Now he’s asked her out on a date on Friday, and her even considering going is fantastic progress. And the fact that I’m available on Friday to go and make sure everything runs smoothly puts me at ease. She’ll be safe on the first date she’s had since her ex was incarcerated and the divorce finalized.
“And with your emotions involved?”
“I can’t understand why he would want to take me out. I mean, I’m not very fun. I don’t dress up or anything. I’m just rebuilding, and it’s taking so long. He’ll run out of patience soon, so why bother getting my hopes up?”
I nod. “Although I don’t believe those things are true. I do understand why you would feel that way, and honestly, it’s not an uncommon reaction. You’re taking a risk by allowing yourself to be in a position to be hurt again, to be taken advantage of. So you’re using old insults and excuses that Trevor would have said to you to avoid trying something new.”
She laughs. “Aren’t you supposed to convince me to go?”
I smile. “Not at all. What I want doesn’t really matter, Helen. You already know if you want to go. And you already know if you’re going to act on that want or not.”
“I do? Then what am I paying you for?”
I shrug, laughing, folding the notepad over on my lap, indicating our session was coming to an end. “Beats me. Perhaps another thing to think about. You’ve made great progress. Now, as you said, you’re just rebuilding. I can help you with that, or you can do it alone. It’s really up to you. It’s your life, Helen.”
She stands up, picking up her purse as she heads to the door. “Oh, Dr. Adams, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hear about you and Mia on social media. It’s about time, don’t you think?”
“About time?”
“That you admitted you like each other. It’s very obvious to us patients.” She winks, heading out the door and waving to Mia.
???
Friday rolls around, and Mia is still barely talking to me. Instead, she eyes me suspiciously every time I take a sip of my coffee, which has me slightly concerned she’s spit in my drink. She’s dressed to kill, a tight skirt cinched in at her waist, a light blue blouse tucked in with one button below decent. She’s acting out. Furious with me over Monday night and my pitfall of being on daytime television and nicknamed Dr. Angel. Social media is obsessed with the state of my personal life, which is, in their eyes, falling apart at the seams. Lottie has called me every day to fix things before it’s too late. Mia has every right to make a formal complaint with the Psychological Society, not just about me following patients, but also following her.
As she packs away her things, she knocks on the wooden frame of my door.
“I’m heading out, Dr. Adams. Have a good weekend.” Her face is pinched, like it’s troubling her to be so polite even though she’s usually nothing but.
“Plans for the weekend?” I ask because I’m a masochist. Maybe she’s got another date lined up.
She shrugs. “I have plans with a few friends—the ones I met on Monday, actually.”
I pause because I think she’s lying, but Mia’s never lied to me before, so it’s hard to tell. Her fingertips trail up her neck until she twirls a loose strand of her hair around her finger, smiling. “Yeah, they seemed like such nice guys, so we’re gonna chill at theirs and order pizza. You know, just casual.”
“Casual,” I grumble. “Where exactly do they live?”
“You’re not invited, Dr. Adams, so I don’t think you need to know that piece of information. No doubt you’ll be busy with yourgirlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” My brows pinch together.Ah, she means Lottie.
“You know you have a real habit of just repeating words back to people. It’s incredibly annoying.”
I smirk. At least she’s finally talking to me, even if she’s started lobbing insults again. “Annoying?”
She rolls her eyes, sliding her bag up onto her shoulder and walking out without another word.
???
This may have been a mistake. I knew I was following Helen and her neighbor to their date at a line dancing evening, Ijust hadn’t anticipated that everyone would be dressed up like they’re headed back to their farms later. Denim on denim, plaid shirts, cowboy boots and Carhartt jackets are everywhere. And I came from work. I look like a time traveler that’s been dropped into an alternative universe fifty years ago. I’m wearing work shoes for fucks sake.
Following patients is an art-form that I am quite clearly ill-prepared for, and frankly, I blame Mia. If I hadn’t been so occupied by her all week, with her clipped responses and rolling eyes, I’d have maybe planned tonight a little better, thought it through a bit more. But as it happens, the image of Vincent’s terrorized face hasn’t left my retinas, and the silent scream attempting to release itself from his throat is haunting me. Especially when Mia looked so fucking happy about it. She’s terrifying to the point of distraction.
Despite the crowd of cowboy hats, I manage to find solace in a dark corner behind a large wooden pillar on the edge of the dancefloor. The MC is locked in, preparing the crowd for the next song by explaining the basic steps they need to master. There’s around twenty people on the dancefloor of various abilities. The worst being Helen and her neighbor. They’re stepping around each other, their mouths stretched from laughing. The neighbor slaps his boot behind him and I watch as Helen cackles, her head thrown back as he waggles his eyebrows at her.
The thick ball of tension in my chest eases a little. It’s still early, things could change, but for now she looks happy. Her ex-husband was such a piece of shit, I’m pleasantly surprised she’s come tonight. Even though her self confidence has soared in the last eighteen months, Helen is still reluctant to trust her gut feeling. And that’s where I come in. During our sessions I can help her build her trust in herself. And outside of sessions, I can show up, keep an eye on the situation and intervene if I need to.
She swings around as the neighbor pulls her into his chest, his hand appropriately in the middle of her back. I take the opportunity to check my phone.
