Chapter 13

“WELL, LET'S TRY again.”

Theo didn’t arrive early today. Silvia has definitely picked up on the strange vibe infesting this place. Tuesday and Thursday will become a menace from now on. She’ll manage.

She’s somewhat angry at me; she didn’t bring me back any lunch today. And Theo didn’t care to bring takeout either. I’m surviving off a cereal bar that I munched during the hour I spent alone in my office.

Theo is wearing way too much cologne. It's distracting and it’s making me dizzy. He’s also had his beard trimmed. All in all, he looks put together. He knows I’m scrutinising him but apparently he doesn’t mind because he's doing the same. The difference is that after a few seconds of sizing each other up, Theo is about to say something as he points to his face. I raise my brows, trying to understand his message, but he sighs and drops his hand, dismissing the moment. I don’t push him to talk to me. I’d rather start working.

 

Third session with patient Theodore Eullie.

Male, 37 years old.

Patient: I saw my daughter yesterday. We went to the movies. She’s been begging her mom to take her to see some popular movie all her friends have already seen.

[Silence]

Patient: Do you remember when the most important thing in life was to watch some random movie your friends already saw just so you could talk with them about it? In my time, we barely got our parents to take us anywhere but the church.

Therapist: Do you miss those times? When things were more simple?

[Silence]

Patient: Things weren’t that simple for me, though.

Therapist: Oh, why is that?

Patient: Things weren’t easy for my family. My parents were immigrants in this country—white French immigrants, I know. But very poor.

[Silence]

Patient: I’m happy to see you scribbling on your clipboard.

Therapist: I told you I would. How difficult were things for your family, Theo?

Patient: They never grew out of some habits you acquire when living in poverty. My parents built everything they own from the ground; both of them went to public schools and applied for scholarships to study at med school. They were good. They were hardworking and persevering.

Therapist: What do you mean by “they never grew out of habits”?

Patient: They were… used to not having things. They didn’t even want to have a wedding. My mom just sent a letter back to France to my grandfather to tell him she got married and was due on December 19th.

[Silence]

Therapist: You’re uncomfortable.

Patient: No, I’m fine. It’s fine. There was a point in which they got everything they ever wanted. But you know, there’s only two paths from there. To spend all your money like there’s no tomorrow or to act like you don’t have a penny in the bank. They jumped into the second right away. I was having two meals a day that consisted of four peas and crackers with a piece of protein while living in a house bigger than what my parents could’ve ever imagined.

Therapist: I hope they weren’t counting your peas.

Patient: I’m sure there weren’t four, but it’s what I remember.

[Silence]

Patient: Things were slowly changing when my sister was born. I was six. I didn’t get to grow malnourished because my mother had extreme care that only comes with the firstborn. With Caroline, it was different. My mom’s confidence grew and they started to skimp on her. I used to ‘steal’ food from the kitchen. Fruit paps, crackers, sugar cubes. And I had to feed a baby crying in a crib, at six.

Therapist: That’s—

[Silence]

Patient: It’s alright, you can say it.

Therapist: I shouldn’t.

Patient: Awful, right? My mother caught me once. I vaguely remember. But I climbed Line’s crib with a small plastic bag of sugar cubes. I could’ve made her terribly ill but I didn’t know. I just wanted to help. My mom was standing behind and almost closed the door, watching me grab my sister and hold a sugar cube close to her lips so she could suck on it as if it was a pacifier. I didn’t understand at that moment, but my mom cried. Things started to get better from there, though. My other sister arrived when I was nine, and in those three years after that ‘incident’, my parents were having arguments and fights they thought we couldn’t hear.

Therapist: Would you like some water?

Patient: Yes, please.

[Silence]

Patient: Thank you.

Therapist: It’s nothing.

Patient: So, my mom started to change everything around. She hired a maid and a cook. She ordered three meals a day and had Caroline’s feeding bottles ready in the fridge. She enrolled me in a private school and Caroline had a nanny. Suddenly, my grandparents were coming for the holidays. My mother was flying them in from France. So yeah. My father was on the verge of a stroke. I guess he just got used to it when he noticed the money wasn’t lacking. My mom and him were showing up for us. That’s when Sarah arrived.

[Silence]

Patient: Please, don’t look at me like that.

Therapist: I’m sorry.

Patient: I don’t like to talk about it. I don’t like the pity in people’s faces.

Therapist: I don’t feel pity for you.

Patient: Ouch?

Therapist: You know what I mean. It seems you remember that part of your life all too well.

Patient: Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you. I guess you never forget the feeling of an empty stomach.

Therapist: It was impactful. You were aware that something wasn’t adding up. Kids are sponges and they can easily pick up on things like contradictions. You knew. And also, you were picking up that your parents were the ones putting you in that situation. They were the ones supposed to take care of you and your sisters.

Patient: Damn. You got all that from what I told you?

Therapist: I barely scratched the surface.

Patient: I think you’re pretty good. Don’t roll your eyes, I mean it.

[Silence]

Patient: How about you, doctor? Was your childhood as impactful as mine?

Therapist: Don’t do that. Even though you’re not the same person, that kid deserves respect. You’re not telling me everything. I can tell.

Patient: That’s why we have more sessions ahead.

Therapist: We are not talking about me in a session you paid for. It’s supposed to be about you.

Patient: Well, with more reason. I paid for it and I want to be granted a question to ask you.

[Silence]

Patient: I’d really like to think about something else right now.

[Silence]

Therapist: I guess we don’t need this.

 

I stop the recording before pinching the bridge of my nose, trying not to let him get on my nerves.

“My parents were some type of new wave hippies with money.” I leave my clipboard aside. “They met in some type of Woodstock knock-off festival in Copenhagen. They fell in love and started to travel around the world. The dream life, I know. My dad was studying to be a natural researcher and took way too many gap years. As for my mother, she was a wildflower who didn’t want to root herself in a house with a degree that didn’t bring her joy. She’d do modelling gigs and save money for her next trip. She’d even do gigs in other countries while travelling. Until she got pregnant with Ben.”

“Your brother.” He nods.

“My brother. Yes. They panicked for different reasons. My dad panicked because he didn’t have a ring to propose with and my mother panicked because she wanted to have the baby the moment the nurse on the Amalfi Coast told her she was pregnant.”

Oh, Lord.

I didn’t think a knot would form in my throat when talking about my mother. I blink profusely in an effort to rid the moisture from my eyes.

“Quite a life. Did they settle after your brother?” He’s trying to soothe me, which is weird given I never expected to be soothed by him. Nonetheless, I’m thankful he said something to distract me.

I let out a small laugh. “Not at all. They kept travelling. My dad would go back to study for a semester and my mom would go back to France with Ben. My grandparents would spoil my brother. Then they’d get back on the road for another year, with Ben dragged along.”

“How about you? Were you conceived abroad?”

“That’s so weird to ask, Theo.”

“Sorry.”

“I was born abroad. For some reason, they decided to travel overseas and explore South America when my mom was seven months pregnant. I was due for April but I arrived on February 28th in Barranquilla, Colombia. That was…” I roll my eyes at the decisions my parents made when they were young. “That was a whole ordeal.”

“So you are Latina?” I cringe at how he butchers the word Latina.

“No, I’m not. Colombia doesn’t grant birthing citizenship. My parents flew back to France and had to spend a lot of money on that problem.”

“Well, I mean.” Theo shrugs. “I bet they never regretted it.” I smile to myself because I know he’s right. “I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, they never regretted it. In fact, they worked as hard as they could so the four of us could go back. My grandfather, my dad’s father, bought an apartment in Cambridge for us, because ‘he couldn’t stand his grandchildren not having a home of their own’. My dad’s not a proud man. He had plans of his own, but he did his best. And I’m grateful for it. I had the privilege to travel around the world and learn a bunch of languages before turning twelve.”

“I thought you spoke Spanish because you were from Spain.” He’s stunned.

“And that’s how much you knew me, Theo.” I laugh.

I thought he was going to laugh, too. But when I grab my clipboard again and look at him, he's quite serious. It takes me a second to understand he’s upset.

“Why do I feel like you always try to hurt me with your passive-aggressiveness?” He tilts his head with a half-smile.

I frown. “I don’t understand.”

What the hell?

“I mean, you always find a way to call me out on things I can’t change anymore.”

His mood swings become a bit more obvious now. I didn’t do it with ill intentions; I thought it was funny. We knew each other for so long but we actually didn’t.

“I wasn’t attacking you. I knew just as much about you. It’s not like we did more than have sex.”

It’s the first time I acknowledge the nature of our past relationship. There’s a mild warmth inside my chest. He won’t take his eyes off me. I wouldn’t care if only I could read his face. I don’t know what he’s feeling and it’s making me nervous.

“It wasn’t just—”

“Don’t say it.” I cut him off. I won’t stand for him lying or imagining a fairytale where there was none. He’s right; he can not mend what he did in the past, not even if he tries to paint it in pastel colours. “Don’t say it was more than that, you know it wasn’t.”

“Is that all it was to you?” He looks hurt.

How dare he?

How does he dare to pretend to be wounded by the truth? How does he dare to blame it on me as if I didn’t go through hell because of him?

“You know it wasn’t. It was for you. You know—you knew what it meant for me. What you used to mean to me.”

“So there’s no other way around, right? I’m still the villain in this story.” I hate how he sounds, how his voice still makes that inflection.

“This is not a competition to see who's the villain and who’s the martyr, Theo. We are both adults that have better things to do than point fingers. I just want to help you with your case. I want you to be able to raise your daughter.”

“How kind of you.” His sarcasm is thick.

If we keep going, this session will finish just like every other. So I pull myself together and let a sigh go. “I don’t want this to escalate again.” I pull a smile out of my arse. I can’t force my will into one. “Alright? Let’s—”

“You’re wearing makeup.” He disorients me for a moment. He points at his lips. “I like that colour; it was always good on you.”

Truth be told, I always wear makeup. The only thing I did differently today was wear red lipstick because it looks good with an all-black outfit.

“Thank you.” I clear my throat. “I like your cologne.” Half-true. I probably should’ve thought it through. I do like the scent but it’s overpowering. The whole office is scented with his perfume. “It’s quite… intense.” Words are not my friends at this moment. But at least it helped me to pull a laugh from my patient.

“Intense? You searched for the fancier way to tell me I went overboard with the cologne.”

“Well, I mean, I could have said you smell but smell has a negative connotation.”

“I think you’re using intense with a bad connotation.”

“Oh, fine, Mr Royal Academy of English.” He’s as amused as he is confused. “It’s a joke. The Spanish language has a regulator called Real Academia Española. The English language doesn’t have one, so I made it up. And it’s a 6 '1 man I give therapy to.”

He shakes his head and I get a glimpse of how he was years ago: easy-going, no affective responsibility whatsoever.

Feelings are a wonderful thing, except when they’re not. Except when they are attached to experiences that make you want to crawl out of your skin. That’s how Theo’s smile makes me feel. I don’t think I can ever look past it.

“Would you grab a coffee with me?” I don't know if I'm more surprised by the invitation or how suddenly he changes the subject. “Like today, after work?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Theo.” It’s not. I’m barely getting anything done as we dance around each other.

“I’d like to keep talking. I don’t think you are comfortable with me coming back to your house.”

What a bitch.

“Don’t ever do it again.”

“You sent your location unprovoked.” He shrugs.

“You could’ve called.”

“At dawn?” He does this weird gesture with his hands, like guns.

“Preferably not.”

“Come on, Dr Lamb.”

I’m not proud to admit that I’m fond of how my name rolls out of his mouth. But we are already walking on thin ice. I don’t want this feeling of bonding between us. I don’t want him thinking he has a way into my life.

“See you at five. Here.”

He drops his shoulders as he gets up from the sofa and walks to the door. “You can’t blame me for trying.”

Oh, but how I want to.

I’M FINISHING FILLING out medical records when Silvia comes in. She leaves a cup of tea on my desk, her long nails clinking against the porcelain. I smile at her and go back to the papers. I want to finish as soon as possible so Silvia doesn’t have to stay late archiving them.

She sits on the chair in front of my desk and it’s not like she hasn’t done it before but something’s different. The mood changes. Usually, when she gets nervous or wants to talk about something, it comes out of her mouth without hesitation, without filters.

“Your friend came in, boss.” Silvia crosses her arms over her chest. Determination is in her eyes.

“Uh, yes.” I blink. “He’s a special case, so the faster, the better.” I go back to the papers, trying to dismiss the oddness.

“I see.” Her stare is a weight over me. “Well, I better get going.”

I snap my head up. She’s leaving and I’m here filling these forms in like crazy so she doesn’t have extra work. She gets up and smooths her dress, perking her head up.

“You’re not staying?” My voice is filled with an annoyance I didn't intend. She’s at the door now but before leaving, she looks back at me. Oh, she’s upset. More as if she’s scolding me for something and I have no idea what it is. It’s gone in a flash. Mischief soothes her frown.

“I have got a date. Besides, it's not like you need my supervision, is it, boss?” Her brow crooks. Her words shock me and I’m left without any of my own. She stays though; she wants me to say something.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Silvia?” Not my best question, but it’s not as if I let my brain come up with something better. I’m angry. Shit, I’m so pissed off I’m about to tell her to get lost.

“It's weird to me that all of a sudden, you are worried about a guy who just appeared in your life.” Even when she feigns innocence, I can feel the judgement-stained words.

“You’re misinterpreting things and it is disrespectful.” I get up from my chair, leaning over my desk. I might be trying to look intimidating but, in fact, I’m aghast.

“Am I? How many patients have two sessions in one day? If I call Miss Nour right now, would she know about this case of yours?”

“Know your place, Moor.” I don’t realise I’m pointing at her, emphasising every word.

“You see, Emma.” Silvia moves away from the door. She looks innocent with her hands intertwined in front of her. “Sometimes we think we need certain things. Because we’re bored, because we’re curious. But they end up ruining everything good we already have. Don’t ruin things for yourself.”

She slams the door behind her. And I’m left with words I don’t get to say.

And I’m tired. I’m tired of being left with words on my tongue. I’m tired of everyone having a say in my life, in my decisions, in my experiences.

Everyone gets to decide who I am, what my actions can cause, and if my judgement is trustworthy enough. It is. I’m a grown woman and I don’t need to be warned; I don’t need reminders or fucking advice from anyone.

I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.

I bring the mug Silvia left for me to the bathroom and flush the tea down the toilet.

Because right now, what I want is coffee.