I can’t see Jo, but I imagine she’s looking at me as if I’ve just said I’m downsizing my closet in favor of a capsule wardrobe. “What do you mean?”
I pause beside the office door and bang my forehead gently against it. Unfortunately it doesn’t knock any sense into me. “I don’t even know, to tell you the truth.”
“Well,” Jo says after a long moment of silence, “if you’re interested in finding out, I have a great idea.”
I don’t even bother lifting my head to look at her when I speak. “If that idea begins with aTand rhymes with... Oh, forget it, I can’t think of a good rhyme. If you’re suggesting therapy, I don’t want to hear it.”
“I’m just saying, it might help.”
I make a fart noise with my mouth before crossing the room to slump into my chair. “Pass. Any ideas that don’t involve paying money to spill my guts to a stranger?”
It’s not that I have anythingagainsttherapy. I’m sure it’s helpful for other people. I just never saw the point. My parents tried to get me to go to family therapy with them after I busted my knee and found out about the debt Dad sank all of us in, but I’d managed to get out of it. I had my reasons. One, we didn’t have money for therapy. And two, I didn’t see the point. How could talking to someone I didn’t know help me with my very real-life problems? Why did a stranger have to be involved in our family’s business? Could a therapist fix my credit?Could they find me an apartment I could afford? Rescue my athletic career?
No, they couldn’t.
And even though the situation with Ollie is completely different, I don’t see how a therapist can help with that either.Yes, hello, therapist, my name is Nina Lejeune, and I can’t commit to the man I love because I have daddy issues.How boring! How common! How small and insignificant when there are people out there, people likeJo, who have had so much more to overcome.
Besides, therapy is very much in opposition to my rules. One, it isn’t fun. And two, it essentiallyrequiresme to rely on another person. Thanks, but no thanks.
“What?” I say when I catch Jo staring at me.
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
“Depends.”
“Why do I get the feeling there’s something you aren’t telling me?”
“Oh Josephine,” I say. “There’s so much I haven’t told you.”
“Like what?”
“Well,” I say, sitting up straighter in my seat, “for one, I never told you that before I was a yacht stewardess, I was a gymnast. A good one. Almost went to the Olympics twice.”
Jo doesn’t look surprised, which is surprising. “Yeah, I know that.”
“What? How?”
“You really think I’ve never googled you before? Everyone knows that about you. Heck, Greyson has a whole playlist of your routines saved. Alex was pretty surprised when he found out. That Greyson has a playlist,” she adds. “The gymnastics thing didn’t surprise him at all.”
“You never told me you knew! None of you!”
“Why would we? You never talked about it, so we figured you didn’t want us to know.”
“You have a point,” I say. I clear my throat. “Well, if this one doesn’t surprise you, then I’m convinced you’re a mind reader.”
“Lay it on me,” Jo says. She sets her elbows on her knees and leans forward, chin propped in her hands.
“Ollie and I weren’t just together... we were... well,are... married.”
“You’re not!”
“We most certainly are. Nine years last month.”
I’m glad Jo is sitting, because one of her elbows slips off her knee and she nearly falls from her chair. “Nine... I don’t know what to say.”
I tell Jo the whole sorry story. About my dad. About meeting Ollie. About our deal, though I leave out why Ollie wanted to avoid being sent back to Ireland. That part isn’t mine to tell. When I tell her about what was really happening belowdeck the night Ollie and I caught her with champagne in the galley, she smacks my shoulder and calls me an asshole.
“I amnota sign that you shouldn’t be with the love of your life! What the fuck, Nina?”
