Chapter 2 The Scenic Road to Sanity #2
From the outside, it looked like she had it all, didn’t it?
A fancy apartment, a practice with an enviable waiting list, women around Austin raving about her.
“That Bianca Briggs,” she imagined a client proclaiming to a friend after tennis over a lightly dressed Caesar salad and glass of pinot grigio at Austin Country Club, “She’s a woman whisperer. You must get on her list.”
Her online brand was growing too. Her Substack blog had reached almost fifty thousand subscribers, and she had even more followers on Instagram, where she offered weekly live sessions that expanded on many of the practices in her book.
But no one knew the truth. They didn’t know that Bianca was worn down to a nub.
She was, or had been, on a trajectory—yes, that was the word, trajectory—but whether it was the colossal failure of her book or listening to clients drone on about their problems that weren’t really problems or the inevitable fact that no matter how much she did it was never enough, this so-called trajectory had lost its momentum.
It might even be pointed in the wrong direction.
Thinking of her book again, she winced. Though she hadn’t seen numbers yet, she knew it hadn’t gone gangbusters in these first two weeks. It was a freaking belly-busting flop with reviews that could lead someone to jump out a window.
“I know I’m talking a lot today,” Lacy admitted, clasping her hands together. “I don’t want the kids to go through a divorce and definitely don’t want to split custody. I can’t imagine waking up without them in the house. What do I do? Do I leave him?”
Bianca shook away her own troubles and leaned forward. “You know I can’t answer that.”
“Why not? That’s why I’m here. I need you to tell me if I’m crazy for staying with him. I need you to figure out what went wrong.”
After a long pause, Bianca locked eyes with Lacy, a bitter taste in her mouth. “What went wrong? You’re kidding me right now, aren’t you?”
“No,” a shocked Lacy responded.
“You let life get the best of you,” Bianca said, feeling fire rise in her core. “You burned your youth to the ground and started chasing some stupid fucking American Dream because you thought that if you achieved success, then maybe, maybe you’d matter.”
Lacy covered her mouth.
Bianca wasn’t done. “It’s not about what went wrong.
It all went wrong. We’re not where we’re supposed to be, but we’re pretending like it all worked out.
Posting the life we wanted on Instagram and TikTok, showing the world our shiniest, polished selves.
What went wrong, you ask? Birth, or even before that.
When your parents poked each other because they thought they were in love—but it was actually lust. You ask if you’re crazy for staying with him? Yes, you are.”
Bianca took a deep breath, enough time to see Lacy looking like she feared for her life, gripping the pillow like it might save her.
How much sympathy did this elicit from Bianca? Exactly zero point zero.
“Oh, c’mon,” Bianca continued. “Don’t be a baby.
These are not problems; they’re inconveniences.
You were at the Four Seasons. I’m sorry his tux got wet at the charity ball.
Or that he frustrated you. I’m sorry that he’s boring.
Go out there into the dating world. Download an app and see where that gets you.
You think he’s boring. They all are, Lacy. ”
Lacy probably should have stormed out the office, but she sat up, set aside the pillow, and asked with teary eyes, “Then what do I do?”
Bianca couldn’t help herself. This release felt better than anything she could remember. A third-life-crisis orgasm. “You suck it up and deal with it. Maybe go get a prescription for an SSRI. Welcome to the American Dream.”
Lacy wiped her eyes. “Is this why people love you? I . . . I’ve never had a therapist like this. And I must admit I’ve bought your book but haven’t read it yet. I guess you tell it like it is?”
“Is that a question?” Bianca chuckled to herself.
She wished she cared enough to reel in her rant, but she did exactly the opposite.
“What else do you want me to say? I’d rather be honest. Stay with him, and things will be okay, in the dullest sense of the word.
Despite not having lost any weight in months, go work out because you can at least talk about how you worked out while you feel the jiggle of your arms. Then have your blueberry kale smoothie—”
“I don’t do smoothies.”
“No one’s asking, Lucy. I mean, Lacy.” Bianca raised her hand. “And after your morning routine, race into work and go, go, go, maybe skip lunch so you can bang out a blog post, eat dinner while you hammer out emails, and then watch the depressing news until you crash.”
Bianca clapped her hands together. “Do all that or . . . or . . . you can take a leap of faith. Doesn’t that sound romantic? Do what your younger self might have done. Leave the comfort of this life, this first-world-problem life, and go find who you used to be.”
“Who I used to be? I’m confused.”
Bianca ignored her. “Or. Or, Lacy, you can take that leap and fall about fifteen stories into a giant pile of trash. You take that leap, leave what you have in the hope there’s something better, and it doesn’t work out, and you spend the rest of your life wondering why you couldn’t have found happiness in a life that was supremely fine on all levels.
You can spend the rest of your life apologizing to yourself for yet another wrong turn. ”
Lacy curled her thick hair behind her ears and took a long time to respond. “Isn’t it condescending to say first-world problems now?”
“I need a drink,” Bianca said. “Do you need a drink?”
“It’s . . . like eleven in the morning. And . . . really? We’re going to drink together? Do you have drinks here?”
Bianca let the pitch of her voice rise. “I wish. No, I’m saying let’s go walk down the street and find a spritz. No, fuck it, a Negroni. Because the end of the world is here, and I’d rather not do it in this office where dreams go to die.”
Lacy looked around, as if someone might save her. “You know what? Maybe we’re not the right fit. I probably should have read your book first. I don’t know that this is what I—”
“Of course it’s not what you want or need. Look at me right now.” She gestured toward herself. “What about this makes you think I can help you?”
“But everyone said . . . Um, I’ve never experienced therapy like this before.
Is this the leave-a-burn-mark mindset?” She was referring to a piece of Bianca’s wisdom that superfans, otherwise known as Megawatters, had latched on to.
Despite the book torpedoing toward hell, she’d sold hundreds of Leave burn marks shirts and coffee mugs leading up to the release.
It was a wonder that people weren’t returning them.
Bianca held out her notebook with the unfinished comic strip and dropped it with a smack. (Life imitating art!) Then she removed her glasses and chewed on the frame while staring at her client.
A good minute went by, then Lacy finally asked, “Do you really think I’m overweight?”
Bianca let her head fall back. “Let me get this straight. We’re talking about the paramount issues that plague womankind right now, our desperate clawing to find meaning, and the one thing that stuck out to you is that you might be overweight?”
“I try hard, protein-focused, calorie counting, and I—”
“No, you’re not overweight. You’re a stick.”
“Then why’d you—”
“I don’t know. Because maybe I was expressing some of my own frustrations. You wanna know something else? These glasses, they aren’t even prescription. Transparent glass. I wear them because it makes me look less like a ditz.” Bianca chucked them across the room.
Lacy watched them hit the wall, then timidly looked back at her world-class therapist. “I don’t know whether this is part of your normal spiel or if I need to get up and give you a hug. Do you need a hug?”
Bianca softened. Tears were trying to break out. She fought them away but eventually caved.
“Wait, are those real tears?” Lacy asked. “God, you’re good. Are you faking?” In a shocking turn of events, Lacy crossed the room, knelt, and took Bianca’s hand. “Oh, you poor thing. Here I am, going off about my issues.”
Bianca quickly swept away the tears. “No, that’s . . . I’m here for you.”
Lacy ignored her. “You’re overworked. You’ve helped half of us in Austin, but who’s taking care of you?”
“You know what.” Bianca pulled her hand away, wanting it all to stop, and she instantly walled off her emotions. “Let’s end this session for now. I won’t charge you, obviously. You’re right; I need to step back for a minute.”
Lacy frowned. “Do you want to talk about it? Go get that drink?”
Bianca chuckled. Her client, the one on the couch a moment ago, was now trying to help her.
After a thank-you and a barrage of apologies, she ushered Lacy out of the office before things got any worse.
When the door shut and her client was safely on her way back to her less-than-perfect life—where she’d probably phone whomever had recommended Bianca to her and ask, “What in the ever-living Fuck was that?”—Bianca walked down the hall to her young receptionist and said, “I need you to cancel everything today. Please.”
“You okay? You don’t look—”
“Never been better, thank you. You know what, once you’re done, take yourself out to lunch on me. We’ll talk tomorrow.”