Chapter Thirty-One
The acupuncturist was a block down from Gramercy Park. The doorman waved me up a small set of stairs toward a sign that said Dr. Jane Chiang and Dr. Dennis Wu, Acupuncture & Chinese Medicine.
I opened the door to a dimly lit waiting room with a wall fountain and a faded Van Gogh poster hanging over a dark green couch. I was ten minutes early. I sat quietly next to a side table covered in pamphlets titled Acupuncture for Fertility and Using Herbs to Conceive.
I scrolled Instagram to distract myself when a petite blond in a beige peacoat and Nike running shoes flung open the door and sat down across from me, pulsating with an energy I didn’t recognize.
A minute later, a man in a black linen tunic and scrub pants appeared, smiling warmly in her direction. “Elizabeth, come on back.”
She bounced out of the chair, all but knocking him sideways with an aggressive hug.
“Dr. Wu. Oh my god. Dr. Wu.” She held up a picture on her phone with shaky hands. “It worked. Two positive tests.” She looked like she was going to cry. “You got me pregnant!”
I watched the scene unfold like a Bravo reality show about conception. He reached for a box of Kleenex next to the couch. She caught my eye and gave a knowing smile before they disappeared.
I stared at the wall fountain, transfixed by the flowing water, feeling numb. Fertility wasn’t something I had ever thought about in more than an abstract way. I wondered how old Elizabeth was.
Dr. Jane appeared a minute later, rescuing me from my mental spiral on whether fertility was something I’d ever need to think about, or how it was even connected to acupuncture.
We spent fifteen minutes on my health history: no smoking, no drugs, social drinker, sometimes more.
I gave her the PG version of how I’d sprained my wrist. She unwrapped the bandage and gingerly felt around the ligaments.
She did something with an electric pen, explaining she was measuring my energy channels.
Then she handed me a sheet and told me to undress.
When she came back, she deftly pricked me with needles everywhere except my wrist, dimmed the lights, put on calming music, and said she’d be back in half an hour.
My foot twitched, and I felt a sharp pain in my ankle. I willed myself to lie still.
As I closed my eyes, the conversation Ben and I had in Lake Anna came back to me.
I fidgeted uncomfortably. Four years later, I was divorced and getting acupuncture for an injury that happened during a drunk hookup.
Weren’t things like that supposed to happen before marriage and conversations about children?
The feeling of having massively regressed hit me like a brick.
I don’t know if it was Elizabeth’s unbridled emotion or my lacking energy channels, but I lay there immobilized as tears started streaming down both sides of my face, hitting my ears, pooling onto the table.
Then I was laughing but still crying. By the time Dr. Jane knocked lightly, some of the needles had fallen out.
She moved methodically around the table without making eye contact, carefully removing the rest. When she took out the last needle, she patted my forearm. “Most new patients become emotional during their first session. Finish getting dressed and we’ll conclude the appointment.”
I sat up weakly and blew my nose, catching my swollen reflection in a small side mirror next to a window AC unit. My stomach hurt from laughing. I flexed my wrist. It felt slightly better.
Dr. Jane came back and motioned for me to sit in the chair opposite her. She typed a few notes as I reached for another tissue. She swiveled the iPad toward me, showing a chart of my meridians.
“There’s an imbalance in your liver qi. For women, it’s one of the most important things to pay attention to. Responsible for the smooth flow of energy and emotions.” She swiveled the iPad back toward her. “Do you often feel irritable or stressed?”
“I have a stressful job.”
“Most people in New York have stressful jobs. My advice is to improve it with diet and nutrition. I’ll send you home with some herbs that will help, but you should also reassess your nutrition and alcohol intake.
” She grabbed a folder from the shelf next to her. “Here’s a handout of things to avoid.”
She circled alcohol. “Try cutting back for a few weeks. I promise you’ll see a difference.”
I nodded, feeling embarrassed. “And for my wrist—how often should I come back?”
“Once a week should be fine for now. We can reevaluate in a few weeks.”
I had an hour to kill before meeting Emilie and Connor on Twenty-First Street for the guided meditation Emilie wanted to try because she was trying to be “mindful” about her breakup. I felt emotionally hungover from acupuncture.
I arrived at the studio fifteen minutes early. I felt a muscular arm loop around my waist as I signed in.
“Early bird,” Connor sang in my ear. I squeezed his forearm, relieved to see a familiar face.
“How’s the patient?” he asked.
“Acupuncture isn’t for the faint of heart.”
“Dope.”
“You should try it sometime. It really opens you up.” I tapped my temple. “Here.”
“The floodgates are already open.”
I hung my coat and unzipped my hoodie.
“Do people wear workout clothes for this?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s just a mind workout, love.”
I staked out a cushion directly behind Emilie. A loud gong signaled the start, and the instructor’s voice filled the dome-shaped room.
I tried my best to emulate cleansing breaths, but every time I closed my eyes, my mind was a turbulent montage of fragmented memories.
Our favorite neighborhood restaurant in DC.
Telling Ben I wanted a divorce. Moving out of our house.
Leo telling me he was leaving his wife. Charlie accusing me of being morally adrift.
Emilie calling our friendship one sided.
I fidgeted with a button on the cushion. My eyes kept opening no matter how tightly I shut them. Everyone looked like they’d found momentary inner peace. Even Connor was completely still.
“Wasn’t that fantastic?” Emilie asked as we walked outside.
“Mind numbing, in the most zen way,” Connor said.
There was only one right answer. “Great call, Em.”
She smiled proudly. “So we can make this a Saturday thing?”
“Like, every Saturday?” Connor sounded panicked.
She linked her arm with mine. “How was Dr. Jane?”
“Good. I can already bend it a little more than I could this morning.”
“Lovely. Shall we brunch?”
Brunch turned into Connor dragging us to a Murray Hill pub to watch Chelsea versus Manchester United. Emilie immediately ditched us to catch up on reality TV. Gillian arrived ten minutes later, dressed in head-to-toe Lululemon and looking just as out of place as I felt.
I was nursing a watered-down iced tea when Charlie texted a picture of his desk.
Hope you’re somewhere more fun than this.
I felt an unfamiliar current at the sight of his name.
I sent a frown emoji.
Not really. Stuck at some pub that plays English soccer games.
He tapped my response with a black heart emoji.
Connor slid into the empty chair next to me. “How’s Jim Halpert?”
I put my phone away. “I knew I’d regret asking for your advice.”
He grinned. “Why don’t you invite him to come watch?”
“Are you trying to tell me I’m no good as a third wheel?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my god. You invited me. I hate soccer.”
“But that was before I knew Gillian was going to meet us.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well anyway, he’s stuck at the office.”
Connor nodded knowingly. “Definitely thinking about his next move to get you out of the office and into bed.”
I could feel my face turning red. “I’m going to the bathroom. And then I’m going to finish my iced tea, like a responsible person who listens to their acupuncturist, and you lovebirds can cozy up.”
It was four o’clock and somehow almost dark. I paid for the tea and hugged them goodbye.
I was on the subway platform downtown when he texted that he was done working and needed fresh air.
Quick walk in CP?
I really wanted to take a walk in Central Park with Charlie.
Without thinking about it, I crossed over to the uptown line and got off at Fifty-Ninth Street/Columbus Circle.
Ten minutes later, I exited the subway and immediately spotted him, his left shoulder weighed down by a heavy laptop bag. “Figured you might need some air, too, after that dank bar,” he said.
“You’re in slacks,” I observed.
“Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s nothing relaxed about being a lawyer. Not even on Saturdays.”
“It’s brighter than I thought it would be at night,” I said, self-conscious of my robotic commentary. Maybe our banter only extended to the office and basement sushi bars. “I’ve just never walked through the park after dark,” I added.
“Isn’t it cool how the building lights shine through the trees? I always walked to class through the park after work. It was the best way to switch headspace.”
“I always forget you went to night school. So impressive.”
We stopped in front of a bench. “Ever notice that all the park benches are inscribed?” He pointed to an inscription.
I peered closer. We would make the same mistake all over again!—Vic & Nancy Schiller. Still Best Friends.
“What do you think the mistake was?” he asked.
“Having kids?”
He laughed. “So I take it you’re on the fence.” He looked at my wrist. “How’s it feeling?”
I flexed it gently. “Getting better. I went to acupuncture this morning. I think it actually helped.”
“I hear it’s super calming.”
I laughed. “That wasn’t really my experience, but I wouldn’t trust my review.”
“Are you one of those people who thinks Eastern medicine is a hoax?”
“No. It was just . . . weird. But in a way that was totally specific to me.”
He chuckled. “Can you be a little more specific for me?”
We sat down. I wrinkled my nose, weighing if Charlie would be empathetic to a retelling of my erratic emotional spiral, then decided to try. He was an active listener in a way that made me want to keep talking.
“Afterward I had to pull myself together and pretend to meditate in a room full of people.”
“Oof. Emilie must really hate you.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
I shifted carefully on Vic and Nancy’s bench. “I haven’t thought about kids for a while. I don’t know how to explain it. It just felt . . . jarring. I was on that path, and now I’ve never been further from it.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I think I want a family. My parents had their issues, but I can’t remember ever seeing them fight. Not once.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
“I don’t even think that’s healthy! You missed out on a formative life experience.”
“Dysfunction looks different on everyone.”
“I don’t remember a time when my parents weren’t fighting,” I admitted. “They were from totally different worlds. They never put in the work to understand each other.”
“There’s probably some healthy medium between your parents and mine.”
“Probably Nancy and Vic.”
It was starting to snow. I wrapped my coat tighter. “I kind of want to keep going back to acupuncture just for the emotional release. It beats being in my head all the time.”
“Is that how you feel? Like you can’t get out of your head?”
I nodded and dug my hands into my pockets. “I think this is why you’re supposed to be middle-aged with kids when you get divorced. No time to be self-absorbed. You have to focus on not fucking up your kids.”
“I don’t think kids make someone less self-absorbed when they’re going through something like that.”
“Maybe not, but it still just feels so heavy. Physically, I’m here, doing all the things I dreamed about. But I don’t know how to separate myself from it. It’s like it stunted me.”
Charlie stood up. “For what it’s worth—from where I sit, you’re not divorced Sam or Sam the lawyer. You’re just Sam.” He smiled and held out his hand to pull me up. “Today you’re Sam with a sprained wrist who had a crazy meltdown at acupuncture.”
I wanted so badly to just be Sam.
“Stay out of your head for a little bit. We can check out a few other benches before I send you home.”