Heyyy Kitty Kat! Want to get drinks tomorrow night? Or do you have late sessions on Tuesday? I forget.
Me
Hey B. Yes, please... drinks and a good catch up are sooooo in order. My last session ends at 6. Want to do Jaded Dragon at like 6:30?
Bea
Sounds good! See you tomorrow! XO
Me
See you then
Beatrice, or Bea, Collins has been my best friend since the first semester of graduate school. We had the same professional interests and specialization in pervasive personality disorders.
With long, wavy, golden blonde hair and the most gorgeous gray-blue eyes you’ve ever seen, Bea could have been asupermodel instead of a psychologist. Over the years, more than one of her patients developed an attraction to her, if not a full-blown crush. Bea had had a bit of a rough childhood, suffering abuse at the hands of her stepfather. She chose a career that allowed her to give back to others, keep her in healing mode, and staying “close to the light” as she put it. Funny that she chose me for a bestie. I was about as far from the light as you could get. Especially these days.
I had only had one serious boyfriend throughout undergrad and graduate school. Liam had broken up with me, leaving me for an eighteen-year-old freshman at WSU he met online. He did so the night before graduation, fucking up the day and my summer plans perfectly.
Though, I couldn’t say I was shocked. Liam had always said I was too standoffish and distant. He had informed me that I had “intimacy issues” whatever the fuck that meant. So I didn’t like giving him blowjobs. It just never felt right. And towards the end of the relationship, I had started to physically bristle at his touch.
While upset, I still got on okay during that time after our split. I took the breakup as a sign from the universe to continue along my chosen path. To keep bettering my understanding of people and meeting them in their pain. In their darkness. It’s where I thrived.
The way I processed my breakup with Liam stood in stark contrast to this period after my father’s death. Back then, I had leaned on my albeit small community, and on Bea. I made it a point to go out to dinner and drinks, to reach out regularly for support, and take care of myself.
Since Dad’s funeral, however, I haven’t seen a single soul except Bea, my contractor, and my patients. I also haven’t eaten a square meal in weeks—unless you counted stale crackers and Sauvignon Blanc—which I feel most people would not.
Just then my stomach gives a twisting growl, and I realize that I can’t remember the last time I ate. Briefly, I consider ordering some delivery for dinner, but I wonder if the driver could even find the house. It was a solid forty-five minutes from the city on a good day with no traffic. I settle for some cold, sliced cucumbers, and another glass of wine.
Back in my bedroom, I pick out an outfit in my signature color for drinks tomorrow night with Bea: black leather leggings, black suede wedges, and a black cashmere sweater with a deep V-neck. I lay the garments across the top of my armoire door and settle in for bed. I notice something on the floor by the French doors that catches my eye. I can tell by the shape it isn’t a spider or bug.
As I approach, the outline comes into focus more clearly: It’s a flower bloom. I bend over to gently pluck it off the plush rug. I can tell right away that it is a coastal rhododendron. I grew up seeing their vibrant pink pops of color laced within bird’s nests in the forest. Occasionally, I would stumble upon a little clump of them growing wild by the forest’s edge and braid them into my long hair. I didn’t pick them often, though. I preferred that they stayed untouched—wild, and free.
The words “we find what we need when we need it”echo in my head. The phrase my father used to say to Rae and me so often growing up.
Holding the flower to my chest, I scan the room, taking stock. How it got in here, was the real question. Perhaps it blew in from the French doors the other day. Strange that I would just notice it now, though.
I slip the bloom onto my nightstand, laying it next to my book. A battered old copy ofA Pocket Full of Ryelies open on my bedside table. A hazy, fleeting memory passes through my head. Then, thinking again, I wedge the flower between two pages and close the book.
I believe in always reading one classic in addition to whatever modern fiction novel I’m knee-deep in at any given time. I like to think that it balances me out.
Though in reality, my mood stabilizer probably does a better job of that than anything else.
I pull my dark hair into a loose bun at the crown of my head, double-check my alarms for tomorrow morning, and turn out the light.
2
DRAGON
KAT
Pulling open the heavy doors to The Jaded Dragon, I spot Bea already seated at the bar. She wears an airy cobalt blue top, and her long blonde hair flows in loose waves midway down her back.
I smile as I slide onto the tall black leather barstool next to her.
“Hi Kitty Kat!” she chirps in her usual sunny greeting.
“Hey, Bea,” I murmur, giving her cheek a quick kiss.
