Chapter 11

I ARRIVE AT the office with a pair of shades shielding my eyes and two bottles of water in my hands. This is why I stopped drinking. We are not twenty-five anymore.

“Top of the mor—” Silvia stops as soon as I walk through the door “Oh my…” she whispers.

“I know. Don’t mention it.” I walk past her desk, leaving one of the bottles behind. “Today we are having water. I’ll be in the bathroom trying to look like a presentable human being.”

“Sounds like the right thing to do! I like your coat!” Her voice is muffled by the door closing behind me.

I become aware of the heavy cotton. I haven't worn this coat since Mum’s funeral, but I felt drawn to it. I needed to feel close to Mum today. I need her strength; even if this isn’t her coat, it feels like her. And I didn’t have a real reason not to wear it.

I wash my face and examine my reflection. I want to see how the collateral damage looks.

Jo has left love bites at the base of my neck: three purple spots along my collarbone, which are only visible if I fold my turtleneck. Thankfully, I decided to flood my wardrobe with this piece of clothing years ago.

Silvia has come to knock on my bathroom door to let me know my patient has arrived and “leave folders of today's appointments”—but she isn’t a good liar.

I can’t avoid Edward’s snarky comments about my appearance. He keeps saying I look “smashed” and he “didn’t know I was a party animal,” which clearly I’m not since I can’t conceal my image in front of a teen.

Nonetheless, it’s an eventful morning. We are able to talk about his friend and his journey into discovering his sexuality. Turns out that Ophelia is a trans girl.

“Well, Ophelia is a common girl’s name,” I point out.

“Names are just names.” He shrugs, irritated. “She never asked me to use she/her pronouns until recently. I thought she just maybe liked the name. Whatever. The thing is that I realised that when I used to perceive Ophelia as a boy, I liked her romantically…”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, she’s my best friend. I don't care what anyone says, she’s who she says she is. And I… I now understand that I like boys.”

It’s hard.

Going through those stages of discovering, denying, and accepting. My high school years were bitter. Every trip to the girls' bathroom, every locker room change during PE: I hated it. I felt bad because I was desiring bodies like mine, and no one told me it was okay. It wasn’t until a sleepover where I lost my virginity to a girl that I realised I not only loved boys but also girls.

I was one of the lucky ones. There was no screaming or tears when I came out to my parents. My brother shrugged and my sister asked if I already had a girlfriend. I didn’t. Being bisexual only left me with a higher chance of being rejected.

“IT’S MY LUNCHTIME,” Silvia says, popping her head in with her ginger curls bouncing around her face.

“Oh,” I say, looking at my watch. “Already?” I shuffle the files around until I catch Silvia still standing at the door. “Oh yes, that’s fine. Have a good lunch.”

“Well, I was thinking…” she begins and I look at her over my glasses, “maybe you should come with me, boss.”

I frown. “What? Why?”

“Well, you spend too much time between these four walls, it must be exhausting.” She lets out a chuckle. I’m expecting her to slap her knee because she sounds like she’s rehearsing for a stand-up show.

“I work here.” I can’t wrap my mind around her motivation, nor why she is so nervous. “Are you alright?”

“You’ve been stressed out. Maybe you need some air.” Her words stumble over one another until I understand what’s happening.

I lower my brows. “Silvia, go and have lunch. I’m fine. What happened yesterday was incredibly random. Please go.”

“Are you sure?” She looks like a kid asking for money from her parents.

“Totally. Bring fish and chips and I’ll be just fine.”

She shifts her weight from one leg to another as though still wondering if she should leave me alone.

“Go, Silvia,” I say when I spot Theo’s file. “Oh crap,” I open the folder and see it’s unfilled. “Look.” I show her the folder. “I wouldn’t have been able to go anyway.”

Silvia’s shoulders drop and she nods. “Fine, but please call me if you need anything. I’ll be right back,” she warns me.

“Please don’t,” I tease.

I try to fill out Theodore’s medical report but there are things I don’t know anymore. Things I never knew. Does his family have hereditary diseases? How often does he have his general check-up? I’ve forgotten the date of his birthday. I don’t know if he drinks or smokes. He did when we were in college—has he quit? Does he go to pubs, drink and smoke by himself while listening to some cover guy sing? Does he take his date to clubs, have drunk sex, and pass out with them on the bed? I don’t know. I don’t even think I want to know.

I thought I could fill all this in by myself because he treats me like he knows me. Even when every cell in my body has changed, he acts like he knows me better than anyone else. And I thought I did, too. I don’t. I will if we continue like this but I’m not sure if I want to.

My phone vibrates on my desk with a message from the devil himself. I read the preview.

T: I’m fifteen minutes away.

When I look back at my watch, I find there are still thirty minutes left until his appointment.

E: Have some lunch.

I need those fifteen minutes for myself since I’m going to spend an hour with him already.

I open the picture and it’s a selfie of himself with a white bag next to his head. The takeout bag has red letters and a panda sleeping on it.

E: You won’t eat Chinese takeout in my waiting room.

T: Of course not, WE are eating Chinese takeout in your waiting room.

I drop my phone inside my drawer and slam it shut. He’s not even here and he’s already getting on my nerves. I do my best to fill out his medical record as I breathe in and out like Jo taught me. When I hear the doorbell ring, my phone buzzes inside my drawer.

Why is he doing this? Why is he so eager to be friends with me? He knows I don’t want to and I’m struggling through all of this.

I open the main door and he’s there, wearing a different jacket instead of his olive parka. His hair must have grown a little because he has a rebel curl on his forehead, barely touching the frame of his glasses.

“Hello,” he says with a grin and shows me the white bag again. “Hungry?”

And to be honest, I’m starving. He moves the bag and the smell makes my stomach growl. I clear my throat to mask the sound.

“You still like the honey chicken with soy noodles, right?” His brow arches and I’m not sure where to place my attention. “You wouldn’t shut up about it during night shifts”

I take two steps back. I’m overwhelmed and blocking his way in. He goes straight to sit on the waiting room sofa and takes out the two aluminium containers, placing them on the coffee table. He looks like a kid about to have his favourite food. I need a minute to compose myself.

“Can you give me a second?” I go back inside my office and lean against the door.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I hear Jo’s voice inside my head.

He remembers. I wish I wasn’t this worked up about it, but it’s the second time he remembers something I used to eat and it’s messing with my head. It doesn’t make sense that he remembers the meals I started to skip when I was with him. I grab his folder from my desk when my heart slows to a normal rate. Before I go back to the waiting room, I clear my voice.

“Theo?” My voice sounds too casual, too friendly, through the door.

“Yeah?” His mouth sounds full of food.

“When’s your birthday?” There's silence for a moment.

“Oh, December,” he starts. “December 19th.”

After writing it down, I go back with him and sit on the chair next to the sofa, sizing up the situation. He smiles and comments on how good my taste is. I smile back. The smell of honey mixed with soy sauce fills my nostrils. The golden liquid drips around the chicken and makes my stomach twist. This time, I don’t try to mask the sound. Theo laughs.

We talk a little bit about his weekend and his plans for the next few days. As usual, I try to make the conversation about him rather than about me. It’s easy with a man who loves to talk about himself. We don't mention the night we texted and talked, nor his invitation to have dinner. He lets me know his dog has been staying with his daughter since she has become fond of the animal, and Zoe has asked him to give the dog to Molly.

It’s horrible to ask that of someone who clearly loves his pet, but it's not my place to say it out loud. I don’t even know if it’s true, as I’m concerned he could be lying to earn my sympathy. I don’t know. I’m just over analysing. Theo is about to finish and I’m ready to quit when Silvia opens the door with a white bag in her hand that smells like fish.

She looks at me and, even when her face is as professional as always, her eyes are asking me thousands of questions. I thank her for the takeout, grab the bag along with my half-eaten honey chicken, and go into my office.

“The session will begin in five,” I say before closing the door with my foot and leaning on it, food in both hands and a sigh that needs to come out of my mouth.

Theo walks in and sits on the sofa. His face says he has been looking forward to this.

“You’re in a good mood, I see,” I say, sitting on my armchair in front of him.

“You’re going to take notes,” he says, pointing to the clipboard I have on hand. I give him a grin.

“Is that why you are in a good mood?” I ask, writing down the date of today’s session.

“Quite.” He looks at the paper napkin he’s twisting in his hands.

“That’s good.” I place my phone on the table and press record.

 

Second session with patient Theodore Eullie.

Male, 37 years old.

Therapist: Well, tell me. How was your weekend?

Patient: [Laughs]

[silence]

Patient: We already talked about it like ten minutes ago.

Therapist: Oh. Well, I wasn’t working ten minutes ago. Also, I’d like to remind you I’m not treating you when we are outside these walls. So you’ll have to repeat a few things you said in the waiting room. If you don’t mind.

[Silence]

Patient: Why didn’t you answer my texts?

Therapist: Excuse me?

Patient: Yeah. I mean you answered at the end but you didn’t accept my invitation to supper, though.

Therapist: Because you’re my patient and I already had plans with my wife.

Patient: Fiancée.

 

I stop the recording.

I keep quiet because the remark makes me mad. The way he corrects me makes it sound as if things can’t change without his consent and the term fiancée is more fragile than wife.

“I’ve considered her my wife ever since I met her.” I know falling into his game is not the way, but I can’t stop myself. “I’m not like you, Theo. I’m not scared of change.”

“I think you are.” He’s not looking at me. His eyes are panning around my office. “All these degrees, all these titles. It looks like you are trying to anchor yourself at this moment in time.”

“You know nothing about me, Eullie,” I spit.

He puts his attention back on me. He doesn’t look moved at all. A grin appears on his face but not the type I was expecting. His eyes are warm and his mouth is held in a soft smile, the same face he had when we met each other again for the first time.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “Forgive me for my intrusion.”

“You have a say in everyone's business, don't you?” He might have apologised but it upsets me how he reminds me he’s never changed. He feels he is the holder of the truth. And I want to hurt him when he’s like this. “You better pull yourself together. Don’t mess with the recording.”

I press the record button again.

 

Therapist: Why do you think it’s hard for you to accept others’ choices? Were you not taken into account at the time of making life-changing decisions? Has you not being able to make the right ones during the core moments of your life affected you?

Patient: I think it might be both. You’re right. My parents chose my career; they thought I’d do better staying in the family business. Am I resentful about it? Probably. I try not to think about it. And yes, I made the worst decisions at important points in my life but I think that’s because I’m just unlucky.

Therapist: You don’t believe that, Theo. You don’t know how to handle your fear of compromise. It’s not just not wanting to settle with someone. It’s hard for you to be held accountable for your mistakes and the consequences of your actions.

Patient: So riddle me this. If there’s no such a thing as bad luck, how come you ran into me? Huh? You walk around as if this is the worst thing that ever happened to you, like you were glad to never see me again but then, weeks later, I’m here, sitting in your office. I’m your patient.

[Silence]

Patient: So, you made the active decision to have me in your life. Just like last night. You made the active decision to let me know you were going to get intimate with your wife.

 

I stop the recording. Again

I was mad.

Before the last thing he said, I was ready to burn this whole place down. But his words extinguish the flames I had in my chest. Now, I feel seen, confused, ashamed. I hug the clipboard. I press it as close to me as possible, shielding myself from his eyes. I don’t know what he’s talking about. I couldn’t have done that. I couldn’t have been that clumsy. He just ruined one of the best nights I’d had in a long time. Him knowing about it feels obscene.

“Why are you doing this?” My voice is a whisper.

I’m convinced this man came back to haunt me, to remind me of all the times he made me feel helpless and small. As if I had done anything other than love him. Now, he won’t let me love someone else in peace. My hands tremble when I reach for my phone and scroll through the texts, wishing he just was taking a lucky guess, that all this bullshit about luck is real. But it’s not.

E: Don’t txt me. going to shag my wife senseless.

I’m going to throw up. Right here, right now.

“I don’t think we can go on like this, Theo.” I look up from my phone. It’s the first time since we started the sessions that there’s panic in his eyes. “This was a terrible idea. There were boundaries, and this destroyed them. I clearly can’t help you and the only thing you do is hurt me, after all these years. I can only endure so much. It doesn’t matter how much I want answers from you.”

“No, Emma, I’m—” He comes back to himself; blinks and presses the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. I was jealous.”

My heart stops and only makes it worse.

“You have someone to go back to. To have dinner with and to look forward to the future with.” I calm down a little but it doesn't make it any better. “I know it isn’t your problem.”

He gets up and walks to me. His steps are muffled by the carpet. It’s only when he towers over me that he kneels. My breathing picks up when I can see right into his eyes. He takes the hand that’s still holding the clipboard against my chest. He cups it between his warm hands, like he’s begging for me to stay.

“I’m so sorry.” I see his eyes telling me it’s too much to handle even for him.

He gets up and turns his face away from me, ashamed. He grabs his jacket and storms out of my office. I’m left there, speechless, frightened, and heartbroken again.

I’M PLAYING WITH something that’s not as dangerous as fire but just as deadly. I can’t place what it is, just how I never could place what we were. But it’s strong enough for the people around me to notice it. I try to keep him away from my people. Silvia stops me before I leave the office at half-past seven. He didn’t come back for the night session. But Silvia stayed.

“Hey, boss.” She leans over her desk as I lock my door. “Is everything alright? Dr Eullie seemed in a rush.” Her smile almost makes me believe there’s innocence in her questions. But Silvia Moor is sharp and quick, perfect for the job she handles.

“Yes, yes. Personal matters.” I dismiss her intentions. “Thank you for waiting for me to finish with these papers.” I leave a stack of binders on her desk. She keeps grinning when she takes them. I try to sneak away. “See you tomorrow!”

“You know him, don’t you, boss?” Her voice stops me when I have one hand on the doorknob. “And I mean, really know him.”

Damn it.

I turn around.

“When you have your regulars, we can hear you.” I look at her, confused. “I mean, the people in the waiting room and me. It’s not like we hear everything, but we notice there are people inside and can pick up some muffled words.”

Failing to see where this conversation is going, I realise that’s a problem I’ll have to fix.

“But when you are in session with Dr Eullie, it’s so… silent.”

“Where are you going with this, Silvia?” I stop myself when I realise I’m being rude.

“It’s like you two barely need words to communicate: a conversation that can be held by looking at each other. I saw it on Tuesday. He knows you very well, and you do, too.”

I’d be lying if I say I’m not nervous and confused at the same time. We talk. We talk just as much as I talk with any of my patients. Do we whisper? She got it wrong, we don’t know each other at all.

“Well, I’m afraid—or glad, I should say—you’re wrong. Yes, I know him from college but we lost contact, many years ago. He doesn’t know me one bit. I’m just starting, too.”

Silvia tries to suppress a smile by looking down at her hands. “I’m glad to hear it, because Miss Nour is a wonderful woman and a kind person.”

“Silvia, it’s not what you think.” My face goes numb.

“Good.” She looks at me. There’s a trace of panic in her eyes. “I’m happy to hear that.”

What am I supposed to do? I can only give her a reassuring smile to comfort her. It’s not like that. It will never be like that.

“See you tomorrow.”

I close the door, leaving Silvia behind.