Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
ROBBIE
The cat clock on Dr. Colburn’s mantel is so loud, I can feel the ticking in my teeth. Tick-schlock. Tick-schlock.
The mechanism’s sticky. Just off enough to schlock when it should tock . It probably functions fine. In fact, I don’t think anyone would even notice unless they were listening for it. Unless they were, say, counting down every second of fifty long minutes.
I shift in my seat, and the leather protests with a squeal. This might be because this armchair’s meant for normal-sized humans, while I’m built on a slightly larger scale. It might also be because I’m sweating through my jeans.
Across a low coffee table, Dr. Colburn sits in her own chair.
She’s tiny, with gray-streaked brown curls pulled back at her neck and smile lines around her eyes.
The beaded chain on her glasses catches the late-afternoon sunlight angling through the window, showering the floor with sparkles when she moves.
She holds a steaming mug of chai in both hands that makes the whole office smell spicy, and she made sure I had a glass of water before we sat down.
There’s not a soul on Earth less intimidating.
I wipe damp palms on my thighs.
“So, Robbie.” She looks over her glasses and smiles encouragingly. “How’ve you been since our last session?”
“Good.” I nod automatically. “Insanely busy. First day of spring hits, and suddenly, people forget fire safety, you know? And we have a couple new volunteers on the crew, which— Oh, fuck, I shouldn’t’ve said insane , should I?
That’s ableist.” I straighten my long legs and bang the table hard enough to make my water slosh.
“Ah, crap, I said fuck.” I grab a Kleenex and mop at the water.
Dr. Colburn shakes her head, amused. “Relax.”
“I’m relaxed. Totally.” I can’t see a trash bucket, so I wad the Kleenex into a damp ball in my fist. I guess it’s mine now. “How’ve you been? I saw a bunch of new teas on the menu at the Sugar House. Have you checked them out?”
Her smile softens. “This is your time to talk about you , Robbie. Or if you don’t want to talk, you can read, or doodle, or simply sit?—”
“Yeah, I remember you saying that. But we can talk. Totally.”
I wonder whether anyone takes her up on the offer to doodle for an hour and how she feels if they do. Seems like such a waste of everyone’s time.
Kinda like me being here.
When the Winsome town council first suggested applying for the grant that would give all first responders a health insurance break if us full-timers committed to twice-a-month therapy sessions, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. I respect how important therapy can be, for sure .
But this is my second session, and I can tell you I’d rather run into a burning building than talk about myself for a whole hour.
I mean, what am I even supposed to say? I have a good life.
A great career, a beautiful fiancée, the best friend in the world, a community of weird but supportive Winsomefolk.
Besides, I hate dwelling on negativity, and that’s what it feels like when I start dredging up problems.
I think Dr. Colburn and I both know I’m wasting her time when she could be helping someone who really needs it.
Tick -schlock. Tick -schlock. I try not to look at the mantel or count down the remaining minutes—forty-two—because that feels rude.
Dr. Colburn takes pity on me when the silence stretches out. “So, what’s been on your mind? Anything else interesting happening at work? Or… not at work?”
I shrug. “A couple of volunteers joined our crew, like I said. That throws off the crew’s dynamic a little, but we’ll adjust. Oh! Lissa and I set a wedding date. For August. So that’s fun.”
“Congratulations,” she says warmly. “How are you feeling about it?”
“Great. It’s a lot to do in a short time, but Liss has a whole vision she’s executing. Which is perfect ‘cause I’m not great at that stuff.”
“At wedding planning?” She laughs. “I don’t know many people who are, at first.”
“Right? But like, color schemes, centerpieces… I could stare at them for hours and genuinely convince myself that each was the best choice. It’s so much easier when someone else knows what they want. ”
She makes a note on the little yellow pad that’s tucked down the side of her chair, and I sweat a little. Like I’m being graded on my performance.
“Would you say you often feel that way, Robbie? That you’re not good at making decisions?”
“Oh, god no. I’m a firefighter. I make life-or-death calls all the time.
I meant deciding little things. Things I don’t have strong opinions about.
Which is most stuff, frankly, ’cause I’m pretty easygoing.
” I shrug. “Drives my best friend crazy, but I remind Ames all the time it’s a feature, not a bug. ”
“Hmm.” She studies me over her glasses. “But when you do have strong opinions, do you share them with Lissa?”
“Sure.” Honesty requires me to add, “In theory.”
“Could you give me a nontheoretical example?”
I open my mouth, then close it again, but my mind is a clean, blank slate. I am officially failing therapy. “Not… really?”
She laughs gently. “What about with bigger, non-wedding things? What do you do when your vision of the future and your fiancée’s don’t align?”
“I’d tell her, if that happened. But we have the same vision.
To be happy and settled. To have kids and raise them in a strong community like Winsome.
To have the kind of family where everyone’s welcome, like Ames and the Axfords were for me as a kid.
” I shrug. “I mean, who wouldn’t want that, right?
” I pick at a frayed spot on my jeans and add, “I… I do think sometimes Lissa wishes my job was a little less intense. But she knows I love it, so it’s not like she’d expect me to change careers. ”
Dr. Colburn lifts an eyebrow. “Happiness looks like different things to different people, doesn’t it? So do ‘being settled’ and ‘raising kids.’ Have you talked about specifics?”
“Some, sure. But we mostly take things as they come. And it’s worked so far. We hardly ever argue.”
Now, both eyebrows lift nearly to her hairline. “Really.”
“Well… yeah.” I’m surprised by her surprise. “We’re good at compromising.”
She makes another note on her pad, and I mentally review what accidentally revealing thing I’ve said.
“What sorts of things do you argue about, when you argue? What are the stressors in your relationship?”
This is what I mean about focusing on the negative. It makes my stomach sour.
“Uh.” I crack my neck from side to side. “I dunno. One thing, I guess, is my brother? Lissa doesn’t like him.”
“Oh. Why’s that?”
“Mike’s… not in a great place. I think I told you our parents died a few years ago—two kinds of cancer, three years apart?
Right after that, Mike lost his job, and it all kinda…
spiraled. He drank a lot. Got kicked out of the Shed more than once.
Got into a fight at a different bar out on Route 2, also, and that time, someone said Mike had a knife, though they couldn’t prove it.
” I wince. “It was so bad his wife filed for divorce—and rightly so, since Anna needed to keep herself and the girls away from all that. But now, Mike’s been trying to get back on his feet, and he doesn’t have anyone but me to help. We’re the only family we’ve got.”
“What kind of help?” She frowns.
“The usual.” I shrug. “I babysit when Mike has to work on his custody weekends—though, actually,” I add with a laugh, “these days, it’s more like driving the girls places, since they’re twelve and sixteen and have busier social lives than I do.
I put in a good word when Mike needed a job.
And I, uh…” I clear my throat. “I used to give him money.”
“Used to.”
“Yeah, I stopped after last Christmas. I gave him money to buy presents for the girls, but he used most of it on a new phone. I get that he needed the phone for work, but…” I trail off with a shrug.
Dr. Colburn waits patiently.
“I’ve had this back-and-forth with Ames for years.
He says Mike’s only nice to me when he wants something.
I’ve always defended Mike, saying he’s just figuring shit out.
It got to the point where Ames couldn’t take it and asked me not to tell him about it.
After the stuff at Christmas… I realized Ames is right.
So now I’m trying to change the pattern so our relationship can improve. And for me, that means no more money.”
“And has it helped?”
“Not yet. He calls me ‘selfish,’ but I hope he’ll come around. Maybe when he gets his shit together. We’re family, and that means something, right? It’s not like I can cut off my own brother . And I like helping him with the girls. They’re my nieces. They’re family too.”
“Does this stuff with Mike cause tension in your relationship with Lissa?”
I open my mouth, then shut it again. “I mean, yeah. She wants me focused on our relationship, our future. And I try to show her I am. But I’m not gonna give up my family just to please her. That’s not how compromise works. Kinda like when she wanted us to make that stupid celibacy—er. Never mind.”
My face goes red. I can’t believe I just said that out loud.
“The what?”
“Uh… c-celibacy challenge?” I scratch the back of my neck, and the clock tick-schlocks for an uncomfortable number of beats before I manage, “Lissa wants us to spend time together going on dates and improving our relationship in the lead-up to the wedding. Not, you know, having sex. It’s a thing. Online.”
“I see. And you compromised on that?”
I lean forward and gulp some of my water.
“I, uh, might’ve thought she was joking, at first,” I admit.
“Because six months… I mean, since high school, I haven’t…
uh. Anyway. She got pretty upset. Like, ‘How come you can hang out with Ames all the time and not have sex?’” I shake my head.
“And I was like, ‘Because Ames is my best friend.’ And… anyway, it kinda got worse from there.”