She nods before taking a big bite. I watch her truly enjoy the very simple treat and wonder if I ever look that happy.
After washing down the scone with a few sips of her iced latte, she says, “It’s the little tricks in life that make it bearable, don’t you think?”
When I don’t respond, she adds, “You know, like the butter and heating up the scone to make it less dry.”
“Oh, yes. Definitely.”
Something about the way she said that thing about the life tricks made me think she meant something else. I don’t know what, though. Maybe if I knew her better I’d understand.
“Are you okay? You seem distracted today,” Kelsey says.
I know I shouldn’t say anything about what’s on my mind, but it’s not like she’s part of my social circle, so why not? It’snot like she’s one of those mothers I see all the time at practice. To them, I wouldn’t speak a single syllable about what may be wrong with my life.
This woman, on the other hand, gives me the impression she wouldn’t be judgmental like they would. I focus on her scars and think about how she’s likely been on the receiving end of countless looks of judgment because of them. That’s probably why she seems so understanding.
The problem is, though, I haven’t spoken the truth about my life or my marriage for so long that I’m not sure I know how to do it. God forbid any of those mothers I see every day ever found out what Connor and I owe on that house or how little we actually speak to one another these days. I know what they’d do. They’d put that expression each of them has perfected to show their superiority. It’s a look of pity, and I’d rather die than see that when they think of me.
I’m not someone to be pitied. I have everything a woman could ever want. A husband who makes good money. A beautiful home that’s as lovely as any in our development. Two incredible daughters who excel at everything they try.
There’s no reason to pity me. Save that for people like Maris and that poor child of hers that is likely going to miss making the gymnastics team. They deserve pity, not me.
Kelsey reaches her hand across the table and gently touches my finger. “I know we don’t really know each other, but I’m told I’m a good listener. Feel free to take advantage of that. You look like you need to get something off your chest.”
As I look into her dark eyes and try not to stare at the scar on the left side of her face that appears very obvious today, I think she could be the only person I could unburden myself to around here. Connor never wants to hear about any problems, and all those mothers who call themselves my friends would use what I say against me.
It would be nice to talk to someone about things.
With a smile, I let out a heavy sigh I’ve been keeping in for what seems like years. “I have so much, so complaining makes me feel like I’m not being grateful enough for all the good things there are in my life.”
Kelsey nods as I talk, and when I finish, she says, “I understand. I can tell you live with gratitude. You can tell people who are selfish a mile away, and I can promise you that’s not what I see in you, Jamie.”
Relief washes over me. I’d be mortified if I thought people viewed me as a selfish, ungrateful person.
“Thank you. I try. I know there are many people in the world who would give their left arm to have all I have. It feels silly even thinking of complaining.”
Again, she nods. “It’s okay if you don’t feel comfortable telling me about what’s on your mind. We barely know each other.”
As if my brain has no way of controlling my mouth, I blurt out, “But that’s why I think I want to. I think someone who knows me would be biased. You wouldn’t be.”
She takes a bite of her scone and then a sip of her latte before she responds. “That’s true. That must be why therapists work. They don’t know their clients personally, but they want them to be happy.”
I smile at her comment. She’s right. That’s why telling her what’s on my mind might be helpful to me. I’ve never thought I had anything wrong that warranted a therapist, but what harm could it cause telling Kelsey what’s bothering me?
For a few moments, I try to decide how to explain what I’m dealing with, but every way I come up with sounds like whining. Finally, I say, “It’s just that I don’t want to come across as a woman who doesn’t see all she has.”
That gets me a big, warm smile that instantly makes me feel better. “You don’t have to worry about me thinking that about you. Trust me.”
A year ago I would’ve smiled and thanked her without going any further. Today, though, I need to talk to someone about my life right now.
I look around to see if anyone at the nearby tables may be able to hear me, but there’s no one close enough, thankfully. Lowering my voice, I decide to simply state what’s on my mind.
“It’s just that I didn’t imagine my life like it’s turned out.”
Kelsey likely believes I’m being intentionally cryptic. In truth, I’m unsure how to word the real issue I’m dealing with concerning every part of my life.
When she doesn’t say anything, I continue, silently praying to God I don’t sound like one of those bratty women who complain when they have it all. “It’s just that I…maybe I had an idea of what my life would be, and now I have to figure out how to handle the truth that it isn’t that at all.”
That doesn’t add anything to her understanding, so I’m happy when she doesn’t stare across the table at me and say, “Cut to the chase already!”
