“Dude, you’re too much.” I laugh as he crams another fistful of doodles into his already packed mouth.
“Uh huh,” he mumbles, but that’s his standard almost-two-year-old response to everything. If you ask him if he wants to go to the park, you get an extra enthusiastic “uh huh,” but even if you ask him about eating a mud-pie, he’ll say the same thing.
“So what’s new with you? Got a girlfriend, yet?” I nudge him on the arm conspiratorially.
“Mommy.” He smiles up at me, orange-dusted face and all. Reid must have trained him on that one.
“Me?” I pretend he’s asked me something as he nudges me back. “Nah, no one.” For the first time since Shane, I almost add, yet. That thought catches me off guard.
Braden bops in his seat to the beat of the music. I sing along with him, clapping my hands when he does the same.
When the song ends, I grab the container of baby wipes at the edge of the table and attempt to clean the kid up, at least a little bit. “So your daddy’s been on me to call this doctor.” Braden tries to lick his fingers clean of the cheese doodle left overs and I let him – there aren’t many simpler pleasures in life than licking cheese doodle dust off your fingers. He grabs my face, squishing my cheeks together, a serious look playing across his pudgy face, as if he’s really taking this all in. He nods and I continue, “I called her last week and I have an appointment tomorrow. It’s kind of scary.”
Braden shakes his head, saying “no, no, no, no” to the scary reference. “No, not like a monster, little buddy. Just new, I guess. It makes me more worried than scared.”
“S’okay.” The little bugger smiles at me and plants a big, wet sloppy kiss on my lips – cheese doodle crumbs and everything.
I swipe my face and then his with a baby wipe and pull him onto my lap. “I hope you’re right, B. Let’s just hope it’ll all be okay.”
We both sit there for a little while longer. Watching Maddy and Reid, Melanie and Bryan, and Lucy and Evan, goofing around as they play their game of volleyball, restores my faith that maybe, just maybe, things will turn out a little more than okay.
Tuesday on my lunch break, I sit in Dr. Baker’s waiting room. Knee bouncing in nervousness and everything, I’m not really sure what to expect. Scenes from every dramatized psychology session play on a loop in my head. Me lying on a couch with the doctor furiously scribbling notes in her file. That’s so not my scene. I’m not sure if my own counseling background makes me more or less nervous, but it’s affecting me nonetheless.
When my nerves get the best of me and I’m just about ready to jump ship, Dr. Baker opens her door and waves me over, calling my name. “Hi, Dylan. It’s nice to meet you.”
She holds her hand out to shake mine. “Dr. Baker,” I greet her. She’s tall and slender with bright blue, compassionate eyes that crinkle in the corner as she smiles at me. Glasses cover those kind eyes, only adding to the level of comfort and trust. I’m not a very good judge of age, especially when it comes to women, but the mostly grey hair at her temples suggests that she’s at least in her early fifties. Something about her immediately puts me at ease, something maternal and caring. Instantly, I can see why Reid would feel comfortable enough to meet with her.
We move into her cozy office. Books, some textbooks, some literature, line every imaginable space on the wall. I’m relieved when, instead of a full sized lay-down-on-me-and-tell-me-your-deepest-darkest-secrets sofa, I find two plush armchairs facing one another. There’s a small table set to the side of one with a box of tissues sitting on top of it.
I guess that’s where I’ll sit.
I push back in my chair, rubbing my hands over my thighs in nervousness. “Uh, well, I…” I stammer. She smirks at me; this is obviously not her first rodeo. If I was in the other chair, I’d probably be laughing as well.
“Why don’t we start small?” She smiles at me as she crosses her ankles, sinking back into her own seat. “Tell me a little about what you do for a living.”
I chuckle. “My job is very similar to what you do.” She shoots me a confused look before I clarify.
“I’m a counselor for Gay-Straight Alliance. My group and I work with local middle and high schools to present seminars and group counseling sessions.”
“That’s quite impressive, Dylan. You must be proud of your work.”
“I am. Very proud in fact.”
“Is that something you always wanted to do?” Dr. Baker leans back as she clicks on her pen and opens her folder.
“Not always. I mean I guess I always enjoyed helping people, but it wasn’t until after my freshman year of college that I made the decision.” Something about her puts me at ease and I don’t even realize I’m opening up about my past as I’m doing so.
“Did something spark the idea?” She’s good. I’ll give her that much credit.
I rub a hand over my face. Propping my ankle up on my other knee, I relax in my chair and make the conscious decision to just open up already. Eight years is too long to keep it all bottled up. Honestly, I have no clue how I’ve made it this long without a major breakdown. “My boyfriend committed suicide.”
Immediately, she clicks her pen closed, and slides her folder onto the table. After taking off her glasses, she pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head subtly. “Wow, I wasn’t ready for that,” she admits, straight-faced. After regaining the composure she seems to have lost, she asks, “How recently?”
“Just under eight years ago.” The words fly out of my mouth, seemingly unaware of how desperate they sound. A snicker slips out of my mouth as I rub my hand over my face. It’s a nervous gesture, not one that’s meant to be dismissive or mean. I think she understands that, because as I try to regain my composure, she waits patiently, wordlessly.
Without missing a beat, she keys into my body language, the one that screams of unease and guilt. “You blame yourself.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I’m caught off-guard by her straightforward approach. Stuttering, I spit out, “Well, uh, yeah, I mean I guess who wouldn’t, right?” It comes out defensive. Anger broils as she glances over my shoulder to the clock hanging on the wall behind me.
