Chapter 2
TWO
BETH
JUNE
Lenore Briggs’ office was as blandly beige as it had been the first time Beth had set foot in it over a year ago.
Beth leaned back into the couch cushions, folding her arms loosely across her middle as she looked around the room. Her gaze bounced from the muted walls to the natural-fiber woven rug to the tan leather loveseat she currently occupied. All of it was so uninspiring.
“Does it ever bother you that there’s not a single piece of art in here?” Beth asked after several seconds of silence. She deliberately kept her voice light. She’d been seeing Lenore long enough now to know she would read into any change of her usual vocal inflection.
As always, Lenore didn’t even flinch at the question. The woman was impossible to shake. She lifted her eyes from the leather notebook perched on the arm of her chair to meet Beth’s gaze before calmly saying, “No, does it bother you?”
Beth tightened her grip across her abdomen. “If I’m being honest, yes. It’s been slowly driving me crazy.”
“What about it drives you crazy?”
She sighed, drawing her knees up to her chest. “It’s so sterile. I can’t tell if that’s intentional or not.”
“But you keep coming back.”
Lenore’s observation filled the silence between them.
It had taken Beth a while to get used to that tactic.
When she started seeing Lenore, she’d felt an overwhelming need to fill every minute of their session with an endless loop of thoughts and rationalizations about her feelings.
And Lenore would listen as she quickly scribbled notes in her notebook.
“It’s weird,” Beth said finally. “When I started seeing you, you said you had just moved into this office. And I keep expecting you to hang something up—literally anything—but every time I come for an appointment, the walls are still bare, which is starting to make me feel like it’s intentional.”
“I guess I hadn’t really noticed.” Lenore looked around the room, a bemused smile on her lips.
“I assure you, it’s not intentional. I have a box labeled ‘office art’ at home.
I keep meaning to bring it in, but now that you’ve brought it up, I think I’ve grown to like this blank slate aesthetic I accidentally walked myself into. ”
More silence followed Lenore’s words as Beth chewed the inside of her cheek, debating whether it was worth bringing up a topic she and Lenore had already talked circles around in previous sessions, ultimately deciding that if it was still popping into her mind, it was still worth discussing.
“I haven’t painted anything since Jamie died. ”
“I know.”
More silence.
Beth hated the silence. It was uncomfortable, but she guessed that was the point Lenore had been trying to teach her over the last year.
She stared at the blank space of the wall to the right of Lenore.
Seriously, one painting would do wonders for this room.
Beth tried to picture one of her pieces hanging there, something to break up the monotony.
It would need to be something colorful and intricate, and definitely textured.
A familiar tinge pulled in her, that desire to create.
But as quickly as it came on, that feeling was replaced with a rapid tightening sensation.
She swallowed hard. “It’s not that I haven’t wanted to paint. I do.”
“I believe you.”
“I sit in the studio and stare at the canvas. It’s like I’ve suddenly forgotten how to paint or what color even is.”
“You’re not ready yet.”
Beth leaned back into the couch cushion and closed her eyes. “I fucking hate that answer.”
“You’re allowed to hate it.”
They sat quietly. Beth picked at her nailbed as she listened to the ticking of the clock on the desk and the occasional scratch of Lenore’s pen. She closed her eyes, then, without planning to, she said, “I think I pushed her into it.”
Lenore didn’t ask who, because they both knew who.
“Before we ever started dating, Jamie told me that she was scared of getting close to people. She didn’t want to hurt anyone if her cancer came back, and I—” She opened her eyes, looking directly at Lenore.
“I told her that I wasn’t afraid of the risks and that I wanted her, even though she was actively pushing me away.
I think I guilted her into giving us a shot.
And then she died. And now I get to live with that. ”
Lenore stayed quiet. Beth guessed she was waiting to see what Beth would do with her own words; they had played this game before. Beth would simply wait her out.
“That’s a very painful version of your and Jamie’s story,” Lenore finally said. “But it’s still only one version of the truth.”
Beth clenched her jaw. “What if it’s the right one?”
Lenore tilted her head, giving Beth a long, assessing look. “I’m curious why you believe that version and not the one where Jamie chose you?”
More silence followed by the gentle tick of the clock. Damn it, there were still thirty minutes left in this session.
“Lily’s Olympic trials start on Thursday,” Beth said, quickly changing the topic. The scratching of Lenore’s pen accompanied her pivot.
“I remember. How is she feeling?”
“Good. Lily is such a strong kid. She had a great freshman year, and she and her coach are feeling really good about where she is going into trials. I’m just so proud of her.
She handled Jamie’s death so well. I know they say kids are resilient, and Sarah and I got her into therapy quickly…
She really does seem like she’s in a good place. ”
Beth had always been in awe of her daughter.
That feeling had only deepened as Lily grew older.
God, she was so proud of her—the way Lily carried herself and how she always took whatever life handed her head-on.
Beth knew exactly where Lily got that from.
Like Sarah, their daughter took everything in stride, nothing ever shaking her stable foundation.
“And how are you feeling about trials?”
“Fine.”
Lenore raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you gripping the sleeve of your sweater so tightly?”
Surprised, Beth glanced down, releasing the fabric from her grip.
“What were the last trials like?” Lenore asked.
Beth’s mind slipped back to that day four years ago in the loud arena. The excitement had been palpable as she and Sarah sat in the stands watching their daughter become an Olympian, Jamie right there alongside Lily. “They were perfect,” she whispered, not meeting Lenore’s gaze.
This wasn’t the first time their conversations had led them down this path, one Beth knew she had a habit of frequenting.
“Is that something you’d like to explore more today?”
Beth let the question hang in the silence between them. This was exactly why the office needed some art. She had nothing to look at but Lenore.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
That clock. She wanted to stand up, cross the room, and throw the damn thing out the window. But instead, she took a deep breath before once again pulling their conversation in a different direction. “I haven’t had an orgasm since Jamie died.”
Lenore’s pen stopped midmovement as Beth’s words landed flatly.
She had been thinking about bringing this up for weeks, but it always felt too awkward.
She prided herself on being a sex positive person.
Sex, after all, was a natural part of the human experience, but still, she had never quite been able to bring herself to talk about sex in therapy—until now.
Lenore blinked once, the tiniest indication that Beth had successfully surprised her. That was a first.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Beth repeated.
“It’s not uncommon.”
“I figured… It just still feels strange.”
“In what way?”
Beth let out a breath. She knew she needed to talk about this.
“It feels like I’m being pulled in two different directions.
My brain is saying yes, it’s ready, but my body doesn’t believe it has permission to feel pleasure anymore.
” She looked down at her hands. “And trust me, I’ve tried.
I’ve really tried to make it happen. But nothing works because every time I start to feel good, the guilt follows.
And then I think, would it be easier if I went out there and had a one-night stand?
You know, rip off the Band-Aid with someone I’ll never see again?
But no, I can’t even enjoy that because that’s literally how Jamie and I met, and look how that turned out. ”
Lenore put her pen down, adjusting her posture in her chair. “You and Jamie had a strong physical connection. All of this makes sense.”
Shifting against the leather cushions, Beth suddenly found herself missing the pressure and weight of another body pressed against hers.
She tried to fight the way her mind thrust all the memories of her and Jamie to the forefront of her thoughts as she untucked her legs, trying to hide her restlessness.
“Sometimes I miss her touch more than her voice. I miss the way her hand fit in mine and how she knew exactly how to hold me. I hate that my skin still remembers the exact feeling of hers against mine,” she admitted in a single breath.
“You lost someone who knew your body, your heart, your mind, and your soul. Sometimes it can take a little while for those pieces to all reconnect.” Lenore glanced at the clock on the desk. They had two minutes left in their session.
“I think that’s part of it,” Beth said quietly, “but I can’t tell if I miss Jamie, or just being known by someone, and there is also a part of me that feels terrified of feeling good without her.
I don’t know if that makes sense. I’ve been trying to figure out why I’m feeling like…
” She glanced at the clock, her words drifting off as she toed the chunky fibers of the rug.
Time was up. “Same time next month?” She laughed, hoping to end the conversation there.
She was already regretting bringing it up.
Lenore smiled at her. “Unless you feel like you need to come in sooner. I thought we had talked about going back to appointments every two weeks?”