11. Julia
Julia
By my fourth therapy appointment, I have discovered that it has the deeply irritating habit of continuing long after you leave the therapist’s office.
For the past seven days, I have heard Kai Blackwood’s voice at the most inconvenient times.
Well, not him, exactly. The things he says. Questions. Mostly annoying ones.
Every time I start typing an apology for something that isn’t actually my fault, my brain helpfully supplies his voice asking me what I believe I’m apologizing for.
When I offer to do something before checking whether I have the time, I remember him asking whether being useful is something I choose or somewhere I hide.
Even telling my mother no when she casually suggested I stop by after work on Tuesday turned into a five-minute internal debate over whether I’m tired and want to go home qualifies as a sufficient reason.
Apparently it does, because I went home and Mom survived. So did I.
Michael has also kept his word. Nothing changed after he asked me out.
He still comes by my desk, still talks to me exactly the way he did before and has made no attempt to turn my refusal into a negotiation.
If anything, his ability to behave like a perfectly normal adult about the whole thing has made him slightly more attractive, which feels deeply unfair considering the entire point of declining him was to make my life less complicated.
Daniel remains committed to being an idiot at least twice a day, Tessa has been out of town but checked in regularly, and somehow an entire week has passed without my nervous system setting anything on fire. I’ll take the win.
The strange part is that Blackwood has stayed somewhere in the back of my mind through all of it.
Not in the way Tessa would undoubtedly make filthy if I admitted it to her.
I know he’s attractive. I would need to be blind, dead or unusually committed to denial not to know that.
I’m also very aware that he is my psychiatrist and I am paying him to help me figure out why half my emotional coping mechanisms were apparently assembled by a traumatized twelve-year-old.
Still, his questions follow me. Sometimes I catch myself wondering what he would say about something before immediately getting irritated with myself for wondering. Which probably means therapy is working.
As I reach the clinic Thursday afternoon, the sky over Minneapolis has turned the pale gray that always makes the city look as though someone lowered the saturation.
The air has cooled enough that even being parked in a garage has me rubbing warmth back into my hands when I push through the oak doors into reception.
Mara looks up from behind her desk. “Early again.”
“I’m trying to build a reputation.”
“For punctuality?”
“For emotional stability.”
Her mouth twitches as she reaches into the small refrigerator beside her desk and hands me a bottle of water. “Ambitious.”
“I thought so.”
She laughs and goes back to whatever she was doing on her computer while I take my usual seat in the waiting room.
I answer two emails from work, delete one from a mailing list I have unsubscribed from at least four times and spend absolutely none of the remaining minutes thinking about the fact that I now know what Kai Blackwood looks like and Google still doesn’t. That would be weird.
The heavy door down the hall opens several minutes later.
“Julia.” His deep voice fills the waiting room and I look up.
And, fine. No matter how many times I see him, there remains something fundamentally unfair about a psychiatrist looking like that.
Today’s suit is charcoal, the vest beneath it fitted neatly across his torso and his white shirt crisp enough that I briefly wonder whether he owns an iron or simply intimidates wrinkles into submission.
His dark hair is pushed back from his face, and the thin frames of his glasses catch the overhead light as his amber eyes settle on mine.
Objectively attractive. That is all.
I slip my phone into my bag and stand. “Dr. Blackwood.”
One corner of his mouth lifts as he steps aside for me. “You sound unusually formal today.”
“I’m trying something new.” I chirp in a way that earns me a raised eyebrow from both him and Mara.
“And how is that going?” He asks, digging his hands into his pockets, his head tilting to the side a little.
“Terribly.”
“That was quick.”
“I’m adaptable.”
A quiet breath leaves him that isn’t quite a laugh, but it follows me into his office anyway.
The room has already become familiar enough that I notice the small changes.
One of the books on the low shelf behind the usual spot where he sits during our sessions has disappeared.
The blinds are angled differently today, letting pale afternoon light fall in narrow stripes across the rug.
His coffee sits near the edge of his desk rather than beside his laptop. And my lounge chair awaits unmoved.
My chair. I drop my bag beside it and sit, adjusting the hem of my blouse before opening the bottle of water Mara gave me.
“You didn’t bring snacks.” I notice.
Kai closes the door behind us and moves toward the chair opposite mine. “The budget request was denied.”
“By management?” I raise my eyebrow in mock wonder.
“Very difficult people.”
“Shame.”
“I intend to appeal.” The tone of his voice is almost as smooth as the movement of his hand over his upper thigh as he straightens the material of his suit pants, and for some reason my eyes follow every stroke.
“Thank you.” I manage.
He unbuttons his suit jacket before his glasses come down slightly as he looks at me over the top of them. I pretend not to notice.
“How was your week?”
“Good.”
His pen remains suspended above the notepad on his knee.
I wait. He waits.
I narrow my eyes. “That was a real good.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”
“You did the face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you silently question everything I say until I eventually start doing it for you.”
Something faintly amused moves through his expression. “I wasn’t aware I had one.”
“You do.”
“I’ll work on that.”
“No, you won’t.” I roll my eyes at him.
This time he actually smiles.
“My week really was good,” I continued, settling deeper into the chair. “Nothing exploded, my mother and I are speaking, work is normal and nobody died. I feel like that qualifies.”
“By most standards.” Kai chimes in.
“Exactly.”
He watches me for another moment before his pen finally moves. “How did you feel?”
I let my head fall back against the chair and stare at the ceiling. “You just couldn’t leave it alone.”
“Occupational hazard.” His voice reaches me.
“I felt normal.” I bring my gaze back to him and search for something more specific before he can ask. “Better, I guess. Lighter. Last week was easier than the one before.”
There is something different about today already.
The room feels easier. Maybe because I’m not arriving here carrying a week’s worth of panic beneath my ribs.
Maybe because the last session proved I can sit in this chair and talk about something complicated without leaving barely capable of remembering how I got home.
Or maybe I’m simply getting used to him.
Kai sets the pen lightly against the page. “Did anything from our last conversation come up during the week?”
I think about the question instead of immediately reaching for whatever answer sounds easiest.
“I noticed I’m much better at saying no when I don’t have to worry about whether someone will still love me afterward.”
His gaze sharpens slightly.
“Has something out of the ordinary happened that you had to say no to?” The question leaves him so fast that it makes me feel as if he’s thinking of something specific, but I can’t figure out what that would be.
A memory pops into my mind and leaves just as quick and I decide to ignore it. Not today.
“No. Just in general.” I murmur and hold his questioning gaze before his eyes fall back to his notepad.
“And what about people you do love?”
I shift slightly in the chair, drawing one leg closer beneath me while I turn the bottle of water between my palms. “That’s harder, but not necessarily because I’m afraid they’ll stop loving me the second I say no. It’s more complicated than that.”
Kai doesn’t immediately reach for another question. He watches me for a moment, then settles the notepad more comfortably against his knee.
“What does complicated look like with your mother now?”
The question makes me exhale through my nose.
“Honestly? Sometimes completely normal.” I glance toward the window while I try to put something into words that has always made far more sense inside my own head.
“We can talk for an hour and laugh. I can tell her something about work, or someone I know, or something stupid that happened during the day, and she can be perfectly fine. Supportive even. The problem is that I never really know whether something I tell her when we’re getting along is going to stay safe. ”
Kai’s expression changes slightly. “Safe in what sense?”
“As in not being brought back up later and used against me.”
That gets his full attention.
I rub my thumb over the edge of the bottle label.
“She has depression, and her moods can change. Not always in the obvious way where someone is happy at breakfast and furious by lunch, although that happens sometimes too. It’s more that when she’s hurt or angry, she reaches for things.
Things I’ve told her. Things that had nothing to do with whatever we’re arguing about. ”
I stop for a moment, trying to think of an example that doesn’t require another hour to explain.