Page 24 of Choosing Hope

I miss him. My aggression during our conversation last night was so unnecessary. I squeeze my eyes closed, making a mental note to call him as soon as we’re done here.

“Can I have a glass of water please, Dr. Klein?”

Her reaction to my question wouldn’t have been more severe than if I’d run an electrical current through her.

She jumped up, striding to her desk.

“Of course, I’m so sorry. I’ve allowed myself to get distracted. Just water? Not coffee or tea?”

“Water’s fine, thanks.”

She buzzes her assistant, and the break gives me a chance to reflect on the information she’s seeking.

It was my decision to have these intensive sessions. I thought it would speed up the process. It’s only now that I realize why Dr. Klein and her assistant were so against this practice.

Sitting with my legs parted, and my elbows on my knees, I try to train my mind back to those first few dates with Sophie.

I close my eyes, enjoying the wealth of happy memories I have logged from the first few weeks and months of our relationship. Not that they stopped after that time; that period has stayed in my mind as ‘the golden time’.

It was during those times that she was mine. I didn’t share her instantly, and keeping her to myself seemed precious.

There’s a gentle tap on the door, and Dr. Klein’s assistant enters carrying a tray with two bottles of water, and a French press of coffee. She sets it down on the desk, then busies herself pouring and making sure we’re both satisfied before giving me a shy smile and leaving the room.

I watch the door close before turning my focus back to Dr. Klein.

She gives me a warm smile and raises her coffee to her lips to take a tentative sip.

Inspired by her lead, I take a long drink of water; my eyes flitting to the clock. I’ve got half an hour to download this, and then I’ve got to leave. My schedule is full this afternoon.

We never lived the classic student life. Sophie was worth so much more than takeout pizzas and drink-the-bar-dry nights. I wanted to show her how magical our life could be. So, I took her to some of the best restaurants, to concerts, the theater. I did precisely what I always despised my parents for; I used my money to show off. And for the first time in my life, I understood the power of money.

And the reason I fell in love with her? She couldn’t give a shit about any of it.

She just wanted me.

We’d been together for nearly three months before I introduced her to Carlo.

I caught myself talking about him often and tried to help her understand how important Carlo was to me. Sophie seemed to enjoy hearing about our antics growing up.

She commented a few times on how strange she found my strained connection to my family.

It’s funny; when it’s all you’ve known, I suppose it doesn’t seem strange.

Carlo was nervous about meeting Sophie. For that reason, I took her to his hotel. It was safe territory for him, but he always had a get-out clause if he needed it.

He didn’t.

His reaction to Sophie was instantaneous. And in no time, the three of us became firm friends.

Until he met her, Carlo had been vocal about not wanting another woman. Chess’ death tore the stuffing out of him, and he didn’t believehe’d ever recover from her loss. In some ways he still hasn’t, but when he looked at my girlfriend, I could see the sparkle in his eye.

The old Carlo was coming back. It was slow, extremely slow. But it was there. And the temptation to draw it out was too great to resist.

I can’t pinpoint precisely when all this happened, but it would have been between eighteen months and two years after Chess’s passing.

Carlo was a young virial man. I reminded him of Nonna’s words.

Chess would have wanted us to move on. She wouldn’t have expected our lives to stop because hers did. It hurt. It was a peculiar sensation, but it seemed like the moment.