Session Nine
SESSION NINE
DESERT FLOWER THERAPY
“So he tells you the full story, and you get engaged. Sounds like a successful vacation.”
I nod, quiet. My mind is stuck in a time that feels a million years ago. I think my heart is back there, too.
“Now we’re up to your engagement,” Dr. Ruben says, urging me to keep going.
“We didn’t wait long to get married. Six months. I’d spent so much of my life taking care of Cam and playing house in a home that wasn’t really mine, and I couldn’t wait to make a life with Gabriel. To really be the woman of the house, not just occupy the shadow of the person I was filling in for. I’d been an adult for a while by then, but I felt grown-up wearing my engagement ring and coming home to Gabriel every day. My dad was right when he called me an adult child.”
Dr. Ruben steeples his hands, resting his chin on his fingertips. “You know how inappropriate that was, don’t you?”
“For my dad to call me an adult child?”
“For him to ever put you in that position in the first place.”
“I’m aware.” There’s defeat in my voice.
“Have you considered telling him how it made you feel?”
“No,” I answer immediately. “Why would I do that?”
His eyes widen, his chin moving left. His expression says Come on . “You’re a therapist, too, Avery. You already know the answer.”
“He can’t handle hearing that he hurt me. I need to protect him from…” My lips purse, the last word in my sentence trapped.
“From?”
I blow out a breath. “Me.”
“The truth.”
“ My truth.”
Dr. Ruben stares at me.
I cross my arms. “I thought we were discussing Gabriel.”
He folds his hands in his lap and uncrosses, then recrosses his legs. “We can discuss whatever you want. It’s your session.” He shrugs. “But remember, everything comes from somewhere.”
“Right.” Every person, every emotion, every trauma has an origin.
“How old were you when you married Gabriel?” Dr. Ruben asks.
“Twenty-four. A baby.”
Dr. Ruben smirks. “Why do you say that?”
“I thought I knew it all.” I cross my arms in front of myself. Vulnerability seeps in, leaving me cold. I’ve said so much to him, been brutally honest, but this road I’m traveling down feels slippery. A thought-provoking statement here, a realization there. This is not work for the faint of heart. Over time, I’d stopped considering the bravery and fortitude of my patients, returning week after week in the name of bettering themselves and their relationships.
Dr. Ruben clears his throat. “What did you think you knew?”
I make a face. “Everything.”
“Most twenty-somethings think they know everything, which means they are certain they will never do things the way others have done them.”
Hello, head of nail, here’s the hammer. “Maybe it’s more that I didn’t know what I didn’t know. And I thought I knew things I knew nothing about.”
“Who told you I love riddles?”
I laugh once, but it’s more of a bark.
“Hindsight is usually twenty-twenty,” Dr. Ruben says. “Everyone has things they look back on with greater clarity than when they were in the moment. You’re awfully hard on yourself.”
“You’d be hard on yourself too, if you’d been through what I’ve been through.”
“You don’t know what I’ve been through.” His voice doesn’t contain irritation, or any trace of anything really. He is merely pointing out a fact.
“True. I apologize.”
He nods his acceptance. “Let’s talk about your wedding.”