“Where do we go from here?”
“Here’s what I’m thinking. You take an extended leave of absence. I’ll hold down the practice.”
Guilt settles like a boulder in my stomach. “But you were supposed to retire this year.” He’d been waiting for me to feel comfortable on my own, transitioning his clients to me one by one.
Joseph’s life has been affected by Gabriel, too.
“Shit happens.” He says it offhandedly, but it must be a crushing disappointment. “You return when you feel better. But on one condition.”
“What?”
“Go to therapy.”
How ironic. “Do you have any recommendations?” I wish it could be with him, but there’s a conflict of interest.
“I know the perfect person for you. I’ll send you his info.”
“Thank you, Joseph. For understanding. And for treating me kindly instead of being angry at my behavior.”
“The world could use a lot more kindness, Avery. Take that with you as you go.”
We hang up. A text message from Joseph comes through. He has shared a contact with me.Dr. Ruben Sandoval.
I go into the kitchen to make dinner. There’s very little in the pantry, and even less in the fridge. Gabriel was always the cook, and when he was on shift at the station, I ordered in or bought prepared food.
I end up eating cheese and stale crackers for dinner. Instead of mindlessly scrolling my phone and hating everything I see, I get out the Cooking For Beginners cookbook my sister gifted me last year for Christmas. At the time, I’d given her a dirty look and she’d laughed. Never did I think I’d be putting it to use.
Then I do something so basic, so banal. I make a grocery list.
SESSION FIFTEEN
DESERT FLOWER THERAPY
“That’s how I ended up here, on your couch.” I pat the velvet cushion. Am I relieved to have concluded the tale? I don’t think so. ‘Listless’ might be the right word to describe how I feel.
Dr. Ruben nods. “That is quite the story.”
“I wish it weren’t mine.” I try to push away the lifelessness in my limbs, but they are leaden.
“Well, sure.” He leans forward. “Having already trained as a therapist and practiced as one for a few years, you know most of what I’m going to say to you. The trick now will be putting it all into practice.”
I have an idea what Dr. Ruben’s advice will be, but he’s surprised me a number of times since our sessions began. “What are you going to say to me?”
“You should have a conversation with your dad”—he lifts a hand because I’m opening my mouth to argue—“even though you don’t want to. Either confront him, or let it go. He caused you hurt after your mom died, and you’re hurting yourself now by holding on to that.”
“And Gabriel? I guess I need to let go of all that hurt, too?”
“Eventually. It’s still relatively fresh. You won’t move forward, if you hold it close.”
“Do I want to move forward?”
“Don’t you?”
“Honestly, I still can’t imagine a life that doesn’t include Gabriel.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re living one now.”
I smile wryly. “All his clothes hanging in our closet would beg to differ.”
