That doesn’t work on this lady.
“Yes, that is what the ER doctor said. But your general practitioner tells a different story. In your intake form, you wrote that you have been experiencing high blood pressure. You’ve just started a business, and you’ve been working very hard at it, I imagine.”
“Obviously,” I say with my most practiced smile.
Temper, temper.
“You smile a lot,” she says.
“Why shouldn’t I smile? Life is good.”
“You’ve had a lot of practice at pretending life is good,” she says.
I scoff. “Pretending? No. I’ve had a lot of practice smiling, period.”
“Tell me about that.”
“My grandma put me in pageants when I was young.”
“Oh?”
“You’re looking at the Dogwood Festival Queen, four years in a row. I set them up with my smile, then knocked them down with my Chopin.”
“Do you still play the piano?”
“Every day like clockwork at 6 p.m. After dinner, I open the windows and serenade all the neighbors who are out on their porches.”
“A schedule makes you happy.”
“Staying busy makes me happy,” I say without thinking.
“Tell me about staying busy,” she says.
Keep a lid on it, Maddie.
“I opened my matchmaking business about two months ago, and right away I had several applicants. I do a pretty intense work-up on all my clients. In-person interviews and everything. At the same time, the mayor asked if I would be interested in helping organize the annual Valentine Dance in exchange for some free advertising, and I couldn’t say no to that. It was quite an undertaking. I had so many ideas. I guess you could say I worked myself to the bone, and I let certain things go. I was so tired that night that I was seeing things. I saw something that wasn’t there, and then I passed out. I was dehydrated, hungry, sleep-deprived…”
The counselor leans forward. “What did you see that wasn’t there?”
Shit. I really said that out loud.
I don’t speak his name out loud. Not ever.
I haven’t spoken it in eleven years.
“Ewan.”
“Who is Ewan?”
“My husband.”
Ms. Lapin blinks. “But he wasn’t actually there?”
I shake my head. “No. Ewan lives in Nashville, I think.”
“So, how long have you been divorced?”
“Separated,” I say quickly.
