“With the therapist you’ve already been seeing? No way, we need neutral ground.”
“Why do you think this is going to be some sort of ambush? I haven’t been complaining about you. She’s just going to give us tools to start our marriage right.”
“See. Scam,” Michael said.
I took a sip of my beer, already forgetting my stomach was too empty to add another helping of alcohol. My head was starting to feel a little spinny.
“It’s not a scam,” Tara said. “Therapy has helped me so much. Going together will only bring us closer, help us learn how to fulfill our specific needs.”
“Please,” he said with a groan. “I bet two strangers could go to couples therapy and she’d give the same generic advice. She probably wouldn’t even know they were strangers.”
“Not true,” Tara said.
I shook my head, silently backing her up. The bartender came over to check on us, and I asked, “Do you have peanuts?”
“Seems like you need popcorn,” she replied under her breath, giving a quick nod toward Tara and her fiancé. With those words she left, without supplying either of the aforementioned snacks. I took another drink.
“How much you want to bet?” Michael asked.
“What?” Tara responded.
“Two strangers, a neutral therapist, couples therapy.”
“Oh, wow,” I said with a laugh. He was really getting creative in his avoidance. What ghosts did this man not want flying out of his closet?
“It’s not a bad idea,” Villain Pretty Boy agreed, giving me an eyebrow raise as if we were somehow enemies and he’d just won this round.
“It’s a terrible idea,” I said, fulfilling my side of the roles he’d put us in.
“What are the parameters of the bet?” Tara asked, seeming to give in to this completely inane suggestion.
“Four sessions?” Michael said. “If the therapist doesn’t know they’re strangers, or at the very least, not in a relationship, after four sessions, I win and therefore don’t have to go to therapy.”
“And if she figures it out?” Tara asked.
“Then we’ll go, like you want.”
She clapped her hands as if this wasn’t the most unhinged idea on the planet. Like this was somehow romantic and chivalrous.
God bless the unsuspecting therapist who gets roped into this mess. Let her know in session one she’s dealing with foolishness.
I chuckled at my internal thoughts. I was tipsy. I needed to stop drinking, I thought, as I took another gulp.
“Now we just need a couple of strangers.” Tara’s eyes swung to me just as her fiancé slapped Villain Pretty Boy on the back.
“Not it,” he said.
“Leave me out of this,” I concurred. Even newly minted enemies could agree once in a while.
“You both had pretty strong opinions. How about backing them up?” Michael said.
I laughed. “I have nothing to prove.”
Tara’s shoulders fell as though for a moment she had hope and now it was gone. Guilt wiggled in my chest, a memory from high school trying to take root there. I pushed it down.
“I’ll pay for the sessions, of course,” Michael said, leaning forward and looking around Tara to me. “Think of it as the therapy you believe in so much, but for free.”
I shook my head. “Nope. I won’t even be in town for four weeks.” That was a lie. The fact that my mom could hardly sit up without becoming dizzy, could barely eat on her own right now, let alone drive herself to physical therapy and doctors’ appointments, was an indicator that I’d be here at least four more weeks. Probably more.
