CHAPTER 9
CAROLINE
“I don’t wantto go to couples’ therapy,” I tell Basil for the third time, a conviction in my voice that surprises even me this early in the morning. My stomach growls. Skipping breakfast was a terrible decision.
Basil faces me, arms crossed over her chest. “For the last time, we’re not going to couples’ therapy. Lady Shiba is a world-renowned relationship coach. She’s been interviewed by Oprah and has been on some major shows. She’s the real deal.” Basil points at the entrance sign. “Her office is inside a botanical garden, for Christ’s sake.”
I don’t know the difference between a relationship coach and a couple’s therapist, but my opinion hasn’t changed. About now, a polyamorous relationship’s Google calendar sounds less stressful than the next forty-five minutes. “What are we going to talk about? Make up a bunch of stories and feelings about our relationship, which isn't real?
“All the details are inside the itinerary that you didn’t bother reading.” Basil slants a brow in my direction. “We’re a happy couple on our honeymoon. How difficult will it be to act like two people who are madly, deeply in love?” A reassuring smile spreads across her lips.
I read the itinerary nights ago, but Basil doesn’t need to know that. I’m rather enjoying these fits of selective outrage from my darling wife who seemingly tries to control everything and everyone.
“Just don’t expect any deep conversations from me.” Vulnerability might get me useful information for the case, which admittedly feels like a violation of privacy. Then again, perhaps intimate conversations are warranted from time to time. For professional reasons.
I exhale, letting the surrounding greenery release the tension around my shoulder blades. Sleeping on the stiff rattan sofa a foot shorter than me hasn’t helped my already poor posture. Basil did offer to share the king-sized bed. Although there was more than enough space for two, I refused for obvious reasons.
I take in the cool morning air for a beat. Seeing two joggers reminds me that I haven’t gone for a run since I left Seattle. The lack of my stress outlet is beginning to impact my psyche. I’ll start again tomorrow before Basil wakes up.
“I’ll go inside, but if that relationship coach wants to talk about our pasts, I’m out,” I say when we turn the corner and see a small cobblestone building. After a glance at the nameplate against the rocky exterior, I squish my brows together. I wonder why she’s called Lady Shiba.
We enter the room.
And get our answer.
I blink in disbelief. “Holy—”
“Jesus fuck,” Basil blurts out, eyes as wide as mine, possibly betraying a similar horror. “Is that a life-sized Chia Pet?”
What am I looking at? At least it’s a dog, not a hedgehog. Who knows what Basil’s response to that would have been? She might've passed out. Too perplexed to answer the question, I inspect the massive green sculpture in the corner. As tall as the wall, it has large painted-black rocks for eyes and a coat made of succulents and moss. The details of its perky triangular ears and a curled tail are impressive, to say the least. I step further inside, and my attention shifts left, then right. We’re alone, despite being watched by hundreds of beady little eyes. The walls are cluttered with posters, stuffed animals, and metal signs. Dog-shaped figurines are stacked like books on the bookshelves. Shiba Inus. I recognize the breed of dog. My cousin adopted one, years back. Runs a Shiba Inu social media group and everything. I’ll keep that information to myself.
Now that I’ve captured the room in its entirety, the giant plant dog seems less out of place.
I search my brain for the right words. “This is a pretty—”
“Pretty unhealthy obsession?” Basil whispers.
“I was going to say ‘eccentric space.’” Having had an artist for a mother, I’m versed in navigating floors littered with dried pallets, paintbrushes on plastic tarps, and pottery lining the walls.
A shuffling sound from behind the beaded curtain grabs my attention, a reminder of why I’m here. I pass the vintage orange couch facing the chair to stand next to Basil.
“Bienvenido! Welcome,” a cheerful voice announces. “My apologies for being late. I had to take the pups outside. Please, take a seat.” Enter the person I recall from reading the bio, an older woman with an olive complexion. Her wide grin shines as brightly as her highlighter-pink, shoulder-length hair. Her outfit matches the room’s exuberance—turquoise glasses, a flowy gold skirt with ruffles, and a white blouse. Lady Shiba. Puerto Rico flag earrings dangle from her gauged ears.
Basil and I sit on the couch with Lady Shiba across from us.
“First things first. I start every session with a fun island fan favorite.” She begins belting some song. “If you're sapphic and you know it, clap your hands.” Lady Shiba claps twice. “If you're sapphic and you know it, clap your hands.” Another two claps. There’s an insistent nod in our direction, encouraging participation. No thanks. “If you’re sapphic and you know it and you really love to show it. If you’re sapphic and you know it…”
I slowly turn to Basil, a “What the fuck” look on my face. She responds with crinkled brows, then, using a finger, tilts my chin until I’m facing forward. She claps twice.
I shift in my seat as Lady Shiba reaches for maracas and starts from the beginning. Seconds later, she stops, a flare of pink in her cheeks at our parted-lip expressions. The music rehearsal ends, instruments returning to the table. "It grows on you."
A contemplative sound leaves Basil’s lips, and she glides one leg over the other. "I’m sorry, we’re not big on singing."
“What she said." I nod. I don’t think I can last five more minutes of therapy or whatever this is.
“I understand.” Lady Shiba offers a slow nod, whispering gibberish to herself before ending with, “Traits of a Shiba.” She rises to her feet, giving off strong Rafiki-from-The-Lion-Kingvibes that make me wonder what plants are really on this island.
Lady Shiba turns her attention back toward us. “After reading your relationship energy, I know what you two need to succeed long-term. I’m going to teach you a short and simple exercise, then you may leave.” She points to the floor cushions and instructs us to sit back to back.
