Dr. Ruben's lips quirk up in a corner. “She certainly made an impact on you.”
My eyebrows cinch. “How’s that?”
“You’re holding a grudge against her for what she said at your wedding.”
I make a face. “She was very rude.”
“How many years ago was your wedding?”
“Five.”
“Can you think of any reason why what she said five years ago still upsets you?”
I think back to that evening. The sage green pantsuit she wore, the large gold hoops tugging on earlobes that already sagged.
The answer hits me, square in the chest. Suddenly there are tears, running in paths down my cheeks, and I’m shocked by their appearance. No burning sensation, no tightening around the eyes, no warning whatsoever. Yet here they are, and there are so many I have no hope of removing them with a single swipe.
“She was right,” I whisper, taking the offered box of tissues from Dr. Ruben.
I blow my nose, a loud and unladylike honk, and wipe at my eyes.
Dr. Ruben gives me a moment, then asks, “What was she right about?”
I release a noisy, aggravated breath. “That we would fail.” I squeeze the balled up tissues in my hands, striped black with my mascara.
“We vowed to love each other through it all. I knew nothing of what that vow entailed. I had some vague notion it meant serious illness, like…like, cancer or dementia. It seemed intangible and far away.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No. It was not.” My heart aches, an organ in distress. Today’s appointment is the most painful of all, so far.
Dr. Ruben’s expression is one of sympathy. “Do you want to keep going?”
I nod, swallowing as I steel myself. Isn’t that what I do?
No matter what, I keep going.
CHAPTER 13
I’ve just arrivedat work, ten minutes until nine like always, when Joseph asks me for a moment in his office.
I settle across from him on the couch used by his patients. He’s bent at the waist, tying the stark white tennis shoes he favors. Every day he wears a variation of the same outfit: khakis, a cotton-blend mock neck sweatshirt over a long sleeve collared button up, and the shoes. I’ve fondly dubbed it ‘the uniform,’ and the joke has brought a smile to Joseph’s face on more than one occasion.
Joseph sits up straight, gaze falling to me at the same time his folded hands come to rest on his small paunch. Sunlight streams through his windows, making his bald head shine.
I’m positive I know why I’ve been called in here. I’m one month away from completing my hours, and soon I’ll be fully licensed. He needs another therapist so he can share the workload. As it is, he’s booking weeks out, and for some patients, that’s not helpful.
“I don’t want to take too many liberties here.” His measured tone fills the space. “But I think it’s safe to assume you enjoyworking here, in this office. Yes?” He sits back in his chair, settling clasped hands over his midsection.
I nod. “Very much, yes.” My palms rub together. I knew it.
“For some time now I’ve been thinking about what’s next for this office. And me.” He glances fondly around the walls. “Would you consider taking over half the practice after you’re licensed? Ideally, I could eventually transition out. The place would become yours.”
Disbelief tumbles through me. “I’m…uh… Well—” My brain scrambles to form a real sentence. “I don’t know. It’s a lot to consider. I’m just starting out, and having my own practice, it’s?—”
“You’d be fine. Great, even. The clients respect and trust you. You have an easy way with them. I’ve spent the better part of two years supervising your sessions. I wouldn’t consider you to partner with me if I didn’t think you are capable.”
My mind races back and forth, from the enormity of his offer to the logistics. Me, in charge of a business? The leader, the keeper of successes and failures?
