Chapter 22
Nic
At three o’clock on Wednesday, the other chair in my office remains empty.
All I can think of, throughout the entire hour, is how Avery’s session with Jan is going.
I had plenty of time to come clean to Jan, to tell her that I slept with Avery again—and I didn’t stick to our deal—but, in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I couldn’t bring myself to reduce what was a gorgeous night to just another transgression. To one more sin I have to confess to.
Avery might or might not tell her. It’s the dice I have to roll. I’ll know soon enough.
I’m also acutely aware that I should have already reported myself. But I haven’t. Jan was right when she said that sleeping with Avery doesn’t make me less of a therapist for my other clients. I might not recognize certain parts of myself when I look in the mirror, but I know that much.
Regardless the loss of my reputation, being a therapist isn’t just a job. Helping my clients is my purpose. After Lois died, this profession helped me heal. It made me feel like I mattered. That others relied on me for their well-being.
My practice was the most powerful motivation to get me out of bed in the morning when I really didn’t want to—and to crawl out of that dark well of grief. Because to be connected through everything that makes us human is the greatest privilege of my work.
As I often advise my patients, they are not their work.
But my work is a big part of me. It’s what has always been there.
A constant source of satisfaction but also many other things.
And a job can’t get in a stupid accident and die on you—unless, of course, you suddenly display reckless behavior as I’ve done with Avery.
I can’t let go of this huge part of my life for a crush on a movie star who is twenty years my junior.
It would be pure madness. I’ve put so much into this job.
Years of training. Of building my practice—and my reputation.
Of continued education to keep up with the latest research. Of trying to be the best I can be.
It’s absolutely unthinkable to give that up. To even consider it. And yet.
When she came to my house and I crumbled in an instant, for a minute there, I believed I could. That I’d give it all up for her. But for what?
On my desk, there’s a picture of Lois, and I look at it.
“What would you do?” I ask my dead wife.
Thank goodness she can’t answer because Lois was exactly the kind of person who would choose the potential of love over everything else. But it’s not even love. It can’t be love. It’s impossible.
I might be a little starstruck and definitely in lust and, as a psychologist, I would be wrong to simply dismiss this as mere frivolity, but in the grand scheme of things, I can also see it as fleeting and, in my position, dangerous.
Yet, I can’t stop thinking about what Avery said when she lay next to me. After she gave me the night of my life, which was different from the first time. I wasn’t tipsy, although I was just as foolish.
Does any of it matter if we really want to be together?
The fact that she had it in her to ask me that question is already a kind of answer in itself. Because my brain may say no, but every other bit of me screams yes. Because, of course, I could fall for her like a ton of bricks—or, as Avery would say: a fuckton of fucking bricks.
There isn’t anything about her that doesn’t thoroughly delight me.
How I yearn to take her out for a long, luxurious dinner and flirt all the way through the meal.
Get to know her despite her habit of deflecting and her adamance to not show her true feelings.
And then to take her home and have her fuck me—
Stop. I take a breath. But being a therapist isn’t all about the brain.
It’s not all logical analytics and rational treatments.
Because humans are, ultimately, not logical creatures.
We act on instinct and on impulses that, half the time, we don’t even understand because their roots are buried too deep in our consciousness. This much I know.
Because in my mind—which I’m surely losing—this is still Avery’s time slot with me, I allow myself to entertain the most foolish of notions.
What if I did see her again? What if I reported myself to the board, lost my license, got suspended, and could no longer practice? And the only upside to that was dating Avery Hall.
What would I do with myself? I’m not the kind of person who could only be a Hollywood star’s appendix.
Her plus-one to parties where I would know many of the guests and they would all be talking about me behind my back—or tell me straight to my face what a disgusting failure I am.
What kind of life would that be? And that’s the best-case scenario, one where Avery and I would make it.
Worst case, I would be left without a job and without love. I’m used to a life without love. I’ve already been through the worst. Surely, getting over Avery is nothing compared to never seeing Lois again.