23
I’m sitting in Cuppa, a coffee and tea bar close to campus, when he walks in.
He, as in, one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen in my life.
Calling this man a Temu Henry Cavill would be offensive, because he just may be that attractive.
The barista, this poor twenty-something girl, is visibly flustered at the counter. He smiles at her, which causes her to run into her coworker, coffee spilling all over both of them.
This has such a movie rom-com vibe. I can’t stop watching.
When he finally gets his drink, he walks over to my table. He hovers for a moment before he places his cup down across from me.
“Did you enjoy the show?”
I peek over the corner of my book. “Excuse me?” I try to say, confidently. But also, not confidently.
Thank you, vocal cords. You have failed me.
“I saw the smirk on your face, for whatever that was.” He gestures over to the barista, who happens to be staring in our direction, now realizing she was caught. Bright red face.
“I think you know exactly what that was.”
He smirks. “Which was…”
I place my book down. “I think you know you are objectively attractive.”
He slides the chair out, dropping into it. “Go on,” he says, taking a sip of his drink.
Well, this has escalated quickly. “Fine, I’ll be bold. You are very attractive. Happy?”
He leans in. “Very. Also, this confidence thing you’re playing with, is very sexy.” This time it’s me who’s flustered, coughing on the sip of coffee I just took.
“Do you,” I stammer, recovering from the last cough, “find joy in torturing people?”
“No,” he says, swirling his cup around. “Do I detect an American accent?”
“Very astute. I’m on loan at Trinity to teach for a year.”
“What a coincidence. I also teach at Trinity, in the School of Law.”
Jesus. Hot and a lawyer. “Part-time?”
“Full,” he says, moving in his seat. “Turns out I don’t care much for practicing law. I do, however, have a knack for preparing others. I’m Jackson, by the way.”
“Daniel,” I respond, reaching my hand out. His handshake is firm, and lingers a few seconds longer than it should.
“Is that any good?”
I shrug. “I’m still getting used to the coffee here, unless I’m in a Starbucks. Trying to find a good go-to order.”
“I meant the book.”
I laugh, and slowly slide the book over to Jackson. He picks it up and flips lazily through the pages. “It’s a sad one. Deals with mental health and grief.”
“With a title like Goodbye Days, I think I would have anticipated sad.” He flips the back over, reading the blurb.
“Take it. I have extra copies for my course. You can always drop it back in my office if you finish it.”
“When I finish it,” Jackson corrects me, sliding the book into his bag. “If I could be a bit forward for a moment, I would like to ask you to dinner.”
The barista audibly gasps. Jackson turns his head and throws her a smile, before looking back at me.
I know I’ll regret it before the words come out of my mouth. “I’m flattered, honestly. But I’m a bit of a mess at the moment. Dealing with a bit of my own, umm, grief situation. Actually, I have my first therapy appointment later this afternoon.”
Jackson smiles what I can only describe as a sad smile. “No need to say more. Been there. Have had my own times spilling my guts out to the doc.” He stands from the table, throwing his messenger bag over his shoulder. “Promise me two things.”
“Okay.”
He pulls a pen out of his bag, scribbling on my scone crumb covered napkin. “One is that you will not hold back in this appointment or the next. It’s tough opening up to a stranger, but it will help. Having someone not connected to whatever you’re going through…it’s a different experience.”
“And the second thing?”
He slides the napkin over to me. “That you’ll text me for that dinner when you’re ready.”
He’s at the exit when I call out to him. “And not a phone call?”
“Not unless you’re a psychopath,” Jackson says, right before the door closes.
The barista is immediately at the table. “I don’t know what you’re going through, but get to that shrink immediately.”
* * *
Dr. Chandler’s office appears minimalistic, which I can kinda understand. Having less stuff in the view of the camera provides less distraction for the session.
I tried looking up therapists in the area, but wasn’t sure how insurance would work being outside the country. Dealing with in- and out-of-network providers at home was already a big enough nightmare.
I ultimately reached out to a friend who lives in Boston, who in the past confided in me that they were in therapy. And, as it turns out, still were with Dr. Chandler. And, lucky for me, Dr. Chandler was very open to telehealth.
Dr. Chandler was a Latina woman who appeared to be in her early forties. Or, based on my research into her, a woman pushing sixty who I need to glean a skincare routine from.
“Daniel. It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Chandler, as you know. Before we begin, are you in a safe and quiet space.”
I move the laptop around, showing the kitchen. “Things are pretty quiet here. Just me in my apartment.”
“Good. So, would you like to tell me why we’re here today? I purposefully don’t ask a lot of questions upfront, because I want to hear it directly from you.”
“Starting with the tough questions I see.” I pause for a moment, and then find myself diving head first into everything. The years in Old Wethersfield. Alex. The night Michael died and what I was doing instead of being there. The reoccurring nightmares that haunt me almost every night.
“Besides the grief and the nightmares, how are you adjusting to Dublin?”
I pause. “Well, outside of having a bit of a panic attack the other night at the pub, not terribly. I have a friend here, who was also friends with Michael. I actually met him through Michael.”
“Do you know what triggered the panic attack?”
“A song.”
Dr. Chandler nods, her eyes downward while she takes notes.
“It’s not uncommon for there to be particular triggers that can lead to incidents like panic attacks.
Some might be stronger than others, ones that cause a full-blown event like it sounds you experienced the other night.
Others might have less of an impact, but equally important because they still impact your overall mental health.
What I’m here to do is work with you to help identify these triggers, and build behaviors that help change the way they impact you. ”
“That would be nice. It’d also be nice to not have these nightmares anymore.”
She adjusts her glasses, moving a bit closer to the camera. “And we will work on that, as well. But that’s our time for today.”
“Oh, okay. Wow that went by fast.”
She laughs. “Well, we had a bit to go over today. Now, it’s up to you how often you want to meet. I can only provide you recommendations for you to consider.”
“And what would you recommend?”
“I would suggest twice a week to start, as we begin to work through your triggers and help sort out your trauma. Most of my patients go this route, then move to a weekly schedule. Then, eventually, it could be once a month or just a random appointment here or there.”
“I think I can do that.”
“Excellent. Now, some homework. I want you to come to the next session with three things you like about being in Dublin. I also want you to think about a couple of things you don’t readily have access to, and if having those things in Dublin would help your time there.”
I know I can’t have Michael here. But I would die for some Fruity Pebbles and real Diet Coke.