I nod in confirmation.
Her eyebrows rise a notch, impressed. “You must have something pretty big to tell me. So spill it. I’ve been appropriately subdued with eggy goodness.”
I take in a deep breath, my stomach rolling as I brace myself to say the words. “I…had sex.”
Dr. Sandra laughs, taking this as a joke—which I understand, since this is exactly the kind of joke that I might have made in one of our previous visits. But as she sees my lack of amusement, she quickly sobers, straightening a bit and shifting subtly into therapist mode. “Okay. That’s a big development. How do you feel about that?”
Bless her, I know she’s dying for the details, but I appreciate her checking in with how I’m doing first. “I’m fine. A little disappointed, I guess.”
She grimaces sympathetically. “If it’s any consolation, most people’s first time isn’t great. There’s such a big buildup around it, and it’s such a new experience—it can be hard for it to live up to the fantasy. But with time and practice?—”
I shake my head to let her know that isn’t the issue. “No, it was good.” Unwittingly, memories from that night come back to me—the urgency and intensity, Thad’s body moving against mine, inside mine—and I shake my head, drawing in a breath. “I…enjoyed it.”
Dr. Sandra furrows her brow. “Okay, so what was disappointing about it?”
This is the part I’ve been dreading. A knot forms in my chest, making it difficult to breathe, to speak. “Well, I guess for starters, Thad and I aren’t together anymore?—”
“Thad?!” Dr. Sandra catches herself, clearing her throat before adding in a more subdued, professional tone, “The bounty hunter posing as a library patron to try to capture your brother. He was your first time?”
Dr. Sandra must have known I was traveling with Thad and helping him find my brother, since her husband helped Molly create her new identity and go into hiding, but there were obviously a lot of missing gaps in the story that she had not been privy to.
I nod, wondering where to possibly begin. “It’s complicated but…we got to know each other a little better during that New Orleans trip. I think we fell in love with each other? At least, I fell in love with him.”
Dr. Sandra is doing her best not to prod me on, to just let me tell the story, but I can tell she’s confused and dying for some answers. “So…what happened?”
“I think he was afraid of something happening to me, because of his job. At least that’s what he said.”
“Do you believe him?”
I consider the question. “Yes. I mean, I think it was a stupid reason, but I believe thathebelieved it was true.”
“But now you’re disappointed that you’re not together.” Dr. Sandra’s voice is kind, sympathetic. A truer testament, though, to the fact that she’s really listening, is that she hasn’t yet taken another mini quiche.
Again, I consider her words, then shake my head slowly. “No, that’s not it. I mean, yes, I am disappointed about that. I’m heartbroken about that, if I’m being honest. But I guess it’s a bigger sense of disappointment, more generally.”
“What do you mean?”
I suck in a breath, trying to find the right words. “All this time, I felt so behind everyone else because I hadn’t experienced the things that most people have experienced by my age. Love. Sex. Relationships. I guess I thought if I checked those boxes, then—I don’t know. I would be caught up. Everything would make more sense. But I fell in love. I had sex. I hadgoodsex?—”
I must say this part a little too emphatically, because a passing jogger gives me a double take. Grimacing, I sink down a little lower on the bench, waiting until they’ve passed to continue. “I did all the things I’ve been waiting to do, and nothing’s really changed. I’m still me.”
Dr. Sandra nods, taking this all in. “Sex doesn’t fix everything. They should really write that on the condom packaging, shouldn’t they?”
“Yep.” I take one of my own mini quiches, biting into it balefully.
For a moment, we sit in silence, eating delicious, savory, pastry goodness and staring out at the water. Then Dr. Sandra breaks the silence. “I can see why that outcome would be disappointing. But here’s another way to look at it—if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
I’m not really sure where she’s going with this, so I just take another bite of quiche and wait for her to elaborate.
“You started enjoying the pleasure of my company because you had some hang-ups about some life experiences you’d missed out on. There was nothing wrong with you—there was never anything wrong with you. In fact, in strictly medical, professional terms, you were what we like to call ‘awesome sauce.’ And now? You’ve had the sex, and the romance, and the heartbreak—all those big life experiences you were afraid you’d missed out on. And even after all that? You’re still awesome sauce. You’re feeling disappointed because it didn’t change anything in your life, butyounever needed changing. All of those things, they’re just experiences, like going to the Eiffel Tower or running a marathon. They can enrich your life, or cause you a lot of unnecessary effort and pain, but they won’t change who you are essentially. You’re Helen, with or without sex, with or without a bounty hunter or any other romantic partner in your life.”
The words, the kindness behind them, brings unexpected tears to my eyes. I haven’t let myself cry over Thad since I left New Orleans. I haven’t let myself cry forme, for all the jumbled emotions of everything that happened. But now, with these words of encouragement and support, I finally let myself break down, the emotions flooding loose.
“Oh, hon.” Dr. Sandra pulls me into a hug, rubbing my back with practiced, maternal affection. “You know I literally could have him killed, right? Or at least audited by the IRS.”
I’m not entirely sure that she’s joking, but I laugh through my tears, grateful for the support, however unprofessional. “I’ll keep that in my back pocket. Just in case.”
Chapter 47
