Chapter Twenty-One #2
I should be tempering these emotions but I’m thinking about her all the time.
I’m wishing she were here when she’s in class.
I’m cooking enough food for two, just in case she wants to come over.
I’m keeping the fire on in case she pops round, and she’s cold.
But she hasn’t talked to me in three days about anything other than work.
What if she doesn’t want this? What if Sunday was my one chance with her and I pushed her too hard?
As if he knows I’m thinking about her, Nate asks, “Where does Mia go on Wednesday afternoons?”
“We’re not here to talk about Mia, Nate. We’re here to talk about you.”
I don’t like that he asks questions about her, and the conversation I had with Austin pops into my head. Fuck, how had I forgotten about the notes? Oh right, because Mia kissed me at the bar and then asked me to fix the ache inside her. Now I’ve been daydreaming ever since.
“Do you have all your dangerous court-mandated patients on a Wednesday afternoon to keep her away from them?” He laughs.
I wait a moment, not reacting like I know he wants.
Once his smile falters, I ask, “Do you think you’re dangerous, Nate?”
“The judge said so, didn't he?” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the couch. His face is pinched and he’s suddenly fascinated with the pattern of my throw pillow.
“He said he wanted you to unlearn certain behaviors, but he never outright called you dangerous in his report.”
“Well, it was implied then.”
I shrug, “Maybe. What behaviors do you think he was referring to?”
He looks down at his hands. The air crackling between us.
I like to use silence as a tool to get people to talk.
Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t.
But Nate is a talker. He doesn’t like long silences, and he’ll often try to fill them, which usually leads to him saying more than he would like.
“I like people to do as I say,” he eventually says.
“You see yourself as a leader?”
“Yes. Exactly.” His eyes return to mine now.
“And when is that a problem?”
“With women, they don’t like being led nowadays. It’s all about being a girl boss or some shit. Makes you think life would have been better back in the fifties or something.” His eyes narrow, a sneer playing at his lips like he’s desperately wanting me to react.
“When was this a problem in your previous relationship?”
He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Caitlyn would never do as she was fucking told,” he huffs angrily, reminding me of a caged animal, ready to pounce the second the door opens.
“Can you give me an example so we can try and look at it from alternative points of view?”
“You’re just going to say that I was the one in the wrong.”
“Maybe, but you’re coming to these sessions whether you like it or not. You might as well get something out of it.”
He considers me for a moment. “Alright. I’ll just say it.
She had no time for me at all. She was always focused on her kids or her job.
I came second to both those things. She was always too tired to have sex, and her house was a fucking mess.
It was disgusting. And I always had to go to her even though I work hard all day, and it would be nice to have her make the effort to come to me every now and then. ”
He huffs, throwing himself back onto the couch, crossing his arms over his chest.
“That’s frustrating. I know it’s hard when you feel like you’re the one giving one hundred percent to a relationship.”
“Exactly. She never knew how lucky she had it with me.”
“Okay, so let's try and break down this particular scenario to see where you could have adjusted your behavior.”
“I thought you agreed with me?”
“I empathize with you. But no, I don’t agree that your expectations were fair.”
“Well, here we go.”
Yeah, here we go. Let's break down some patriarchal standards and educate an individual who, despite growing up in a single-parent household, seems to completely overlook the struggles they must have gone through just to put food on the table.
“It sounds like your former partner had a lot of responsibilities and was maybe finding it hard to manage them all.”
“Yeah, exactly. She had no control over her own life. She was so unorganized.”
“Okay, and when you went round there, what would you typically do?”
“I’d sit on the couch and wait for her to finish putting the kids to bed and then making us dinner. But she was always too tired to cook anything decent and then never wanted to have sex.”
“Uh-huh. Physical aspects are important in a relationship, but she had young children already. It sounds to me like when you would come over, she felt like she had to take care of you too. Who was taking care of her?”
“Well, I would have if she’d let me.”
“How would you do that?”
“You know, Doc.” He waggles his eyebrows, coughing out an awkward laugh.
“If you were to date someone with children again—” although, lord, I hope not, “—what could you do differently that would help your partner out?”
He looks a little perplexed for a moment, as if I had suggested he adopt the children. No man, we’re looking for the bare minimum effort here.
“You mean, like I should have cooked?”
I smile warmly. Bingo. “Yeah, or you could have brought food with you. It would have meant that after getting the children ready for bed, she’d have more time with you.”
“That’s true. But if I’m coming to her house, I don't think I should have to do that after working all day.”
“She also works all day, right?”
“Well…yes. But you know it’s different.”
“How exactly?”
He pinches his lips together, lifting his chin high. “I don’t know. It just is.”
The timer on our session dings, and we sit for a few seconds before Nate gets up and storms out the door without another word.
“See you next week, Nate.”
I let him walk himself out sensing that he needs a little decompression. It isn’t quite how I like my sessions to end, but hopefully it’ll give him food for thought before next week.
I place my notes in my desk drawer, keeping these ones out of the pile that Mia normally types up.
I don’t want her to know how frequently Nate asks about her, even though I know she could handle it.
It doesn’t sit right with me to put her in that position.
I’d never allow her to be in danger, so I convince myself I’m doing the right thing.
◆◆◆
Twenty minutes later, I read through the notes Mia typed up about Mr. Sanders.
As Nate said, he is another court-mandated patient, and he does seem to have some aspects of his personality which are quite worrisome.
Nate, I believe, is redeemable. He has a lot of unlearning to do in terms of how to treat others, particularly women.
He sees them as those who serve him. If I can get him to understand the root cause of that, and learn how to empathize, learn how to be a good partner, I believe Nate could improve.
Mr. Sanders, however, is different. He’s around forty years old.
He’s moved around a lot by the sounds of it, jumping from job to job and woman to woman.
He never seems to be satisfied with either, always finding a reason that wasn’t his fault as to why it didn’t work out.
He’s what I like to call a hurricane patient.
He whooshes in with the excitement of a storm but in reality, upends your house, your life, your family, everything.
Then, not for long, he’s gone. Leaving you to deal with the permanent damage he’s caused.
“How are you, Sean?”
He inspects the empty waiting room, moving toward the side table to get a glass of water.
The table is right next to Mia’s desk, and he runs his eyes over her desk.
The air is still, his movements quiet. Unlike Nate, Sean is not a talker.
He’s comfortable in the silence and, in my opinion, weaponizes it.
He picks up a half empty glass from her desk and runs his thumb along the rim.
I wait, folding my arms over my chest. She’s not even here and I’m ready to bare my teeth and get this guy the fuck away from her things.
This particular patient hasn’t even met her, I’m sure he must be curious as to why I don’t have someone working here whilst he’s in the building.
It was purely coincidental of course, but it makes me wonder if he’s thought about it.
“Your girlfriend doesn’t seem to work much.” He points to the desk.
He must notice the small tic in my jaw before I can put my therapy face on.
“Relax, Dr. Adams. I watch daytime television.” He holds his hands up surrendering and I give a curt smile.
He must have seen the show where I announced to the Pacific Northwest that Mia was my girlfriend and worked for me.
In all this time since the show, it hadn’t occurred to me that patients might have watched it.
My father’s voice rings in my ears. The patients must come first. Always. You need to anticipate their needs. Everything else is a distraction.
“Shall we?”
“Sure thing.”
◆◆◆
After everything that happened with Mia this weekend, my conversation with Austin in his backyard completely slipped my mind. So after my final patient left for the day, I take the initiative to search Mia’s desk for clues.
Her monitor is off, she’ll always close it down when she leaves on a Wednesday so there’s no risk of private information being found by other patients whilst she’s away from her desk.
I search the drawers, but there’s nothing.
As I pull out the bottom drawer, I spot a scrap of paper with a flower on top.
“Alfie?”
My head snaps up. Mia is standing in the doorway, a worrisome look on her face. What is she doing here?
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh…I was looking for something.”
“In my desk?” She frowns, her eyes dipping to the open drawers, her things out of order. She looks upset. She looks violated. Like I’ve invaded her personal belongings.
“I—well, yes. Let me explain.”