11. Now
ELEVEN
now
I’ve been seeing Dr. Laura for two years.
Definitely long enough to know when she doesn’t approve.
While I tell her about Parker’s proposed lunch date and my mixed feelings, her delicate brown brows fold in consternation.
“Ella,” she replies, staring steadily. “I hear your disbelief—which we’ve determined is needless self-doubt. And I hear your anxiety about re-entering the dating world—which makes sense since it’s been years. But what worries me is the way you describe Parker.”
In my head, I rewind my monologue, searching for something objectionable. “I said he is handsome… successful for his age… and nice?”
“Yes.” Dr. Laura drops her pen into her omnipresent notebook. “And when I asked how he made you feel, you said…” Her eyes scan her notes before she quotes, “‘Fine.’”
When she repeats the word back to me, I wince. “Oh.”
She shrugs her rounded shoulders, hidden beneath a billowing kimono as per usual. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s perfectly all right to accept a date with a man you don’t have feelings for. Initial attraction doesn’t necessarily determine long-term success. Many of the married couples I’ve worked with started out as apathetic strangers. I only raise the issue because I’d expect you to have feelings a bit more complex for someone you’ve worked with for over a year. With your anxiety, I’d at least expect a bit of apprehension about how dating him could affect your job…”
I frown, following her logic. “But isn’t it good that I’m not anxious?”
“Maybe,” she allows. “Or maybe you’re not worried because you’ve already closed yourself off to the possibility of a real relationship.”
“With Parker?”
Kindness suffuses her chocolate gaze. “With anyone who isn’t Grayson Stryker .”
When everything fell apart, I survived by telling myself the hurt would dwindle over time. I thought the pain would be faded and familiar by now. But bone-deep dread still sucks the air from my lungs every time I hear his name.
Reading my expression, Dr. Laura softens further. “You asked me to stop asking you this, but I feel I need to do it one last time. Ella—are you certain that there’s nothing to be done to repair what you lost?”
Right on cue, guilt joins the despair, swirling into an vortex of misery.
Because I didn’t “lose” him. I left him.
“No,” I murmur. “Not after what I did. ”
She opens her mouth to argue. I wave my hands, begging her to stop before she begins. Then, I press my palms into my middle, holding the chasm closed.
I’ve heard all of her gentle assertions before. None of them will ever undo what I’ve done. For the first time, she seems to accept that claim. “All right, Ella. Moving on, then?”
My head bobs. “Moving on.”