Chapter 1 #2
“Long story,” I said. It really wasn’t a long story. My boyfriend dumped me five minutes ago. It was actually quite a short story. Regardless, I didn’t want to tell it.
“Sit down. We obviously have a lot to catch up on,” I said, turning toward my empty stool and pointing to the one next to it. I had some making up to do after not talking to her for so long.
“I’m actually here with my fiancé.” As if in slow motion, her hand reached out to Mr. Perfect. Behind him, Villain Pretty Boy had an openly smug smile on his face, seeming to enjoy the turn of events.
“Oh,” I said. My stomach gave a flip-flop, the alcohol not sitting well.
“This is Michael,” she said, her arm proudly around his shoulder.
“Right, good to meet you,” I said.
“Confess,” Michael said. “You planted her here.” He nodded toward me.
“What do you mean?” Tara took the seat I’d previously occupied and patted the one next to her.
I really should’ve just left. My mood wasn’t improving.
Not even with the appearance of one of my favorite people.
Why was I sitting down? Maybe because what waited for me at home was a grumpy mother, a caretaker I’d already paid the whole night for, and thoughts of how I’d been dumped in the coldest manner possible.
“She didn’t plant me here,” I said. “Our opinions about therapy are the right ones and therefore the same.”
Tara let out a loud sigh. “This? Again? I thought we had this settled.”
“We don’t. I have people on my side too.” He patted Villain Pretty Boy on the back.
“Your brother? Of course he’s on your side,” Tara said.
They were brothers? Not surprising.
“I made an appointment for Monday,” she said.
“With the therapist you’ve already been seeing? No way, we need neutral ground.”
“Why do you think this is going to be some sort of ambush? I haven’t been complaining about you. She’s just going to give us tools to start our marriage right.”
“See. Scam,” Michael said.
I took a sip of my beer, already forgetting my stomach was too empty to add another helping of alcohol. My head was starting to feel a little spinny.
“It’s not a scam,” Tara said. “Therapy has helped me so much. Going together will only bring us closer, help us learn how to fulfill our specific needs.”
“Please,” he said with a groan. “I bet two strangers could go to couples therapy and she’d give the same generic advice. She probably wouldn’t even know they were strangers.”
“Not true,” Tara said.
I shook my head, silently backing her up. The bartender came over to check on us, and I asked, “Do you have peanuts?”
“Seems like you need popcorn,” she replied under her breath, giving a quick nod toward Tara and her fiancé. With those words she left, without supplying either of the aforementioned snacks. I took another drink.
“How much you want to bet?” Michael asked.
“What?” Tara responded.
“Two strangers, a neutral therapist, couples therapy.”
“Oh, wow,” I said with a laugh. He was really getting creative in his avoidance. What ghosts did this man not want flying out of his closet?
“It’s not a bad idea,” Villain Pretty Boy agreed, giving me an eyebrow raise as if we were somehow enemies and he’d just won this round.
“It’s a terrible idea,” I said, fulfilling my side of the roles he’d put us in.
“What are the parameters of the bet?” Tara asked, seeming to give in to this completely inane suggestion.
“Four sessions?” Michael said. “If the therapist doesn’t know they’re strangers, or at the very least, not in a relationship, after four sessions, I win and therefore don’t have to go to therapy.”
“And if she figures it out?” Tara asked.
“Then we’ll go, like you want.”
She clapped her hands as if this wasn’t the most unhinged idea on the planet. Like this was somehow romantic and chivalrous.
God bless the unsuspecting therapist who gets roped into this mess. Let her know in session one she’s dealing with foolishness.
I chuckled at my internal thoughts. I was tipsy. I needed to stop drinking, I thought, as I took another gulp.
“Now we just need a couple of strangers.” Tara’s eyes swung to me just as her fiancé slapped Villain Pretty Boy on the back.
“Not it,” he said.
“Leave me out of this,” I concurred. Even newly minted enemies could agree once in a while.
“You both had pretty strong opinions. How about backing them up?” Michael said.
I laughed. “I have nothing to prove.”
Tara’s shoulders fell as though for a moment she had hope and now it was gone. Guilt wiggled in my chest, a memory from high school trying to take root there. I pushed it down.
“I’ll pay for the sessions, of course,” Michael said, leaning forward and looking around Tara to me. “Think of it as the therapy you believe in so much, but for free.”
I shook my head. “Nope. I won’t even be in town for four weeks.
” That was a lie. The fact that my mom could hardly sit up without becoming dizzy, could barely eat on her own right now, let alone drive herself to physical therapy and doctors’ appointments, was an indicator that I’d be here at least four more weeks. Probably more.
“They know we’re right,” Villain Pretty Boy said. “We don’t need proof.”
Could two shots of vodka and a half … oh, a full glass of beer cause drunkenness?
It was the only reason I could explain why that smug little gleam in Pretty Boy’s eyes was getting to me, making me want to accept this bet and prove them both wrong in one session.
Or maybe the reason I was hesitating was because of the look on Tara’s face.
The disappointment. It had been years since I’d seen that look, but I remembered it well.
I hated letting her down again after how much she’d been there for me over the years.
And shit, with my breakup and my business and my mom, maybe free therapy could push off some of the anxiety I knew was building in my chest that I had been ignoring so well. Plus, would someone lackluster volunteer for something so out of the box?
“Fine,” I said. “I’m in if you are.” I unleashed a smug smile of my own on Villain Pretty Boy and watched his fall.