwestern charm thing going on. He’s so sweet and thoughtful. Like, the other night, my endometriosis was flaring up pretty bad, and he came over, ordered us a ton of food, played with my hair, and held me until I fell asleep. I swear he’s way too good for me.”

Dr. Green’s brow furrows while she crosses her hands in her lap. “Why do you think he’s too good for you? Does he do something that makes you feel that way?”

“No, not at all! He’s constantly telling me how great he thinks I am and how grateful he is to have me.”

“Sounds like a keeper.”

“Yeah, he’s the best. It’s just…”

“Just what, Abby?”

I start fidgeting with my fingers. “He’s much more experienced than I am. In the bedroom.”

She nods in realization. “Oh, I see. And why do you think that’s a bad thing?”

“Because I’ve seen the women he’s been with. They’re all gorgeous, and probably much more adventurous than me. I feel like I’m open to trying new things, but the other night, he tried uh…giving me oral. And I immediately put the brakes on.”

Dr. Green and I have covered why that makes me uncomfortable at length.

“Did he stop?”

I nod. “Of course.”

“Did he make you feel bad about it?”

“Not at all.”

“Did you explain to him why you were hesitant?”

“Yeah, and he was super sweet and tried to make me feel better about the whole thing. He told me he wanted to try it with me but only when I was ready.”

“Do you think you want to try it?”

“If I was to try it again, I’d want it to be with someone as patient as Don. But I guess I’m still nervous.”

“About?”

I think for a few seconds. “That he will have the same type of reaction. And that he will run away and this whole thing will be over. Things like this—guys like Don—don’t come around often for me.”

“Have you considered that letting your guard down may not be such a bad thing?”

“What if I do that, and this whole thing ends horribly?”

“What if it doesn’t?” She asks.

“Huh?”

“What if Don is your happy ending?”

“I…uh…don’t know.”

She leans forward and hits the button to stop her tape recorder.

“Are we done already?” I ask. “That was a quick hour.”

“I’m going to divulge something personal.”

“Oh, okay.” I try to patiently wait for her to continue.

She takes off her glasses to clean them as she begins to speak. “When I was in college, something awful happened to me. I won’t go into details, but let’s just say that it’s something you don’t come out of unscathed. I didn’t date anyone else until my husband came along. He was kind and patient. I was convinced at any moment he was going to get tired of it all and walk out the door. But he never did. He stayed. If I hadn’t learned how to let down my walls again, I would have missed out on the best thing that ever happened to me.”

When I don’t say anything right away, she goes on, “Sometimes, the right person just comes along. Them walking into your life will defy all odds, and you will constantly think that it’s too good to be true. But one day, you’ll realize that they are exactly where they are supposed to be…and so are you.”

“How did you let your guard down enough to get to that point?” I ask, hopeful that she can give me some type of clarity.

She thinks for a moment. “It was hard, and it took some time. But eventually, I realized that I didn’t do anything wrong. When that awful thing happened to me, it didn’t make me any less worthy of love. And Abby, just because you see yourself a certain way doesn’t mean that you are any less worthy of it either. As much as it contradicts my scientific teachings, I like to believe that there is someone out there for all of us. I found mine. Maybe this guy is yours. When you read a romance book, do you think oh this character doesn’t deserve the perfect book boyfriend? No. You just think that maybe they finally met the one. Maybe this is your chance.”

Without another word on herself, she leans forward and turns the tape recorder back on. “One thing I want you to work on before our next session is trying to break out of your comfort zone a little bit. Do something that maybe you were scared to before—whether that’s going on a date to a crowded place or going on a quick little weekend trip somewhere…or even pushing your boundaries in the bedroom.”

I know I should listen to her. Dr. Green has yet to be wrong. When I first started seeing her, I was still skeptical of the whole therapy thing. Part of me thought the whole thing was a huge crock of shit. But the more I saw her, the more I realized maybe she does know what she’s talking about.

When I started listening to her, I was able to make changes that pulled me out of my depression. And despite how it may look, I’m not nearly as much of a mess as I used to be.

I guess it’s time to step out of my comfort zone a little bit.

As difficult as it may be.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Jenson greets me with a kiss on the cheek. “I have to say I’m a little surprised that you are calling me for coffee in the middle of the day. Usually, you are too caught up in work.”

“I took the afternoon off because I had therapy today.”

“Oh, right.” He nods but leaves the subject alone. Going to therapy himself, he knows how deeply personal it can be. He doesn’t ask me what I talk about during mine, and I afford him the same courtesy.

“I wanted to see if you could help me out with something.”

“What’s going on?” He asks, taking another sip of his latte.

“Well, as you know, Don and I have started doing…the deed.”

He stops me. “Abby, let’s call it what it is…you have been blessed by the sex gods and have been having what I assume is incredible sex with Mr. Perfect who lives next door to you.”

“Uh, yeah,” I agree. “I’m trying to break out of my shell a little when it comes to that department, and I was hoping you could maybe go with me to find something sexy to wear.”

As if all of his dreams are finally coming true, Jenson’s face lights up like I’ve never seen it. “You are not going to regret this.”

I point my finger at him. “Look, I’m not looking for something crazy. Maybe just something that makes me look and feel a little sexier than usual.”

He insists we take our coffees to go and hit a little intimate shop that is only a few blocks away. The moment we walk through the door, I’m instantly overwhelmed.

The first mannequin I see is wearing an outfit that’s entirely made out of string. I point to it and say, “This wouldn’t cover anything.”

“Yeah, sweets, that’s the point.”

Next to the mannequin is a display of huge—and I mean HUGE—dildos. Look, I’m all for sex toys. I have a decent collection of vibrators myself, but how on God’s green Earth do some of these actually fit?

I don’t think it would even get halfway into mine. Is my vagina broken?

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” I say, turning back toward the door, but Jenson grabs my hand. “Nope, come on. You’re fine. We don’t have to get the super risqué stuff. Let’s just walk around and see what we find.”

As we walk past the BDSM section, he asks, “Are you going to let Mr. Perfect tie you up with those things we saw in his bedroom?”

“I’m not sure. Right now, I’m just trying to get used to the idea of having him go down on me. One step at a time, J.”

We finally make it to a section that is a little more my speed. There are some cute little teddies and other lingerie, but nothing is too crazy. While I wish I was comfortable enough to rock the tiny string number by the front door, I’m just not.

Maybe one day.

Jenson asks, “So, are you going to surprise him with one of these sexy numbers tonight?”

“I think so. It will be the first time we’ve been together in almost a week. I was having my period and hurting, so sex was the furthest thing from my mind.”

He holds up a silky pink teddy. “If you wear something like this, I think you’re going to knock his socks off.”

Lord, I hope so.