Page 10

4 February 2019

I am writing in my studio this morning, staring out at ragged clouds chasing across a low gray sky and wondering where to begin. Janet told us yesterday that when someone trains as a therapist, it can leave their partner feeling insecure. Naturally you become more analytical about yourself and those around you. It’s easy for loved ones to feel scrutinized, dissected, wary of your new insights and perspectives.

Is that how Nate feels? We barely spoke last night over supper. There is so little we can discuss honestly anymore. It’s as if he’s on an island getting smaller and smaller as I sail away from him, until one day he’ll vanish on the horizon like a tiny speck.

Why is it the longer you live with someone, the more of a stranger they become? So many landmines. I watched him as he finished his meal, his knife scraping the plate, his jaw clenching as he chewed. Even the way he breathed began to enrage me.

My phone buzzing on the table made me jump. He glared at me when I took the call. Of course, I’d almost forgotten about the phone interview.

“Eva. Is now a good time?” she asked me. Nate’s eyebrows shot up and I left the table, walked over to the window.

“Hello,” I sparkled. Nate pushed back his chair, almost knocked it to the floor. These volatile displays are nothing new but they’re ramping up since I’ve started my training. “No, don’t worry. It’s perfect timing, really. Fire away.”

Cutlery clattered, cupboard doors rattled, he was registering his presence, making a point, a pass-agg habit of his. Meanwhile the journalist asked me all sorts of questions. Her curiosity was a balm. I demurred while she told me how much she loved my work, flirted with her to punish him for ignoring me. That’s how it started anyway.

As we talked, I slipped deeper into the conversation. I told her about my therapy course and, for the first time, I felt...engaged. I admitted I was nervous but also looking forward to seeing patients on my own, unsupervised for the first time. And I realized that I meant it. I’ve been so resistant to this course, to really opening up. But perhaps my inability to feel my patients’ pain will bring a sense of objectivity for them, help of a different kind.

I asked a little more about her, shared some advice about pursuing her passion for writing, even found myself offering her a free therapy session at my clinic. “Try it,” I suggested, catching Nate’s eye. “Keep in touch.”

“Who was that?” asked Nate, after the interview ended.

“Oh, no one,” I told him.