“How is everything going?” Dr. King asks.
After I got in yesterday from my time out with Andreas, I decided to make a virtual appointment with my therapist. The panic that I felt yesterday as he left scared me enough to make the appointment I’d been putting off for weeks now.
I lucked out because a patient of hers canceled this morning. Dr. King rarely takes appointment on Sundays, but she made an exception for me because it’s been a while. Plus, my current insurance hasn’t yet kicked in, so I’m paying out of pocket.
“Honestly?” I sigh. “Things are going … well.”
Dr. King tips her head sideways, the long braid she keeps her locks in shifting over her shoulder.
“And that scares you,” she says in a tone completely devoid of judgement.
“So much,” I admit. “Part of me is on the lookout for the other shoe to drop. Or thinking maybe it has. After Ms. Baldwin’s death, I started thinking ‘see this was a mistake defying my parents and moving out here.’”
Groaning, I cover my face with my hands. “Now I’m making that poor woman’s death about me.”
“Ivy, do you feel some guilt or blame for your landlord’s death?”
I drop my hands to my lap, balling them into fists. Dr. King has me pegged.
“In the beginning, yes, I did think that maybe if I’d been there, I could’ve saved her. Maybe I would’ve seen or smelled the smoke and could have called for help sooner or?—”
“Or maybe you would’ve been another casualty,” Dr. King says.
My shoulders sink.
Ms. Shelby’s purring catches my attention. She’s perched right by my leg. The moment I make room for her, she leaps up onto my lap, meowing softly. I give her the head scratches and petting she clearly wants.
“I know what happened to Ms. Baldwin wasn’t my fault,” I tell Dr. King a minute later. “It’s just that sometimes my mind goes to the what-ifs. Especially when things are going well.”
“Tell me more,” Dr. King requests.
After a year and a half of working off-and-on with her, she’s attuned to my needs.
“The job is going well. It’s not perfect since it seems like my boss doesn’t like me that much, but all of my coworkers have said she’s like that with everyone. I love the work we’re doing. Sometimes I go in and just stand in the room surrounded by clothes and think, ‘This is what I’ve always wanted. How did I get this lucky?’”
“Do you feel like you don’t deserve it?”
I look down at Ms. Shelby, who’s now laying on her back, giving me her belly to rub.
“At times. Then there’s …” I trail off.
“There’s …” Dr. King drags out the question.
“I’ve met someone. He’s an actor.”
I give Dr. King enough information to let her know what’s going on without telling her Andreas’ name.
“He bought me a magazine and gave it to me when he dropped me off yesterday.” I hold up the vintageEbonymagazine. “He saw me staring at it and bought it for me.”
“That’s nice of him. Why were you staring at it?”
“It’s one of the publications my aunt gave me that started my collection.”
“The collection you lost?” she asks.
“Yes.”
I’ve never told Dr. King how I ended up losing my magazine collection.
