Chapter Eleven #2
I don't answer except with a furrow of my brow. I try to pull my hand back, but she clings harder. “I can pretend to be your girlfriend, Alfie. I can pretend that I’m not shit scared this isn’t all going to blow up in my face.
I can even pretend that I don’t think you’re having some kind of midlife crisis ten years too early.
But do you know what I can’t do? I can’t pretend to want to be here right now.
I have a lot of studying to do, so I’m going to go do that. ”
“Wait. Mia…”
“No Alfie. I need some time. I need to rethink this.”
“Wait.” I grab her wrist. “I’m sorry about the photo. I didn’t know they were going to do that.”
She shakes her head. “You’re the smartest man I’ve ever met, Alfie. And you’re a fucking idiot.”
◆◆◆
Mia didn’t come back to work that day. She sent a text on Friday saying that she was sick and she wasn’t coming in that day. By ten a.m. on Monday morning, she hadn’t shown up for work and hadn’t responded to any of my messages.
At lunchtime I drove to her apartment, but there was no answer. I’d messaged Lottie to see if she could get hold of her, but she didn’t respond to her either. I was running out of ideas on how to contact her.
Has something happened to her? Is she hurt? Is she in the hospital?
My muscles grow heavy, pinning me to the seat of my car.
My knuckles white on the steering wheel, like letting go will set off a chain reaction I can’t go back from.
I’m so selfish. I knew something was wrong, and I should have tried to call her over the weekend.
Fuck, I can’t believe how badly I’ve messed this up.
I try calling her cellphone again, and this time it goes straight to voicemail.
I finally find the will to move from my car.
This time, my panic manifests itself into speed.
I jog from my car to the office, opening the door roughly, the loud whack of the wooden door slamming against the wall pushes my blood pressure further north.
Checking the calendar, I see that I have a free hour until my next patient arrives.
I pull up Mia’s employee record and take a deep breath.
I tap the numbers on my phone and wait for the ringing to stop.
“Hello, Sinclair residence.”
“Hi there, this is Dr. Alfie Adams. Please may I speak with Angela Sinclair?”
“Speaking, what can I do for you, Dr. Adams?”
Oh good, she knows who I am and doesn’t seem worried that I’m calling. Maybe she has heard from Mia.
“Mia hasn’t come to work today, and I was hoping you could tell me if you’ve heard from her at all?”
“I spoke with her this morning,” she says briskly.
“Great, great. Is she…okay?”
“I’m not really sure I can answer that question, Dr. Adams. But I’ll let her know you called.”
“Tha—” I go to say, but she’s already hung up.
Okay, so she’s alive. That’s a relief. But where she is, is another question.
A raw pain burns in my chest, like someone's been scratching so much at my skin it’s started to bleed. They won’t stop picking at the raw wound, and the longer it goes on, the more painful it is.
I need to fix this. That’s what I do, right? I help people talk through their feelings, and we work out solutions to improve things. But how can I do that with Mia if she won’t answer my calls, if she won’t even text me back?
◆◆◆
It’s Friday and still no Mia. In six working days, my business has fallen apart.
It only took three days for things to really start fucking up, and now I’ve almost accepted that this is my life now.
Just an unorganized, chaotic mess. Emails weren’t answered; phone calls were ignored.
I hadn’t taken any payments or done anything admin-related since she left.
Dead flowers sat in the vase, and the water jug has been sitting there for three days, unwashed.
It is actually embarrassing how incapable I am at taking care of this shit.
But do you know what? I’m fucking furious that Mia still hasn’t answered a single call from me.
I’ve tried every morning and sent her texts, but nothing.
No notice at all. We were supposed to be a team.
I always felt like we were, at least until last week.
Even when she caught me following patients, she made me feel like she was on my side.
Austin and I always have a session on Friday mornings.
It’s usually my last session of the week, and on Friday afternoons I catch up on paperwork.
I call at our scheduled time, taking a deep breath to compose myself.
After this, I’ll go through the emails from our admin inbox and tackle some of the work that Mia usually completes.
After that, I’ll go to her apartment one more time to see if she’s there.
By the looks of things, she hasn’t been there all week, but really who knows, she may have just hunkered down for the week.
The guilt gnawed at my chest like a beaver chomping down a tree.
One more bite and everything I know is going to topple over.
“Hey, man,” Austin says. “How are you?”
“Hello, Austin, I’m well, how are you?” My professional voice is on. Mostly the talks with Austin are easy, they’re just catch-ups. He has done a lot of work in the last three years, and he’s very settled in Texas with his fiancée, Olivia.
“Better than you, I’d bet. Olivia told me about the TV show. I hope you apologized for that one.”
“I did.” Not that it worked.
“I mean, she basically runs your business. She's the gel that holds everything together. Man, that had to sting.”
Wait, what? What is he talking about?
“What?”
“What do you mean, what? You called her your receptionist. Nothing wrong with being a receptionist, but Mia is a lot more than that, isn’t she?
She does your accounts, handles patient enquiries, writes up your notes, hell you told me she sits in on some of your appointments when the client wants a woman present.
And to top it all off, she manages to reign in your grumpy ass.
” Austin chuckles. I can hear the clink of ice cubes, and I’d bet he’s got one of his fancy whiskeys in a crystal glass, leaning back in his wingback armchair.
He’d bought the one Olivia used to sit in at the café or juice bar they used to go to.
He’d literally bought old café furniture for her as an engagement present.
“Jesus. I really am a fucking idiot.”
“No duh. What happened?”
“She hasn’t come to work all week. She was upset…
after the show. We were blindsided by the photo being broadcast. And I hadn’t even realized she'd be upset about the receptionist comment. I wanted to show her that I really am on her side and that I was blindsided as well, but I didn't have a chance. She left the room when I was still filming, and I eventually found her in a coffeeshop. But she…she was furious. I’ve never seen her like that before. Then she left and told me she needed to study, so I didn’t go after her. I wanted to give her space.”
I didn't realize that it might have been me who had upset her and not the show. I'm such an idiot. I should have told her what she meant to me after we had our heart-to-heart. This week has been a nightmare. I never thought that I would need someone so much. I never thought I relied on her as much as I did. I mean I knew she worked hard; I knew that she was invaluable, but I didn't realize how quickly my whole business would fall apart without her. But it wasn’t just the business. Sure, of course, that’s my main priority. I want the patients to be calm and centered when they’re here. I don’t want them walking into chaos.
But even if I tidy up the dead flowers and the glasses and jugs, even if I respond to all the emails, phone calls and enquiries, even if I get a fucking replacement for her, it won’t be the same.
I won’t be the same. I won’t be able to smell her perfume anymore.
I won’t be able to watch her at her desk between sessions.
I used to watch her tap her pen against her lip when she was concentrating.
Fuck, I miss that—the little scrunch of her brow, the pout of her lips.
Her whole presence calms me. And since she’s been gone, it’s like a piece of me is missing.
“Shit, and she’s not come back?” Alfie asks as I realize how inappropriate this conversation is.
Not that mine and Austin’s interactions are always above board.
I did meet him at the docks eighteen months ago, which led to a gunfight where multiple people died.
I’m still not entirely sure how that got covered up, but the police were never involved.
Presumably Austin’s brother, who still works for a criminal enterprise called The Organization, cleaned up the area, and the police were none the wiser.
The bodies were disposed of, as if it never happened.
“I don't know where she is. She's not coming to work, and she's not answering her phone.” I rub my hand over my stubble. “I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to do here?”
I sound desperate. I can hear my voice laced with it. God, this is humiliating.
“Well, what do you want to do? Are you wanting her back just as your receptionist? Because I don't think that's going to work for her. You'd have to ask her that though.”
“Do you think she will come back?”
Having been through his share of turmoil this last year, I hope that he’ll give me a realistic answer. He messed things up with Olivia, but they worked through it and now they’re happier than ever. Is that what I want with Mia?
“Man, I don't know. If you offer her something more than what you're giving her now, then perhaps. But it would have to be a strong apology and a strong incentive for her to come back. She probably feels humiliated. Isn’t she just about to graduate?
She might be worried that people won't take her seriously now that you just called her your receptionist to the whole state of Washington.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Of course she’s worried about that. It’s the most popular morning show in the Pacific Northwest, and I just belittled her in front of the whole goddamn region.
And then the photo. The photo of her screaming with tears in her eyes looking frankly terrifying was broadcast for a real visual.
Her fellow PhD candidates probably saw. Her professors probably saw it as well.
The people who will decide if she’s fit to pass her PhD probably saw.
A weight sinks in my stomach, and I want to throw up.
“Austin, I need to go. Are you good? Is there anything you need to discuss before I head out?”
“Nah, I’m good, man. But Alfie, you once told me that I should think about what kind of man I want to be for Olivia.
I’d offer you the same advice. Do you want to have Mia work for you?
Or do you want more? Because a girl like that isn’t going to hang around forever.
She’s going to move on, if she hasn’t already. ”
Way to twist the knife, bud. He really doesn’t need these sessions anymore. He’s getting too fucking good at them.
“Thanks, Austin. I’ll comp our session.”
“Comp our session? Man, you should be paying me for that one.” He laughs.
“I’ll owe you one. Speak next week.”
“See ya, Doc.”