“And I’m supposed to think you’re here because you’ve had a change of heart after walking with Gladys and now suddenly you don’t still think I’m an arrogant blowhard whose girlfriend was right to leave him? All that is now completely moot?”
I tap my foot, not sure if it’s nervousness, contrition, or irritation propelling the movement. “If you’d let me get a word in edgewise,” I finally get out, “I understand why you might be wary, but I’m not a person who starts fights with people. I’m the opposite of that. I don’t know why I let you get me so riled up the other week or this morning, but I don’t like it. It’s not who I am. So this is my olive branch. Can you justtake it?”
“Your capitulation?” he says with a laugh.
“Myolive branch!” I repeat, getting more frustrated by the second.
How does this man bring this out in me? With anyone else I can contain myself. I have so many agitating people in my life—look at my damn family and all their constant nonsense—but I think maybe because with him it’s purposeful, it’s harder to reel it in. Most people in my life who have a lot of emotional needs and boundary issues aren’ttryingto be that way. They just are who they are, and I’m the person they expect to catch them. But he’s antagonizing me on purpose. And enjoying it.
And apparently considering me. He’s watching me now, like he’s trying to answer a question without having to ask.
Then he leans over until his mouth is against my ear. It throws me off having him this close. That unexpected effect he’s had on me ever since I saw him in person isn’t going away. I can’t explain it, and I resent that he knocks me so off balance. But it’s undeniable that heat pools through me at the proximity. The bare chest and the towel aren’t helping.
“I wouldn’t have expected you to cave so easily,” he whispers in my ear, amusement laced into every note. “I thought you were a stronger adversary than that.”
I step back, trying to clear the tension he’s wound in me—that sensation of never quite being able to brush his gaze away—and trying to summon my usual clearheaded self. “This isn’t a game,” I say, and internally cringe at how much I sound like a boring schoolteacher keeping the kids in line. But at his delighted laugh, I can’t help but double down. “It’s not funny!”
“It’s alittlefunny,” he snorts.
“This is my life,” I say forcefully, letting the defensiveness that’s been snaking its way to the forefront finally burst out. I never let it, but apparently I’m full of surprises today. “You’re so entitled. You come here, to another country, with some apartment youinherited, and want to act like this isn’t other people’s actual homes. This isn’t some foray into cosplaying as a New Yorker. I live here. I have a jobthat I’m goodatwhere I help people with their emotional complexities, and I deserve to have this home that I’ve worked hard for. I’ve carved out this one peaceful space for myself, and you’re taking glee in trying to ruin it. You’reselfish.”
The outburst lands on him and spreads, as though he’s taken in every word slowly, and with each morsel the amusement slips away.
“Well, I’m glad we’ve decided to stay professional,” he says with a sad coldness I’m not sure I was prepared for.
“This isn’t a professional context,” I say weakly, while I simultaneously can’t help wondering if maybe going so far as to call him selfish was more than I should’ve said out loud.
But I can see him steeling himself again. So much of my work is noticing people’s masks when they raise and lower them, even when they don’t want people to see. Eli’s more obvious than most, even when he’s trying hard.
“Well then,” he says, standing up even taller. “I’m going to just continue my glee-filled cosplaying at New York life now, with my bagel and my privileged inherited apartment. Any other olive branches you want to yell at me?”
“Not anymore,” I say, all my good intentions having long since vanished.
“Great. Enjoy reading the proposal. Hope your friend finds some minutiae for us to argue over again. Maybe you can come yell at me about it at the roof party next Tuesday?”
He’s baiting me, expecting I’ll say I won’t come. I can’t tell which outcome he’s hoping for, though.
“Oh, I’ll absolutely be there,” I spit.
I turn around and storm away once again, all my plans for a peaceful restart having been summarily torched to the ground.
Chapter 10
“Imagine there was no ‘should’—what would actually work for you?”
I can see the wheels turning for Shauna, taking my unexpected question in, even as her wife, Cassie, blinks back at me, unsure.
I’ve found that most often in couples therapy, there’s one pusher and one watcher. Usually one person insisted on coming, then made the appointment, then is the one with a lot of thoughts and feelings that they spill out in the first half dozen sessions or so. Often the other person is just as off kilter, but doesn’t (or can’t yet) articulate it.
That’s how it’s been with Cassie and Shauna. They’re empty nesters, and Cassie’s the one who insisted on starting therapy. She’d shared right from the first session how Shauna didn’t help around the house; Shauna didn’t give affection; Shauna spent too much time on her phone; Shauna didn’t want to retire even though she and Cassie had agreed on it.
Shauna acknowledged every time that she should do more, pay attention more, give more. But she didn’t know how.
And that’s how today started too. It’s my last session of the day, so everyone’s already exhausted, and right off the bat, as usual, Cassie barreled in with “Shauna should’ve been on the call with me last night because then she’d know all the details instead of me having to relay them.”
Maybe it’s Ari rubbing off on me (although that’s a little frightening) or maybe it’s all my frustration with Eli nagging at me (somethingI haven’t been able to get off my mind), but instead of starting as we normally do, I think everyone needs a reset.
So I ask. I ask her to imagine there is no “should.”
