Chapter 5
Avery
I walk into Dr. Nic’s office for my third session. I’m no longer as nervous as I was the previous two times. But fuck, she looks scrumptious again today, in those hip-hugging jeans and that silk blouse.
We settle into our seats, and she shoots me a small smile. “How’s it going?” she asks.
Excellent now that I’m sitting across from you, I think, but obviously can’t say. I’ve heard about clients getting the hots for their therapists—I even know it’s called transference—and I’m not going to be that particular cliché, thank you very much.
“Okay. You?” The question is out of my mouth before I realize it.
Her smiles broadens. “Fine, thanks for asking. Is there anything in particular you would like to discuss today? Something that’s been on your mind?”
“Well, Sienna called me repressed the other day. And according to Stella, I barely even notice when someone flirts with me, which might be true, hence why I’m single.”
“Do you sometimes flirt with someone? Take the initiative?” Dr. Nic is in no mood to dillydally today.
I huff out some air. “It’s been a while.”
“Since you’ve felt attracted to someone enough to initiate something?” Her eyes are deep-brown and kind.
“I don’t know if I’m made to be in a relationship,” I simply state.
“It’s not something you crave?”
“I crave… well, some things sometimes.” Oh, fuck. My cheeks heat up.
“And?”
Holy hell. We’re not even five minutes into the session, but it kind of feels like I’ve brought this on myself—or did she somehow steer me toward this again?
“I’m not that into one-night stands. It used to be easier, you know? Before Queer Girl Summer. I mean, I was on TV before, but since things have gone next level, it’s like a part of me has shut down. Like, I wouldn’t even know where to start if I wanted to…”
“Have sex with someone?” The way she says it does something to my insides.
“Um, yeah.” I shuffle in my seat. “I didn’t really come here to talk about my nonexistent sex life, just so you know.”
“Does it make you uncomfortable?”
“Duh.” I sound like a teenager rebelling against her parents. “Sorry. That was a bit immature.”
“No problem. You don’t have to be a certain way here. Just be you.”
“Yet being me is why I’m here.”
“And I’m here to help.”
I might have underestimated the effect of someone’s undivided attention on me, and all my complicated, repressed emotions, for a full hour at a time. Someone who doesn’t want anything from me except the ugly truth.
“Are you single?” I blurt out.
Dr. Nic chuckles. “I am, as a matter of fact.”
Really? “I’m sorry. Was that out of line?”
“It’s all right. My wife died in a car accident five years ago.”
“Oh, my god. I’m so sorry, Nic.” Should I have known this? Surely, Sienna knows, but she might have kept it to herself—or I had my head too far up my ass to really listen when she told me.
“Thanks.” A flash of weariness crosses her face, but then, as if she didn’t just mention her late wife, her face is all solemn smiles and kindness again. “Just giving you a bit of context. It helps with certain clients.”
“I know you were a huge help to Sienna after her father died. She has only good things to say about you.”
“I’m glad I could help. I hope she’s doing well.”
“She’s great. So is Stella. They’re both very good at being gay.”
“What does that mean: to be good at being gay?”
“They just seem to… have it all together, you know? Compared to them, I’m a hot mess.”
“Because you’re single?”
“Before I met them, before we did this movie together, I was perfectly happy with myself. At least I thought I was. But, I don’t know, it’s like being with them makes me feel inadequate somehow. Like I’m doing it wrong.”
“Can you define ‘it?’”
“Life.” I’m on a roll now. “But my life has been so different compared to theirs. Stella’s biggest issue so far has been falling in love with her brother’s wife, which, granted, may point at some dysfunction, and Sienna’s dad crashing his motorcycle was devastating, so, yes, we all have our thing, but we don’t have the same background.
“Growing up with no money, as I did, makes you see life differently. I wasn’t raised in the same way they were, with their hotshot parents in their huge mansions and privileged lifestyle.
” I run out of steam. “I’m not jealous. I love them and I’m glad I met them and that we’re friends, but I often feel…
I don’t want to say inferior because it’s not the right word, but not exactly equal either.
It doesn’t help that I used to be on Echo Bay. ”
“Do you feel looked down on?”
“No. I don’t know. Sometimes.”
“I know for a fact that Echo Bay is a huge part of many people’s lives. A delicious daily treat to look forward to.” There’s that smile again. “What was it like, being a part of that?”
“Fucking hard work.”
Nic chuckles, then nods. “I can imagine.”
“Not compared to the two jobs my mom worked, obviously.”
“Do you want to tell me a bit more about your mother? About your parents?”
I heave a sigh. “Not really.”
“You don’t have to. Well, not today, at least.”
“Another way I’m not like Sienna and Stella,” I say, expertly deflecting, “is that I’m not into talking about my feelings all the time. Things just are what they are, you know? Most of the time, I’m pretty okay with that.”
“Good,” is all Nic says.
I drum my fingertips on the armrest of my chair as I stare out of those enormous windows.
A short silence falls, after which she asks, “Can you try to put into words why you’re so annoyed right now? What specifically sparked your irritation?”
“I’m not annoyed,” I say, my voice tense and on the verge of too harsh.
Dr. Nic just tilts her head.
“Okay, I’m annoyed because… either I do this, I go down all these rabbit holes with you that I don’t really feel like going down, and it will take fucking forever to get somewhere…
Or I quit while I’m ahead.” I’m of half a mind to walk out the door, but something about her keeps me in my chair.
I also don’t want to come across as someone who gets out of Dodge the moment the conversation gets difficult.
I don’t want Nic to think of me that way, although it’s what I would do with anyone else.
“The door isn’t locked.” The confidence with which she says it—as if she’s certain that I’ll stay—is another thing that keeps my ass glued to my seat.
“None of this is mandatory.” She fixes her gaze on mine.
“But please know that I’m here for you unequivocally.
It will take the time it takes and, from experience, I know that most of the time, when clients keep coming back, when they put in the work, their life always gets better. ”
“Do they stop shoving homophobic pricks in bars?”
“As far as I’m concerned, you can give every homophobic prick you ever meet the hardest shove you can muster for the rest of your life.”
“I do work out.” I flex my biceps a little. “My shoves are pretty robust.”
“I can tell.” Her gaze actually slides to my arms.
Inadvertently, I turn on my TV smile. “Did you see our movie?”
“Queer Girl Summer?” Dr. Nic’s eyes are firmly back on my face now. “Of course. More than once.”
“Did you like it that much?” Why does it not feel like this when some random hot girl flirts with me in a bar or on set?
“I genuinely loved it. It’s one of those movies that start with a light, easy vibe and then the deeper meaning hits and you end up sobbing through the credits.”
Wow. “Thank you,” is all I can mumble.
“What’s your next project?” Dr. Nic asks.
“I have a movie coming out in a few weeks, so promo for that is what’s next for me.” I could do without the marketing side of my job, but it’s an inextricable part of being an actor.
“What made you want to be become an actor?” Nic asks.
I chuckle, because I’ve talked about this at length with Stella and Sienna and, as it turns out, we all grew up believing the same thing: doesn’t everyone want to be a famous actor?
“I never really wanted to be anything else,” I say.
“Famous or an actor?”
“When I was a teenager, I fantasized about being famous, but now… to do a movie like Queer Girl Summer is no longer about fame anymore. Artistically, it was extremely fulfilling.” Oh god.
I sound like the second coming of Meryl Streep.
“Scratch that,” I’m quick to say. “I just sounded so fucking full of myself.”
“I didn’t think so.” She shoots me a small smile. “Acting is an art. A damn difficult and vulnerable one at that. You can be proud of that.”
“I think I might have some issues with feeling proud.”
“You’re in the right place, then,” Dr. Nic says and—god fucking damn it—the warmth in her words touches something inside me. Something that I’ve buried deep and has not seen daylight in too long, if ever.
My throat grows thick, and my eyes sting. You’ve got to be kidding me. I will also not be the cliché client who bursts into inadvertent tears on her therapist’s couch—at least I’m in a chair as opposed to dramatically stretched out on the proverbial couch.
I shake my head and discreetly try to wipe my eyes, which is simply impossible when someone’s sitting across from you with all their attention focused only on you. Next, she will push that goddamned tissue box in my direction and the picture of utterly obnoxious cliché will be complete.
“I have some homework for you,” Dr. Nic says, surprising me again.
She doesn’t even reference my tears, although one is sliding down my cheek right now.
“This coming week, whenever you think poorly of yourself, whether it be that you can’t control your temper or you think you’re a bad lesbian, just try to notice and push against it a bit. Don’t simply let yourself believe it.”
“Seriously?” I wipe my cheek dry with my palm.
“Give it a try. See what happens.”
“How, though? How would I do that?”
“Just by noticing.”
“Easier said than fucking done.”
“At least I’m not asking you to swear less,” she quips. “That would be impossible.”
Way to defuse the tension. “Sure. I’ll give it a try.”
“Thank you.” She nods at the tissue box. “They’re free of charge,” she says, delighting—and confusing me—a little bit more.