Alicia and Kent Doyle sit across from me. He is clean cut, his slacks free of wrinkles. Cuff links peek from the starched cuffs of his obviously expensive shirt. Alicia is well kept too, but exhaustion pulls at her eyes. They are both mid-thirties, andAlicia had their third child a year ago. They are here because life isn’t fun anymore, because they are noticing fine lines around their eyes, because they are exhausted and trying to understand if this is it for them, if they should dig in and do the work or raise the white flag.
If I had a quarter for every couple on this couch who fit this same mold, I’d…well, I’d have a ton of quarters.
This is their third appointment. In the time before everything in my personal life imploded, I’d have their intake papers memorized. I’d have strategies, coping mechanisms, ideas, advice. My ear and my heart would be open.
Not now. Not since Gabriel.
Each second listening to them bicker on my couch instead of their own feels like an hour. Alicia is crying. I’d like to tell her about my marriage and give her something to cry about.
“He said the ugliest thing to me yesterday,” she sniffles, and I push the tissue box closer to her. She takes one, but doesn’t use it. “He told me he doesn’t feel attracted to me anymore, because my breasts don’t look the way they used to. Can you believe that? He said I should get my boobs done.”
“I don’t know why you’re so hurt by that.” Kent throws up his arms, and I can tell they’ve been having this fight on repeat since he said it. “If you wanted me to”—he gestures at his lap—“make that bigger, and it was surgically possible, I would do it.”
It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes.
He continues. “You used to talk about having surgery. Now you act like my suggestion is coming from left field.”
I should be stepping in, calling for them to take a breath and think about where these desires are stemming from. But I don’t. Because the anger I’ve been pushing away? It’s awakening, and I’m afraid to open my mouth.
“That was after baby number two. I was having a hard time.” Alicia finally uses the tissue. “I’m feeling better now, and I like myself. I accept where I am and how I look.”
Kent lets out a frustrated growl. “Well, I don’t. I want your body back.”
Alicia dissolves into more tears. “What happens now? I have surgery or you’ll cheat on me?”
He shrugs. “This isn’t the life I expected. This is?—”
“Enough,” I shout, my arms extended, my palms open. Kent’s mouth snaps closed. Alicia’s red, swollen eyes widen.
“You,” I point at Alicia. “Get breast implants, don’t get breast implants. It doesn’tmatter. Life will find a way to fuck you no matter what you do. So do whatever you want, and do it for you only.” I turn on Kent. I hate his face. “You are a dickhead. You have placed value in your wife’s body, and no other part of her. She brought your three children into this world, and this is how you thank her? Your behavior says far more about you than it does about her.”
The door opens behind me. I know Joseph is standing there, watching my spectacular plummet into the grave I’m digging for myself, but I cannot stop. The damage is done, I may as well go out with a bang.
I look back to the wife. “Alicia, the alarm bells are sounding. Heed them.”
I get up and turn away from the couple on the couch. Joseph doesn’t look surprised. All I see in those eyes is pity.
I take my purse from my desk. I don’t feel bad. I don’t feel good. I am numb.
“Go home,” Joseph murmurs when I pass through the open door.
I spend the rest of the day alternating between sleeping and staring at the street, watching my neighbors live their normal lives. At five, my phone rings.
“Hi, Joseph,” I answer. “Before you say anything, please know I’m sorry for my outburst, and the shadow I’ve cast on our practice. Are the Doyle’s ok?”
“Hi. The Doyle’s are fine. Upset, and shocked, and the wife said she felt unsafe.”
I can hear the eye roll in his pause. He thinks people use the word too loosely these days.
“I explained to them you’d recently experienced trauma and you are on a path similar to the one they’re following.” He sighs. “More importantly, how are you?”
“You heard how I’m doing.” My voice is just above a whisper. “I really am sorry, Joseph.”
“I’m disappointed in myself. I was paying attention to you, but not close enough. I should’ve seen this coming.”
“It’s not your fault. I guess I’m better at surface-level appearances than I realized.”
“You’re good at many things, Avery. Appearing ok is one of them.”
