"I will."
"Not today. I've canceled your appointments. I need you to go home, shower, and do what you need to do to freshen yourself up. I can't have you here smelling like you just crawled out of a bar."
"You canceled my appointments?"
Leena is a very straightforward kind of person. She doesn't say things to get a rise out of people. She has obligations and fulfills them, doing what she must.
"Go home, August." Her tone is blunt, and her words are direct. Unlike my emotions, which are unforgiving as tears stream down my cheeks. I never cry.
"I'm sorry," I offer.
"As am I. Go take care of yourself, please."
Feeling ashamed of my actions, I collect my belongings and quietly head for the door, hoping to avoid a scene.
While pulling out of the driveway, I remember telling Willa to meet me downstairs after her shower, and yet, here I am, going home. I'm letting her down but without a choice.
Keegan always let me down, by choice.
Maybe letting Willa down was my choice. The line is becoming blurry.
Emily Packerton, Psychologist, DMFT (Doctor of Marriage and Family Therapy)—the nameplate has never changed in the four years I’ve been coming through but today is the first time I'm walking through this door alone. We needed counseling before we even discussed marriage. If Keegan and I hadn't been together since high school, I would have seen the red flags. Couples should not be in counseling unless they are trying to work through a committed relationship.
I read the book, "He'sJust Not That Into You," but it wasn't clear in my case. I'm not sure if Keegan was not devoted enough or if it was the alcohol taking on a life of its own and swaying his attention away from me. When he went through his sober times, he was all about me. Keegan loved me and showed it. It was like he had two personalities.
Dr. Packerton runs her practice alone, so the office space is small and intimate. The waiting room can seat four people at max, and her office is about the same size.
The walls are a soothing blue, perfectly trimmed with white finishes. A vase of yellow daffodils sits perfectly in the center of the dark-oak coffee-table, but the room smells more of lilac. It must be an air freshener. And there's soft meditative music, sounding like Mayan wind instruments, harmonizing with each other, to relax anyone sitting between these four walls. Unfortunately for me, the music isn't working.
Dr. Pakerton's door opens with a quiet swift movement. I wouldn't have known she was standing in the doorway if I was facing the other way. She seems happy to see me, but I can only imagine the thoughts running through her head. Keegan isn't here. I haven't called to tell her what happened, but part of me assumes she may have found out from a different source, considering she has been treating us, and he committed suicide.
Dressed in charcoal tapered slacks, white stockings, and flower-decorated flats, she pushes the sleeves of her simple white blouse up a few inches to the center of her forearms as if she's about to dig into a load of crap. "Come on in, August." Her voice is soothing, a perfect match for the room's vibe, but even a soft hum is like the hammering of a nail inside my head.
I take a seat on the pastel blue couch, accessorized with pale orange throw pillows adorned with various coordinating patterns.
"Before we get started, I'd like to say how very sorry I am for Keegan's passing. I can only imagine what you must be going through right now."
How can she imagine? Has she lost a boyfriend of thirteen years to suicide? Probably not. "How did you find out?"
"I received his medical records since he was a patient of mine."
"Oh," I respond.
"August, do you want to tell me how you're feeling?"
I am inconsolably sad. What does Dr. Pakerton think I'm feeling? Besides, didn't she just say she can assume how I'm doing? If she can, why is she asking? "Horrible, but relieved."
Her eyes do that thing where she wants to show a human reaction to my response, but at the same time, needs to remain professional without judgment. "I see. Why do you think you're relieved?"
I feel the need to smirk because it seems obvious to me, yet I should be sitting here crying my eyes out, according to everyone else. "I was Keegan's water well, Dr. Pakerton. He drained me until there was nothing left. Then, he died of thirst. I knew something was going to happen. It was only a matter of time. It was a waiting game, and there was no winner."
Dr. Pakerton inhales sharply through her nose, crossing one leg over the other knee and folding her hands on top of her thigh. "That makes perfect sense, August. I know you were the giver. You had the patience of a saint, never spoke negatively about him, offered him a team spirit, and stood by his side. You did everything a person could do for another. It is perfectly understandable to feel relieved."
I feel reassured just to hear her say this. I didn't think anyone would understand my feelings. "Thank you."
"I do have a concerning question for you, though?"
"What's that?" I respond.
