“I cannot believe this is a hill you’d want to die on,” I mumble incredulously. I know Ari’s a little looser than most therapists—especially of her generation—but that’s aparticularlyloose take.
But she’s not even listening as she continues on. “He’s also not your patient anymore; you know him in a completely different context now, and you have an entirely different friend relationship that has nothing to do with your past professional interactions. So let’s cut the pretense that your avoidance of your attraction to this man has to do with some ethical boundary.”
“Okay, sure, let’s set that aside, even if I’m not sure I agree,” I say, giving in to her logic, since there’s no point in actually arguing with Ari; instead, my only tactic is to change the direction. “But beyond being neighbors—which is another reason that anything beyond friendship is a bad idea—knowing about his last relationship and just, you know,knowing him, I have no desire to get intoanythingwith him. Absolutely not.”
“Okay.” Ari shrugs, suddenly letting it go much more easily than I would have imagined. “Like I said, I’m just happy to see you opening up to people.”
“Yeah, me too,” I admit, still not sure why she’s suddenly accepted my answer.
She changes the subject back to my family and lets this particular thread go for the rest of our session.
But later, I find myself thinking about everything she said.
I can’t pretend I haven’t gotten closer to Eli; I can’t say that at this point he isn’t a real person in my life that I now tell some things to. And it’s confusing to suddenly go from having very few people I let into my life to having two new yet constant presences.
But I brush it off. As Ari says—it’s agoodthing. Maybe it just means that I’m growing.
I do wonder if we’ve maybe taken it a step too far, though, when I find myself the following Sunday, the last day of July, on the West Side Highway with a rented bike, a borrowed helmet, and encouragement from the one person I would’ve sworn I’d never trust for anything.
“Don’t I get training wheels for this?” I ask Eli, the long path ahead of me looking especially daunting. To my right is the Jersey skyline, rising up across the small waves of the Hudson River. In front is the glistening far-off Freedom Tower, improbably touching the clouds. But we’re not getting anywhere near it today—I’m not sure I can make it ten feet ahead, let alone the two miles it would take to get all the way downtown.
“You’re too old for that,” he says as he adjusts my seat.
“Why is it about age and not skill level?”
“Because you can balance more effectively now than you could when you were five or six,” he retorts, now checking the gears, as though the state of the bike is going to be my largest obstacle.
“I think you’re overestimating my athleticism.”
At that he looks up and gives me a cheeky grin. “I didn’t say you needed to be athletic to do this, don’t worry.”
I’m not quite sure how exactly we got here. The twists and turns of conversation have apparently failed me. How did bike riding even come up? I may have admitted that, because my parents are the kind of parents they are, I never learned how to ride a bike. It was like one of those essential childhood things that they simply forgot about and skipped over. Living in New York without a yard and with ample subway and walking access, it just wasn’t something that was necessary. And I never pushed.
But Eli pushes. In fact, I think Eli is now going toliterallyhave to push. He talked up the ease of renting one of the city’s perennial Citi Bikes, dotted around in any location we could want to start biking. He extolled the delight of Hudson River Park and its easy, wide bike paths for miles along the water’s edge of Manhattan. He pointed out the freedom I would have if I knew how to use a bike in the city. He’s so convincing. So adamant. So insistent.
So here I am, supposedly ready for action. I’ve got on my bike shorts and my favorite, billowy button-down with a front tie. I felt like maybe if I dressed as a casual, easygoing bike-riding gal, I could be one.
“Okay, so first things first, I just want you to hold your legs up, and I’m going to push you. Do you ever see kids on those balance bikes? That’s good for spatial awareness and gross motor skills and helps you get used to the concept of a bike.”
“‘Spatial awareness’?” I say, dubious.
“I don’t know—it worked for my niece, okay?”
“Your niece who is currently like six years old?” I ask, now doubting the steadfast nature of this plan.
He’s trying to stand taller, as though if he puffs out his frame, it’ll give him authority. For a decently tall guy, he really sometimes projects small-man energy.
“Well, why would it be any different?” he counters.
“Okay,” I give in, knowing there’s no use in arguing with him.
I swing my leg over the bike, and I can see him almost tell meGood job, but then he stops himself.Good.At least he has the minor self-awareness to know he shouldn’t patronize me right now.
“Okay, lift your legs up, and I’m going to push.”
I do as he says, and the whole thing is hilariously awkward. We look like a drunk circus act. It’s blessedly early enough that the bike lanes aren’t crowded. But people who actually know what they’re doing go around us while watching what we’re doing with bemused looks.
“Do you feel like you understand the balance?” he says after a while, huffing a little bit from the effort of pushing me and keeping me upright.
