38. James
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
James
NOW
The first few weeks of summer gave us the false hope that this summer would be somewhat bearable, but now that July is nearing, I realize it was all an illusion.
The heavy heat feels more humid than scorching, and all I want to do is go somewhere where the air conditioning is so cold, I need a sweater or a hot cup of tea.
The PNW weather was much nicer, even during my short trip, and a part of me misses it.
“I put your goggles in your bag.”
Sophia grins at me. A stamp of approval for remembering her request. One of many. Her daisy-printed bathing suit. The donut floaty I spent fifteen minutes putting air in. Her small pouch of plastic gemstones she demanded I pack so she can show them to Sadie.
I ring the doorbell at Teeny’s house, the bright pink donut wedged under my arm.
“Hi, Uncle James,” Sadie greets me as soon as she opens the door. Her polite smile widens into a toothy grin as soon as Sophia squeals and runs into her arms. They flit off, disappearing into the house, and I follow like a dutiful bellboy.
“Hey,” Teeny calls. She walks in from the kitchen. She’s as pool-ready as Sophia is with an oversized shirt thrown over her bathing suit. She takes a look at all the baggage I brought with me and says, “Just set her things down in the living room. Sadie’ll get her in the pool in a minute.”
I do as I’m told after quickly slipping my shoes off by the door. A quick glance at the time on the large clock in the kitchen confirms I only have a few minutes to spare before I have to meet up with Kendall.
“I’ll only be a few hours,” I tell Teeny as she pulls a bottle of water from her fridge.
“Take your time,” she assures me. “We’re going to order pizza for dinner, and I think Everett’s stopping by for some ice cream on his way home.”
“He’s not here?”
“I think he’s out with Josh. Pickleball or something,” she answers with a dismissive hand waved in my direction. They’ve asked me to go a few times, and I’ve indulged once or twice.
I nod.
“How’s Kendall?” Teeny was the only one of my family members I told about my sudden trip to Washington. I told her to let my mom know, and I’m sure word spread to my other siblings through casual conversation. Nothing to raise any hairs or cause concern. But I know Teeny knows better.
“She’s good. Just enjoying her time off over the summer.
” I’m telling the honest truth for the first time in a long time.
She’s good. At least, she seems good. Ever since we got back, she seems to be having fewer bad days.
More good days. And when those bad days do take over like a dark storm, she actually talks to me.
I listen, hoping I ask the right questions, and we talk through it the best we can before our conversations grow weary.
I don’t shy away from what I want to know anymore.
I’ve become bolder and more forward with what I tell her, and it’s actually helping. At least, I hope it is.
She and Sophia returned home last week, and we’ve been easing back into life.
The two spend a lot of their days at home, doing crafts or working on the new gardening project Sophia convinced Kendall to start.
By the time I make it home, the two appear relaxed and comfortable.
Summer came just in time, but I also think heading off to see Sylvia was an effective way for Kendall to clear her head.
“I’m really sorry about talking to Kendall about her, you know…
” She plays with her water bottle, twisting the cap open only to rotate it back in the other direction.
“I realized I shouldn’t have said anything the second I saw her face.
It really wasn’t any of my business and I upset her instead. I was just really worried about her.”
“I know,” I say, trying my best to wave away any lingering guilt she might have. “And it’s really not your fault. We just have some things we need to work through, and I think it just made it more clear when you brought it up.”
“And did you? Work through those things?”
“Work in progress,” I inform her with a sharp exhale.
“So, are you guys just having lunch?”
“We’re going to a therapy session,” I blurt out. “Couples therapy.”
It wasn’t an easy topic to bring up, but I did.
We both did in some way through an unexpected yet tentative late-night conversation in our quiet kitchen long after Sophia went to bed.
We each scooped ourselves a bowl of ice cream, and we talked it over while our spoons clinked against the ceramic bowl. And now, here we are.
Teeny’s about to take a sip of her water but stops just as the spout touches her mouth. She looks at me, speechless with her brow hiked up close to her hairline.
“Work in progress,” I remind her. “And yeah, I guess we’ll have lunch. Spend some quiet alone time together.”
She smirks. “You’re welcome.”
I glance at the clock one last time. “I should head out. Kendall should be back home by now.”
“Okay.”
“Are you nervous?”
Kendall rests her hand on my thigh, her pinky bearing all the weight with my own hand sitting next to hers. I don’t know if it’s okay for me to link our fingers, take her palm in mine like I’ve always done without giving it a second thought, so I leave it there. A work in progress.
“No,” I tell her, shaking my head. “We’re just talking to someone. We’re not going in for a lobotomy.”
She chuckles, tapping her pinky to my knuckle, her version of a fist bump. “Then is it bad that I am?”
“No,” I assure, drawing out the single-syllable word to emphasize my answer. “I think it’s expected.”
“Then how come you aren’t nervous?”
“I think it’s because…I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make us work,” I start to explain. “Not that you aren’t, but I felt the fear of losing you to my bones. So…whatever comes after, it doesn’t scare me. As long as you’re here.”
I don’t say this to approach couples therapy with an air of arrogance or to appear aloof.
It’s just the truth. After being faced with the possibility of losing my wife, all the other things I’m doing to keep her—like flying all the way to another state to practically badger her into talking to me—feels trivial.
She finally reaches for my hand, giving me an encouraging squeeze, just as we’re called back. “Kendall and James Cohen?”
We stand and walk with all the dread to turn our shoes into cement blocks. Now that we’re actually walking into therapy, I guess I am a little nervous.
“Come on back,” the woman instructs us, gesturing to the door that’ll probably open to a hallway with even more doors.
Like a portal. She walks down the hall, confirming my portal assumption though, unlike most foreboding occult portals, most of these doors are open.
She looks over her shoulder at us while saying, “I’m Astrid, by the way. ”
“I’m James. This is my wife, Kendall.”
Astrid smiles. “Nice to meet you both.”
When we came to the decision that couples therapy would be something we seriously consider, we thought neutrality would be the best way to go. We couldn’t go to her therapist or mine, so we decided to start fresh. A way to hash out our past with someone who doesn’t know which side to take.
We stop at one of the many doors and walk through. There are two chairs facing one, creating an isosceles triangle with the furniture.
“Go ahead and have a seat,” Astrid says, gently closing the door behind her.
She motions toward the two chairs sitting side by side, and I’m starting to get an idea of how this is going to go.
I’m sure I’ve seen it in movies, or maybe as part of some imaginative forethought I drudged up in my head.
Kendall glances in my direction, and with the sudden frigid air that followed us inside, I wonder if some of Kendall’s nerves seeped into me.
I clench my fist in an attempt to remind myself why I’m here.
Kendall dithers between the chairs and I guide her to one, fully aware of the seating arrangement, and Astrid joins us.
“So,” Astrid says, patting a hand to her notebook sitting on her lap. “How are you today?”
Kendall smiles, tucking her chin to her chest. She tilts her head to me, and we share a look that makes me realize we’re being silly.
We aren’t heading into confession or getting strapped to a polygraph machine, or even the lobotomy I joked about.
We’re here because we want to be. No one is forcing us.
“We’re a little…nervous,” I finally say. I catch Kendall’s narrowed gaze followed by a smile forcing its way through her pursed lips.
There’s about two feet of space between our chairs, and I think it’s done intentionally.
I imagine when couples are hashing out their problems to a third party, there needs to be a safe amount of distance between them, so they feel as comfortable as possible.
But I wish it wasn’t there. I want to be able to run my hand down her back, reassure her so she knows we’re in this together, but I can’t quite reach her.
“That’s common and completely understandable.
” Astrid looks at Kendall and adds, “Is there anything in particular that makes you apprehensive about being here?” I think it’s the way Kendall seems to fall into the shadows, willing to let the conversation happen around her instead of with her, that forces Astrid to apply a little extra care and attention to my wife.
“I think…just talking about us,” Kendall confesses. “I think that’s what’s making me the most nervous.”
“Okay,” Astrid announces, smoothing out her notebook. “How about we just start with some facts today.”
“Facts?” I ask.
“We’ll talk about how you met, how long you’ve been married, any big changes in your relationship, any significant events. We don’t have to go into detail, but we can sort of set up a timeline. So I can get a better understanding of you two as a couple.”
Kendall and I nod at each other. Facts. We can work with facts. Facts don’t need to be bent or deliberated.
“So,” Astrid continues. “How did you two meet?”