Chapter Fifteen
“So, you went camping,” Dr. Henry said. Her brows lifted, and she tapped the tip of her pen against her full bottom lip. “How did it go?”
It was mid-morning on a Wednesday, and the sky outside was bright and cloudless, yet the air blasting in the room made it feel like a chilly autumn day.
Dr. Henry was wearing an emerald green blouse.
The fabric was so shiny it looked as if it had been woven from sunlight itself.
Matching the top perfectly, she was wearing a tight black pencil skirt.
No one could deny that the doctor was beautiful and entirely put together.
Which made Morgan feel slightly self-conscious that morning, especially since she had arrived at the session in jeans, an oversized sweater that had a suspicious green stain on the bottom left, and no makeup on her face.
“Terrible,” Morgan replied, not giving it any thought before the words fell out of her mouth. Although it was far away from the truth.
Apart from the communal shower she had endured with flip-flops on her feet, and that spider that had scared her half to death as it sat on the inside of the stall door, and her near-death experience along the hike to Pfeiffer falls when she’d tripped over a rock and nearly saw her ass five feet down the cliffs, things had gone extremely swimmingly.
Even the joke Sydney had made about her dying hadn’t dulled Morgan’s spirits after what could only be considered the best bacon and eggs she’d ever eaten.
Who knew a cast-iron skillet could affect the taste that much?
Though Sydney had claimed camping food was somehow superior to normal food, something Morgan had begun to believe when their supper of charred hot dogs was probably the tastiest thing she’d ever eaten in her life.
And then there was the afternoon lazing by the river until the sun set, the unending offers of beer, and laughter that ached her stomach until she was certain she’d strained her rectus abdominis.
Morgan had no idea when or how it happened, but somehow, she had found a way to let herself go. She was able to truly unwind.
However, something told her it was right after she had stormed off and Sydney had come barreling after her.
“If you die, I’d be upset too,” she had said.
“Like cry on the couch for weeks without showering. I would only eat Ben and Jerry’s while I wasted my life away watching Grey’s Anatomy, imagining your face on Dr. Shepard.
” To which Morgan had responded, “That’s both incredibly flattering and mildly terrifying. ”
When the fire had gone up Saturday evening, Sydney and Vincent had entertained them with one of their childhood skits, and later Liv had danced to no music.
Sydney joined in soon after, which was followed by the woman going on her knees, begging Morgan to dance.
Which she had. Shockingly. And that night, Morgan had fallen asleep sooner than she could say goodnight to an equally as exhausted Sydney.
In the morning when she’d woken, she found herself playing little spoon to Sydney’s big spoon.
Morgan had felt lighter than air at some points during the weekend, as if those annoying shackles that perpetually bound her feet had fallen off momentarily. There had been no thought of work, no wonder about her future as a surgeon, or of her mother, or even… of Emily.
“But also good,” Morgan added quickly, before the doctor could force her to relive the weekend.
She’d done enough of that already, bringing up memories when she had nothing better to do.
She had reminisced about everyone laughing around the campfire, of Liv stepping on what was presumably a fish, and the way she had appeared to walk on water as she dashed out of the river.
The image that stuck out the most was of Sydney and all those stolen glances, those secret touches when they thought no one was looking.
“I’m impressed,” Dr. Henry said. “When you mentioned going camping, I have to admit, I didn’t expect it to be your kind of thing.”
“It wasn’t,” Morgan said, absently fiddling with the spot on her shirt where the stain had settled. What on earth had she eaten that was that green? “It still isn’t. If you know what I mean. But I’m glad I did it.”
Dr. Henry tilted her head slightly. Today, her dark hair rippled over her shoulders, making her look at least five years younger.
“You also mentioned your reason for accepting the invite was because of your mother. Why do you think that is?” Her tone was light, yet somehow it felt like a hot poker digging into Morgan’s brain.
It sifted through all her feelings, memories, and experiences, determined to find the answer Morgan could barely make sense of herself.
“I’m not sure,” she said softly.
“You said your mother was trying to get you to go back to San Francisco to resume your old job. Did going on the camping trip feel like a form of rebellion against that?” Dr. Henry asked.
The doctor was spot on. Calling Sydney back and agreeing to go camping had made Morgan feel like her teenage self. Resentful and defiant. It was like that time she had refused to go home for Christmas, not because she didn’t want to, but because her mother asked her to.
“Maybe.”
“Do you feel the need to prove something to your mother?” Dr. Henry continued, far less forgiving than she was in their last session.
Morgan remained silent. She understood the point of therapy and believed it had the power to address many serious issues, but discussing her strained relationship with her parents, how she had felt abandoned most of her childhood, was something she would rather avoid. Forever.
Dr. Henry wrote something in her notebook and then placed both pen and book on the small table beside the chair before she interlaced her fingers.
No wedding ring. No tan line from a wedding ring.
She hadn’t struck Morgan as a single woman, but then again, Dr. Henry wasn’t the one being interrogated.
“The point of our sessions isn’t for me to dig and hope I strike a nerve that makes you open up.
It’s about you discovering those insights yourself.
Your relationship with your mother seems to be a sticking point.
It’s worth exploring why that is and how it affects you now, Morgan,” she said, leaning slightly forward.
All Morgan could do was nod and resign to answering as honestly, but with as little information as possible. “Alright.”
When the session finally ended, the first thing Morgan did when she walked into the reception area was switch on her phone.
Messages streamed in. Two of which were from Tessa, who wanted to know if she was free tonight to watch The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and to bring a bottle of red since she was all out. One was from Sydney, which had been sent just two minutes ago.
Since they’d been texting on and off after the weekend, Morgan was used to seeing Sydney’s name pop up on the screen. However, her stomach wasn’t accustomed, so it kept fluttering with every notification as if she was on a rollercoaster ride that swung her upside down.
Text me your address. I’m picking you up in ten minutes.
To which Morgan replied. No thank you. A week ago, she might have meant it, rolled her eyes when she saw a text from Sydney, but now, she couldn’t think of a better way to forget all about her session with Dr. Henry.
Sydney typed back. Oh, come on! There’s a book fair in Monterey and I’m dying to find something ridiculously smutty.
Morgan laughed out loud, earning a scowl from the receptionist.
She quickly typed back. I doubt a book fair in Monterey will have anything but hetero romance novels.
You’ll be surprised. Sydney texted back. Now please say YES.
Only if you promise not to make me read anything out loud in public. Morgan was too busy texting to schedule another appointment. She’d send an email when she got a chance later.
Sydney responded less than five seconds later. Best idea ever… But I promise, I’ll keep myself reined in.
Fine. But only if there’s a place to eat. I’m starving. Morgan’s stomach grumbled as soon as she had sent the text.
DEAl, Sydney replied before she walked out into the sparkly sun.
~~
The book fair was sprawled across a large grassy park with views of the sparkly ocean.
Rows and rows of tents stretched out in all directions, each one bursting with books.
Some were battered and used with far too fragile bindings, and others were glossy hardcovers begging to be opened for the very first time.
Twinkling string lights draped between the tents, even though the sun was still shining brightly, without a wisp of a cloud in the sky.
Banners flapped lazily in the soft warm breeze, each one advertising something different.
Whether book genres, or candles, or leather-bound journals, or trinkets that belonged in a grandmother’s house, there was something for everyone.
Including Morgan, who could focus on nothing besides the hunger in her stomach. Thankfully, she had spotted a couple of food trucks parked off to one side of the fair and could smell the delicious scents of grilled cheese sandwiches, coffee, and something terribly sweet.
It was surprisingly easy to find the stall selling cinnamon rolls.
“Two please,” Morgan said to a young-looking man with shaggy blonde hair falling into his face. She wondered how many strands of his hair were lost in the cinnamon filling, but she decided not to dwell. Not today.
“How was your therapy session?” Sydney asked, taking a big bite of her bun. Despite the nonchalant tone in her voice, Morgan wasn’t dumb. She knew Sydney was curious about her past, about the reason for the move to Carmel.
Simple things Morgan hadn’t been ready to share.
Meanwhile, Sydney, on the banks of the Big Sur river, had opened up about nearly everything—her childhood, her teenage years, her early adult life.
“Good. Dr. Henry is wonderful. I’d recommend her to anyone who asks.”
“Not for me, thanks,” Sydney said, shaking her head. “I’ve already got a great shrink. I wouldn’t swap her for Sigmund Freud if he came back into this world and offered to unravel all my daddy issues. Not that I have any. Derek is one of a kind.”
“I didn’t realize…” Morgan let her words drift off.
I didn’t realize what? That you were possibly messed up like me?
You needed someone else, someone external, a third party, to help scour through the broken pieces of your life hoping there’s enough to stitch together something that resembles who you used to be. Or at least who you want to become.
Sydney glimpsed Morgan out of the corner of her eye.
“That I like to speak to someone far wiser than myself at least once a month?” She then chuckled and bumped her shoulder gently against Morgan’s.
“Don’t worry. You’re not the first. You should’ve seen Liv’s face when I told her I was seeing a shrink.
She thought I was depressed. Ended up treating me to a day at the spa.
Massage. Facial. Manicure. It was divine. ”
If curiosity could kill, Morgan would be dead.
Therapy sessions were private. Whatever was discussed during them was no one else’s business.
Yet she was desperate to know what could possibly be troubling Sydney when the woman looked…
well, she looked like the epitome of happiness.
She seemed like the kind of person who ran through a field of flowers, spinning carelessly while the sun shone hot and bright, and not a single bee thought about stinging her in the butt.
So Morgan kept quiet and focused on the fluffy dough of her cinnamon bun.
It was Sydney who spoke first. “Three years ago, we lost two kids in an apartment fire. I didn’t sleep well after that. Not for a long time. Dr. Kelly helped me through it and when I didn’t need her help anymore, I kept up our sessions.”
“I’m sorry,” Morgan said. “About the fire thing.”
“Don’t be. There was nothing I could’ve done at the time. But you probably know how it is. Even when it’s out of your control, it’s still easier to blame yourself than to let it go.”
Morgan knew that all too well.
She also knew that if she opened up about herself, she might crumble.
At the moment, there was a tenuous string holding her together.
One tug and she might fall apart. It was manageable in the calm sanctuary of Dr. Henry’s office, but to fall apart here, in the open, surrounded by people and books, would be a different story entirely.
So, she kept quiet and led Sydney through the stalls.
For a long time, they walked in silence, picking up books, reading the blurbs, and stroking their fingers over the bindings.
Once Sydney had accidentally brushed her hand against Morgan’s and somehow their fingers had intertwined and remained that way.
Neither cared that their fingers were still slightly sticky from the vanilla icing.
As they made their way through the crowd toward a candle stall, they only let go when they moved to opposite ends of a small table.
“Literary-themed candles,” Sydney said, her jaw dropping slightly.
“Who in their right mind would buy a candle that smells like a book,” Morgan said, dipping her brows so low they nearly met in the middle.
“Me,” Sydney chuckled, her gaze fixed on a soft green candle in a glass jar with a golden wax seal on the side.
“Pemberley Gardens,” she read out loud when she picked it up.
“A blend of English rose, lavender, and a hint of freshly cut grass evoking the serene, romantic atmosphere of Mr. Darcy’s estate. ”
Morgan, who had never come across candles inspired by books, couldn’t help the laugh rippling out of her stomach.
She was also desperate to explore each scent and reached for a deep midnight black candle in a matte black tin with a silver label.
“Nevermore Nights. It’s supposed to smell like smoky vetiver, dark amber, and a touch of black pepper.
” She lifted it to her nose and inhaled deeply. “It smells more like a cigar.”
“Ooh,” Sydney mused, her golden eyes lightening up. “I do love a good cigar.” She then focused on another candle, that one a stormy gray. “Mix of heather, wet stone, and sea salt. Supposed to capture the essence of the Yorkshire Moors.” She pushed it toward Morgan.
Morgan took a whiff and wrinkled her nose. “Smells less like Wuthering Heights and more like seaweed left out to dry.”
Sydney laughed. “I think if I die, I’d want to be remembered as a candle scent.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Morgan smiled, secretly hoping Sydney would never die, that she’d outlive Morgan by a mile.