46. Helen
Three Months Later
“Kimberly! Kimberly!”
I look up blankly from my computer screen, blinking as I realize that Erica has been trying to get my attention for the past minute. “Sorry—what?”
Erica points from her desk to the front counter, where I can see that a partially obscured patron is waiting to be checked out. “Someone needs your help.”
Biting back my irritation, I refrain from reminding Erica that she could just as easily get up to help. But it’s not like I’m doing anything, anyway.
When I reach the counter, I can see the patron more clearly, and smile when I recognize Kathleen from my writing group. “Hi, Kathleen! Long time no see.”
“It’s been ages! We’ve missed you at writing group.”
I do my best to keep smiling. “I know, I’ve just been so busy.” So busy not writing my romance novel. Normally I wouldn’t have minded attending anyway to offer my feedback to the group, but I’ve had a hard time with anything romance adjacent lately. The only things I can really stomach these days are nonfiction and cooking shows.
“I’ve been pretty worried about Wilfred,” Kathleen confides in me, referencing my character—the one who doesn’t get the girl. “I hope you give him a happily ever after in the epilogue.”
“Maybe,” I say vaguely, keen to change the subject. “What are you reading?”
Kathleen hands me her stack of books. “I read about a new series I thought I’d try. It’s supposed to make Fifty Shades of Grey look tame in comparison. I hear the second book has an alien orgy in it.”
“Oh,” I say, because really, what else can you say to that?
As soon as she leaves, I feel something light hit the side of my head. “Psst. Kimberly.”
Frowning, I look down to see a stray paper clip on the floor. Slowly, I turn to face Erica. “Did you just throw a paper clip at my head?”
Erica ignores my question. “It says on the schedule that you’re off at noon, but there’s this fire sale I really want to go to. Can you stay on and cover my shift?”
I shake my head firmly. “I have an appointment.”
“What kind of appointment?” Erica challenges, rolling her eyes, like I’m the one asking her to change her shift. Without waiting for my answer, she begins whining. “Can’t you reschedule?”
It’s my appointment with Dr. Sandra. Truth be told, I’ve been finding ways to avoid it for as long as I can, and I really wouldn’t mind having another legitimate reason to postpone. But it’s the principle of the matter. “Sorry, but no. Maybe you can still catch the sale after work.”
Erica looks at me like I’ve suggested using her bare hand instead of toilet paper. “All the good stuff will be gone by then.”
I really, truly couldn’t care less. Still, I try to be as empathetic as I can. “You never know.”
“Selfish bitch.”
She mutters it under her breath, but still loud enough that I was obviously intended to hear it. And you know what?
Not today, Satan!
I rise to my feet, waiting until she finally deigns to lift her gaze. “You know what, Erica? Fuck off.”
I’m not sure if it’s the swear word, or the intensity in my eyes, or just the simple fact that I’m standing up for myself, but Erica’s mouth drops open. For a moment, she is speechless. Then she rallies. “What did you just say to me?”
“You heard me, Kimberly.”
She blinks incredulously. “That isn’t my name.”
“Well, it isn’t mine either. So you can just fuck the goddam hell off.”
And we work in silence together for the remainder of my shift.
Look, I know that telling off your coworker and swearing like a sailor aren’t necessarily things to be proud of, but I gotta admit, it felt pretty good. That telling-off has been about two years coming, and I hope it will get Erica off my back. And even if it doesn’t, I now know how good it feels to put her in her place, so I won’t be avoiding doing so in the future if she steps out of line. In fact, I may even be looking forward to it.
Leaving the library, I have a little extra spring to my step as I make my way to my appointment with Dr. Sandra.
Which is a lucky thing, actually, since I’ve been dreading this meeting with my sort-of therapist. That’s why I’ve been avoiding it for the past three months, ever since I got back from New Orleans. I’m sure she’s been able to see through my fibs about why I needed to postpone, although I have gotten a bit better at lying. My first two excuses were fairly normal—needing to recover from the trip, feeling under the weather. But last month I may have panicked and told her my water heater exploded. I’m not really sure why. It seemed like a plausible excuse at the time.
Sure enough, as I spot her on our usual park bench, she brightens visibly and waves me over. “Hey, girl! I thought you might be getting ready to cancel on me again. I’ve been pretty worried about your household appliances all day.”
Smiling sheepishly, I open my Tupperware offering and hold it out for her inspection. “Yeah. These are my sorry-I’ve-been-avoiding-you mini quiches.” I’m pulling out the big guns today.
Dr. Sandra grins and happily takes one. After taking a bite, she chews thoughtfully. “Is that…pancetta and goat cheese?”
I nod in confirmation.
Her eyebrows rise a notch, impressed. “You must have something pretty big to tell me. So spill it. I’ve been appropriately subdued with eggy goodness.”
I take in a deep breath, my stomach rolling as I brace myself to say the words. “I…had sex.”
Dr. Sandra laughs, taking this as a joke—which I understand, since this is exactly the kind of joke that I might have made in one of our previous visits. But as she sees my lack of amusement, she quickly sobers, straightening a bit and shifting subtly into therapist mode. “Okay. That’s a big development. How do you feel about that?”
Bless her, I know she’s dying for the details, but I appreciate her checking in with how I’m doing first. “I’m fine. A little disappointed, I guess.”
She grimaces sympathetically. “If it’s any consolation, most people’s first time isn’t great. There’s such a big buildup around it, and it’s such a new experience—it can be hard for it to live up to the fantasy. But with time and practice?—”
I shake my head to let her know that isn’t the issue. “No, it was good.” Unwittingly, memories from that night come back to me—the urgency and intensity, Thad’s body moving against mine, inside mine—and I shake my head, drawing in a breath. “I…enjoyed it.”
Dr. Sandra furrows her brow. “Okay, so what was disappointing about it?”
This is the part I’ve been dreading. A knot forms in my chest, making it difficult to breathe, to speak. “Well, I guess for starters, Thad and I aren’t together anymore?—”
“Thad?!” Dr. Sandra catches herself, clearing her throat before adding in a more subdued, professional tone, “The bounty hunter posing as a library patron to try to capture your brother. He was your first time?”
Dr. Sandra must have known I was traveling with Thad and helping him find my brother, since her husband helped Molly create her new identity and go into hiding, but there were obviously a lot of missing gaps in the story that she had not been privy to.
I nod, wondering where to possibly begin. “It’s complicated but…we got to know each other a little better during that New Orleans trip. I think we fell in love with each other? At least, I fell in love with him.”
Dr. Sandra is doing her best not to prod me on, to just let me tell the story, but I can tell she’s confused and dying for some answers. “So…what happened?”
“I think he was afraid of something happening to me, because of his job. At least that’s what he said.”
“Do you believe him?”
I consider the question. “Yes. I mean, I think it was a stupid reason, but I believe that he believed it was true.”
“But now you’re disappointed that you’re not together.” Dr. Sandra’s voice is kind, sympathetic. A truer testament, though, to the fact that she’s really listening, is that she hasn’t yet taken another mini quiche.
Again, I consider her words, then shake my head slowly. “No, that’s not it. I mean, yes, I am disappointed about that. I’m heartbroken about that, if I’m being honest. But I guess it’s a bigger sense of disappointment, more generally.”
“What do you mean?”
I suck in a breath, trying to find the right words. “All this time, I felt so behind everyone else because I hadn’t experienced the things that most people have experienced by my age. Love. Sex. Relationships. I guess I thought if I checked those boxes, then—I don’t know. I would be caught up. Everything would make more sense. But I fell in love. I had sex. I had good sex?—”
I must say this part a little too emphatically, because a passing jogger gives me a double take. Grimacing, I sink down a little lower on the bench, waiting until they’ve passed to continue. “I did all the things I’ve been waiting to do, and nothing’s really changed. I’m still me.”
Dr. Sandra nods, taking this all in. “Sex doesn’t fix everything. They should really write that on the condom packaging, shouldn’t they?”
“Yep.” I take one of my own mini quiches, biting into it balefully.
For a moment, we sit in silence, eating delicious, savory, pastry goodness and staring out at the water. Then Dr. Sandra breaks the silence. “I can see why that outcome would be disappointing. But here’s another way to look at it—if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
I’m not really sure where she’s going with this, so I just take another bite of quiche and wait for her to elaborate.
“You started enjoying the pleasure of my company because you had some hang-ups about some life experiences you’d missed out on. There was nothing wrong with you—there was never anything wrong with you. In fact, in strictly medical, professional terms, you were what we like to call ‘awesome sauce.’ And now? You’ve had the sex, and the romance, and the heartbreak—all those big life experiences you were afraid you’d missed out on. And even after all that? You’re still awesome sauce. You’re feeling disappointed because it didn’t change anything in your life, but you never needed changing. All of those things, they’re just experiences, like going to the Eiffel Tower or running a marathon. They can enrich your life, or cause you a lot of unnecessary effort and pain, but they won’t change who you are essentially. You’re Helen, with or without sex, with or without a bounty hunter or any other romantic partner in your life.”
The words, the kindness behind them, brings unexpected tears to my eyes. I haven’t let myself cry over Thad since I left New Orleans. I haven’t let myself cry for me, for all the jumbled emotions of everything that happened. But now, with these words of encouragement and support, I finally let myself break down, the emotions flooding loose.
“Oh, hon.” Dr. Sandra pulls me into a hug, rubbing my back with practiced, maternal affection. “You know I literally could have him killed, right? Or at least audited by the IRS.”
I’m not entirely sure that she’s joking, but I laugh through my tears, grateful for the support, however unprofessional. “I’ll keep that in my back pocket. Just in case.”