“Six sessions?” I ask, regretting the question as soon as it tumbles out of my mouth. I’m on thin ice at the practice. I’ve been completely unprofessional since Aaron’s death and I think that John has run out of patience with me. I can’t blame him. What person wants a therapist who is more of a wreck than they are?
“Yes, and I’m sure you’re wasting Mr. Warner’s valuable time with this call. Next time, you should call me before a session if you have any questions, Kat. This should have been discussed in private.”
Yep, I’m definitely on borrowed time.
“Of course, John. I’ll do that next time.”
I place my pen down on the desk and swivel my chair back around and face my new client. There’s a cool look across his chiseled face.
“It doesn’t sound as if you were successful in getting me transferred,” he says.
“According to this practice and the New York Nighthawks, you are indeed my client for the next six weeks.”
“Six fucking weeks!” He roars, his outrage catching me off guard.
But I totally get it.
I feel the same way, except I don’t have the luxury of screaming at the top of my lungs at him about it.
“Should we schedule your next session, then?” I ask through a plastic smile.
He growls something incomprehensible, then pulls out his cell phone. “I can only do Mondays.”
This is going to be the longest six weeks of my life, but I have to do it. My work is the only piece of normalcy I have left in my life to cling to. So…
“Mondays it is, Mr. Warner.”
dak
“You should have seen her.She was a walking disaster. She came to the session late as hell looking like a gin soaked sorority girl during rush week. You know how the therapist on that show Ted Lasso had her shit together and whipped Ted into shape? Well, this woman is the complete opposite.”
“What’s Ted Lasso, Mr. Dak?”
I’m pacing the floor and complaining about my new therapist to whoever will listen, and the unfortunate recipient of my vitriol right now is my housekeeper, Mira. My new financial planner wants me to fire Mira and hire a monthly cleaning service for less money, but having Mira here is just not something I’m willing to compromise on. She’s worked for me ever since I signed with the Nighthawks and she charges me a fair price. Not to mention that she’s good with Bella and is also quite the patient listener, even when she doesn’t have a clue what I’m blathering on about.
“It was a feel good comedy about a soccer team in the UK and their new American coach.”
Her face remains blank.
“It was a big hit?” I say.
“Sorry.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I never heard of it. I don’t have a lot of time for television.”
“Right, well, it’s not the best use of my time, I suppose.”
“I have nothing against television. I’m just saying that I’m too busy for it. When I go home, I have to cook for my family and help with homework.”
Of course, you idiot.
Mira does all the things with and for her kids that I wish I could do with Bella, which only makes me more frustrated.
“The show’s over, anyway. My point is that I have no idea how this woman got her degree or how she even keeps a job. She’s a hot fucking mess, and she’s supposed to be assessing whether I’m fit to play football again?”
“Maybe she’s going through something too, Mr. Dak.”
“All the more reason for me to not go to her. That’s like the blind leading the blind, isn’t it? I need someone competent who is going to quickly recognize that I’m ready to get back out onto the field and trust me when I say that this woman is not it.”
“Sorry, I can’t help. I’ve never been to a therapist before. Do you need me to pick up some things from the market for Bella’s visit?” Mira asks, ready to change the subject. “Remember, I don’t come back to town for another few weeks.”
