Blaire Pritchard, MHRM, BBA, Director of Human Resources at Info-Tech Inc, PTA President, Proud Mom of Hannah and Will
* * *
Text to Diana and Rachael: Hey ladies, thanks for brunch yesterday. You have no idea how much I needed that. I found a therapist, and as luck would have it, he had a cancelation so he can fit me in tomorrow.
Diana: That’s wonderful! Hurray for you!
Rachael: HE? You went with a man?
Jessica: He had the highest rating on Google, and the reviews were glowing.
Rachael: That’s because he probably badgers his patients into leaving reviews.
Jessica: Well, I have the appointment and I’m not going to cancel just because he’s got a penis.
Diana: I’m sure he’ll be very helpful, Jess. Good for you.
Rachael: Yes, good for you. But if he isn’t helpful, let me know. I’ll ask my kids’ therapist if she knows a woman who could help you.
Jessica: Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.
* * *
Oh God, how did I end up being late again? When I left the house, I had so much time to get here.Jessica rushed up the sidewalk, tightening her coat around her waist to block out the cold wind. Not wanting to expose the skin on her hands to the chilly, wet air while she took out her phone and checked again, she went with her memory, swinging open the door to the Madison Building on E. Pike Street and hurrying down the hall to number 104. It was 104, wasn’t it? Not 106. Yes, she was sure it was.
Here she was, four minutes late and would be all sweaty and frantic when she arrived at Dr. Harris’s office for her first therapy session, which wasn’t the impression she wanted to make at all. She had planned on showing him that she was capable, strong, and only in need of the tiniest bit of guidance as to how to get her groove back. Now she was going to seem like someone on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and he was going to suggest she needed two appointments per week instead of one every few months.
104. There it was. She twisted the knob on the old wooden door and hurried inside the small office. An empty reception desk sat directly in front of her with nothing suggesting its owner would return anytime soon. No steaming cup of tea, no plants or framed photos of loved ones. Other than the computer, the desk was bare. Behind her, three empty chairs lined the wall, with a small wooden side table tucked in the corner.
To her left was a door with frosted glass framed by dark polished wood. It was open a crack and she could hear someone moving around on the other side. Surely Dr. Harris wouldn’t leave the door open if he was in a session with someone. She walked over and rapped on it lightly with her knuckles.
“Come in.”
Drawing a deep breath, Jess pushed the door open and walked in.Apparently I’m in need of therapy now.Might as well get this over with.She offered the man behind the large mahogany desk a bright smile. “Hello, sorry I’m late. I had trouble finding a place to park.” That was a lie. A Buick had pulled out of a metered parking spot just as she approached it. Her cheeks warmed at the lie. Could he tell? Of course he could. His job was to be able to tease apart fact from fiction.
He offered her a polite smile and gestured for her to take a seat in one of the two chairs opposite him. Chairs only, no couch. Didn’t all therapists have a couch or was that just in movies? Dr. Harris wasn’t what she was expecting. She had imagined a softer-looking man sporting a beard and a cardigan with leather elbow patches. Instead, the man before her was clean-shaved, had a button-up shirt and tie on, and looked to be younger than her, but not by much. He was handsome too, which somehow offended her. Therapists weren’t supposed to be good looking. They were supposed to be plain motherly (or fatherly) types. Comforting. Safe. Not someone who had sex after a long day of listening to people whine about their lives. And this man looked like he definitely would not have any trouble getting someone to have sex with him.
Hardly about to tell him she didn’t want to receive therapy from someone inherently attractive, Jessica chose the chair to her left and took a seat. Suddenly swallowed up by guilt, she said, “Actually, I lied. I didn’t have trouble finding parking. I just … left the house too late. I have this bad habit of thinking I can get more things done in less time than they’ll take. It drives my husband nuts. He says it’s because I have poor time management skills, but I prefer to think it’s because I’m an optimist.”
Dr. Harris’s jaw dropped, but just a little. Oh dear. He was horrified by her lack of scruples. She scrambled to add, “I won’t make a habit of lying. I don’t know why I lied in the first place. Well, actually I do. I wanted to make a good impression. I also won’t be late again. I promise. I am capable of being on time.”
“Okay, that’s good to know,” he said, sitting back in his chair.
“So, where should we start?” she asked, glancing at the bookshelf that lined the wall to her left. It was packed with neatly arranged leather-bound hardbacks that reminded her of something you’d see in a lawyer’s office, not that of a psychologist.
“Did you bring your resume?”
Pinching her eyebrows together, she said, “No. Is that customary?”
He blinked a couple of times, then answered, “Yes. I’d say so.”
“Can I email it to you after?”
“Sure,” he said, glancing down at his desk. He opened a file folder and opened his pen with a satisfying click. “In that case, why don’t we start with who you are.”
“Oh, all right. So, we’ll just jump right in,” Jess said, her stomach fluttering a little. “That’s a loaded question.”
“Is it?” Dr. Harris asked, raising an eyebrow at her.
