“He never knows anything,” she says, waving my question away, and I laugh.
It is true that our building’s board sounds a lot more official than it is. We’re supposed to rotate every year, but considering no one ever actually wants to do it, a lot of the same people keep getting roped back in. Kwan has been the treasurer apparently for ten years now, because he worked in finance before he retired and he’s the only personwilling to even pretend to care about the building’s budget. Tom is the sort of do-gooder that keeps getting persuaded to stay on out of fealty to his neighbors. I did it one year and found myself bored to tears by our building management company’s frequent agenda items about tax statutes and building codes. I think most of the people who end up serving feel the same way and are doing it out of obligation. Kwan is a noble exception. Our building president, Hearn, seems to relish his little fiefdom and is probably half the reason why every meeting goes on too long. But while I think he’s pretty universally disliked by everyone in the building, no one wants to challenge him because no one wants to actually take on the required work.
“Well, I’m sure Eli means well,” I say, lamely attempting to be nice even while I’m trying to sabotage someone. “But yeah, we should all stay on top of the implications.” I look at my phone and catch the time. “I’ve gotta go. Thanks for the coffee.”
“Anytime, gorgeous.” She blows me a kiss, and I start walking back home to drop George off before heading to my office.
And that’s the beauty of starting my day. Whatever problems I have with J or Eli or my family, I’m well trained to leave them at my door and focus on my patients. My own life will have to take a back seat.
Chapter 6
“Why do you think it is that you’ve put more effort into plotting against your neighbor than in making a plan for how to reach out to a person you have romantic interest in?”
I look up at the clock to try and avoid Ari’s words. We still have five minutes left in our session, and I’m not sure which situation I’m hoping for more—if it ends quickly, then that means I’ll have to face Friday night Shabbat dinner at my parents’ sooner. But if it drags on, then I might have to actually deal with more of my own crap.
Unfortunately for me, I don’t get to decide the pace of time, so I’m stuck with everything.
“Can’t I do both?” I finally ask.
“You could, yes.” She leaves the rest of the sentence—but you’re not—unsaid.
I pick at my fingernails so I still don’t have to look at Ari. “I haven’t found a natural way to tell him I’m going to London.” I know it’s a weak excuse, but it’s kind of the truth. “It’s sort of a hard thing to slip into a conversation that’s usually about an advice column.”
“Let’s set a goal, all right?” she steers, ignoring my protestations completely. She always does this when she knows I’m waffling. I’m a task-oriented person, and I hate leaving a dangling thread. If she turns this into an assignment, she knows I’ll do it. I’m surprised she didn’t pull this tactic in the last few weeks, but maybe she felt I needed a minute to let the idea settle. After all, with J, it’s an addition, not just anobligation. Turning J into a real person when my life is already pretty great and stable is a potential complication that a part of me feels I don’t need.
Yet what Ari’s saying is small enough that it doesn’t feel like it’s going to upend anything.
“Okay . . . ,” I finally say, cautiously.
“Next Tuesday, when you get your edits back, mention your trip. You can also hedge by asking for his advice about where to go when you’re in town, and then just say, ‘Oh, and wouldn’t it be nice to grab a drink too!’ That way you mitigate the fear of rejection for yourself.”
“Therapist and dating coach now, huh?” I joke, avoiding again.
Ari leans forward in her chair and clasps her hands together. “It’s understandable that this is making you nervous. You’re used to your role as the rooted center, and taking a chance on someone is very much outside your comfort zone. But just because you exist among bigger risk-takers doesn’t mean you can’t take smaller risks for yourself too.”
I know this is pointed not just at J but at all parts of my life. Most of our session today, before this conversation, has actually focused on my family. At Ari’s insistence last week, I finally got my brother to stop evading my calls, and he agreed to come to family dinner tonight. I need to have an unpleasant conversation with my parents, and he owes me enough to be there for it. I’ve taken the lead on corralling our parents most of our life, but I’m tired of doing it alone. Ari helped me articulate that, and now she’s prepped me for what I need to do this evening.
Thank god for Ari and her inability to not share her opinion, because I always need it. And today I apparently need it across all dimensions, because she’s done double duty with my familyandJ.
“All right,” I say quietly. “I’ll mention it on Tuesday when I get back his edits.”
“You owe it to yourself.”
She sits back and watches me, as though by never letting her eyes drift off me, she’s making a point that I’ve been avoiding looking at her.
“I’m scared to lose this one easy, happy thing I have,” I admit.
“I know,” she says kindly. “But having something halfway also isn’t fulfilling. So don’t keep yourself in a holding pattern.”
With Ari’s advice rumbling below the surface, I rush from my session back to my apartment to grab George, and then I hop onto the bus heading east to my parents’ apartment. They’re lucky they bought their space thirty years ago, when everything downtown was cheaper. Although, in some ways, that dumb luck is part of why they keep acting the way they do.
I should be happy that they seem to scrape by without consequences, but it’s always one step from the edge. They’re like the Cat in the Hat, bumbling around having fun trying to balance insane things, and I’m that fish in the bowl just waiting to be dropped.
I enter their apartment with a knock and a shout hello. The smell of delivery Chinese food is wafting my way and relaxes my hackles. At least there’soneadvantage to our untraditional Friday night Shabbat dinner.
“Oh, honey, hi!” my mom shouts from the kitchen.
I walk over and give her a hug, setting down the black-and-white cookies I made last night. My mom squeals—whether at the cookies or my presence, we’ll never know—and she envelops me, her warm, zaftig figure pressed against me for longer than necessary, her wild, curly hair tickling my nose.
