Bennylooksatmewith a soft, pouty smile as he leaves the break room. Ugh, that smile . . . those lips. I have this itching desire to press my face up against them. I feel myself staring at the door frame he was just leaning against.
“So . . .” Kate crosses her arms in front of me. “What’s going on there?”
“Hmm? What?” I drag my eyes from the door to hers—caught red-handed.
“Oh, come on! With you and Ben, what’s going on withthat?” She waves her hand in a circle.
“Umm . . . ” I bite my lip, and my cheeks flush atthat.Maybe it wasn’t too obvious. I’ve just about mastered my friendly work smile. I doubt it’s any different than how I smile at Benny . . . like he just rescued a lonely, stranded sea turtle. “We’re just becoming friends, I think.”
“No way that’s it. Benny doesn’t linger like that withanyone.”
“I think he’s just trying to be welcoming since I’m new.” I give her an innocent grin, trying not to fixate on the knowledge that he doesn’tlingerwith anyone else, but I’ve definitely noticed his lingering with me.
“You’ve been here two months.” She raises an eyebrow at me.
“New-ish?” I give an unconvincing smile.
She laughs. “Whatever, I’ll find out if you’re hiding something! Ask anyone, you can’t keep these things from me. Especially when it has to do withthat!” Waving her hand again.
“Thatwas just friendly smiling,” I say, waving my hand the same way.
“Thaaaaaat”—another wave—“was flirty-longing-pining-wish-I-was-yours kind of smiling!”
“Oh, please! It was not!”
Was it?
The center of my chest aches at the thought of his smile. The fact that nothing could happen between us, and the sheer disappointment I felt about it, was forcing itself to the forefront of my mind.
“Yes, it was! And what’s this? Doodling about him?” She snags the notebook I was mindlessly drawing in off the table.
“Not abouthim.” Not the full truth. “It’s about everything. I just doodle.” I look down at the smile doodles and differently shaped cups I drew mindlessly—a coffee cup with a small heart in the center is in plain sight for Kate to see. I shut my notebook to emphasize that it’s private.
“You doodle a lot.” She gives an astute observation.
“I do.”
“They’re cute.”
“Thanks.”
“Is it for fun?”
“It started that way, but over time, it became a way for me to deal with certain things, and concentrate on my clients.”
“Really? That’s cool!” She pulls out her Halloween binder, indicating to me we don’t have to continue the conversation if I don’t want to.
I’m grateful.
I haven’t shared my doodles with anyone—except Liam.
Doodling was for fun in college—when I was in a mind-numbingly dull class and needed a fun way to take notes. Liam encouraged me to keep doing it, as a stress reliever, and even after everything he did, I kept doodling. My dissertation in college was a research study on the benefits of drawing, and how it positively impacts recollection and the retention of information.
I loved it so much that I implemented it in my process as a psychologist. Doodling while a client opens up is an easy way to remember what they share without feeling the pressure to jot down as many notes as possible. And avoid cramping in my hand.
“You know, doodling is actually an effortless stimulation that increases the brain’s attentional capacity.” I hear the nerdiness and instantly regret my babbling words.
“Interesting, like a brain exercise with your hands?” Kate asks, sounding intrigued.
