Page 26

I arrived at the office, a tall gray building with all of the offices, all the workers living their own lives, maybe some of them living out their dreams or getting there, like me. They were all doing such different things. Some were dentists, and some were real estate agents. The building was funny like that, a collection of people from all walks.
I took the elevator up and rooted in my purse to put away my keys as I stepped onto my floor.
From the hallway, I could hear the white noise machine that Jeremy and the other therapist played to make sure waiting clients couldn’t hear an ongoing session.
I could already smell the calming eucalyptus wafting into the hallway, and it put a smile on my face, knowing how close I was.
I loved doing this. It was like healing a childhood part of me, that part of me that just wanted her dad to be able to be a normal dad.
I opened the door and could feel my face blanch as I saw Robert sitting at the end of the small space, right next to the door I had to walk into.
His hands were folded in his lap, and he was staring straight ahead as though he was disassociating. I could recognize that glassy look anywhere.
But he sure snapped out of it when he saw me. For just a moment, I saw a spark of recognition, instantly superimposed by him convincing himself he was making it up. Then it clicked for him – why I’d be here – and he looked up at me from his chair again.
It made sense that I’d see him here. I’d probably seen him hundreds of times and never put it together. But now that I knew his face so intimately, it was hard to miss.
His green eyes seemed to read through to my soul, and I looked away, afraid to give our relationship away. It wasn’t right in a space like this to call attention to it.
I breezed past him, muttering, “Excuse me,” and walked into the office where I knew I’d find Jeremy.
“Hi, Delia,” he said, without looking up from the stack of papers in front of him. When he found what he needed, he pulled it apart from the stack and turned it upside down on the desk. His eyes found mine, and he furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong?”
I pointed to the door, hoping that the white noise machine would keep what I was about to say private. “Is Robert our client?”
Jeremy moved from around the desk and walked over to the camera to make sure the view was correct. We had to record every session, or I wouldn’t get my hours, and if I didn’t get my hours, I wouldn’t graduate.
I watched him fiddling with it, and then he said, “He is today.”
“Where’s Tim?” I asked, my voice rising to a higher pitch than I meant for it to.
Tim was the man for whom I usually attended sessions with Jeremy. Tim should have been here, not Robert. I couldn’t sit next to Jeremy and listen to Robert talk. It waswrong.He deserved someone impartial.
Jeremy glanced at me from behind the camera, his face still scrunched in confusion. “Tim had another appointment he couldn’t miss. Why, what does it matter?”
“It matters because we know Robert.Iknow Robert. I can’t help therapize Robert!” I pointed to the door aggressively, picturing Robert out in the hallway with his ear against the wall.
It wasn’t right. Robert deserved a safe space away from me. No matter what was going on with us, if there was an us – not that I wanted there to be an us – he deserved that. Everyone did.
“You can, and you will, Delia. You need the hours.” He sat down on the therapy couch and patted the spot next to him. “Come sit. Talk to me about what’s going on.”
I stood where I was and crossed my arms. “I’ll make up the hours then. Who cares? I can stay longer another day. This is a conflict of interest. I can’t do it.”
Anger flashed across his face, but it melted away quickly. I must have imagined it. “You barely know Robert. What are you even talking about? How is this a conflict of interest?”
I didn’t say anything, opting instead to chew on my bottom lip. I looked down at the floor.
This scenario made me uncomfortable, and I didn’t like that Jeremy was pushing it.
Finally, I gathered the courage, and I said, “Well, you know him really well. You definitely shouldn’t be therapizing him.” I set my jaw as I said it and watched his face for signs of a suspicious reaction.
“So then you’ll take the lead. It isn’t a conflict of interest to therapize your self-defense teacher that you’ll meet on weekends for one month.” He chuckled, and I started to doubt myself.
Was he right?
All my schooling told me that he wasn’t, but he would know better than I would.
Wouldn’t he?