“We use a lot of olive oil in our cooking. I have to get it out of my clothes at least three times a week.”
She’d then pulled out a slender packet of makeup remover towelettes for the smeared mascara under my eyes.
“You’re amazing,” I’d told her after dabbing the black streaks from my skin. “Do you do anything else besides mother and cook with olive oil?”
“I’m a therapist.”
“Do you have a card?”
That was nine years ago. She’d been helping me maneuver through life – whenever I managed to get in to see her – ever since. But it had been months since I’d seen her last, and we’d been doing a lot of catching up the past few weeks.
“Did you sign on the house?” she asked.
“I did.”
“Congratulations! It’s a big step and I’m proud of you. You are moving forward, Lior. Does it feel that way?”
I made a face and she laughed.
“Well,” she said. “I am here to tell you that you are. What else?”
“I turned down a modeling job. One I would’ve taken previously but knew I’d be miserable if I did it.”
“Wonderful. That’s more progress. And have you talked with your agent?”
“I have. I let her know that I want to scale back. We had a nice long talk about it and she was lovely.”
“Well done. Now… how can I help you today?”
“Tell me how to not end up with people who use me or want to change me?”
“I cannot do that. Tell me why.”
“Because I haven’t done the work.”
“And because you’ve been existing…”
I raised my hand, mimicking the motion I was taught by my mother.
“Up here.”
Chapter 35
Graham
The airport was crowded when I got home, but my usual apprehension that came with big crowds was softened by the sense of calm I’d inherited from traveling, therapy, and doing some really tough reality checks with myself over the past two weeks.
I wasn’t bothered by the couple fighting in front of me, as we all waited in line for a cab while the rain poured down. Nor did I care about the cacophony of noise as travelers made their way in and out of the state. Something in me felt lighter. As if I’d unpacked my crap overseas and left it behind. There was still work to do. Still thoughts to shed that had become habitual and harmful to my enjoyment of life and trust in myself. But I was getting there, and that’s what I’d been telling myself like a mantra every night.
A cab pulled up and I climbed in. The drive through town made me smile. The trees had shed their leaves, their skeletal bodies exposed and glistening with the rain streaming down them. The streets were littered with brown mounds of fallen foliage that one would track inside their house on their shoes for weeks and months on end. And despite it all, people milled about, hurrying to catch up with friends, catch a train, or hurry home from work.
“You been somewhere nice?” the cabbie asked as we sat at a red light.
“The Netherlands.”
“Never been. Was it nice?”
“It was lovely.”
