“How’s Georgie?” I ask, pulling away and handing him a caffeine-free tea. Being a bit of a health nut, my father prefers to stay away from anything he deems “a threat to life longevity” and that includes caffeine. I couldn’t care less about life longevity. I could go tomorrow and if that’s my fate, I’d do it knowing the sweet, sweet taste of God’s fine nectar that is coffee.
He smiles at the name I call his partner. “He’s good. He’s at home with Wilson enjoying the cooler morning. When I left they were out on the veranda listening to the Rat Pack on vinyl.”
“The one I got him for his birthday?”
“The very one, sunshine.” My cheeks pull back into another smile. I know how much George loves the classic band. It makes me happy knowing he enjoys his gift.
“And how’s Wilson?” I scootch myself up onto my countertop and take a seat, gently swinging my legs as I sip my coffee.
“Fat. Constantly sleeping. Only wants affection when he’s interested in it. Pretty much living every orange tabby cat’s dream.”
After separating from Mom and moving into his own space, one of the first things Dad did was go to the local animal shelter and adopt a cat. He’d wanted one for the longest time but could never get one because of Mom’s allergies. It’s a good thing Wilson accepted George when hecame around or else I’m not sure what Dad would have done. Probably show George the door seeing as how I’m convinced he loves that cat more than he loves me.
I chuckle and nod my head. “Sounds like the dream life of most humans,” I joke.
He tips his mug in my direction. “You got that right.”
After finishing our drinks, I slip on my sneakers and grab my jacket. Creatures of habit, we turn left out of my building like we always do and head towards the market that sits in the center of downtown. Living in Charleston my entire life, I know this city like the back of my hand. Walking is something I do when I need to clear my head and I make it a game to challenge myself to go a new way every time I go out on my own. Charleston is a city that you see best on foot and I’ve been lucky enough to see almost every nook, cranny, and alleyway this city has to offer.
“So, how was your week? I know we talked on the phone when we were having family breakfast but tell me what else happened.”
“Well,” I start, double checking that there aren’t any cars coming before walking into the street to avoid having to step over an oversize tree root that’s pushed through the sidewalk. The city has a rule that if a tree trunk has surpassed a certain diameter, you aren’t allowed to remove it. Because of said rule, many of the sidewalks around downtown are cracked and broken as massive tree roots exploded underneath the hardened concrete. “It was a standard week in the office. I had one new patient on my schedule which was interesting and I got to see Rae for coffee.”
“How is Miss Rae? I haven’t seen her in ages.” I love that he calls her Miss Rae. I’m not sure what sparked the nickname but ever since they met when I was in school, he’s always called her ‘Miss Rae.’
“She’s good, busy, but good,” I reply with a shrug.
“You girls work too hard. You need to go out and have a little fun.” When he shimmies his shoulders at me I can’t help but laugh embarrassingly.
“Oh my god, Dad,don’tdo that again,” I beg.
“Do what? This?” He shimmies harder as we walk down the sidewalk, getting close and bumping into me, making me laugh harder. A few people walking by glance at us, staring at the sideshow he’s putting on. “You don’t like my moves, sunshine?”
“Daddy, stop. You’re ridiculous. You don’t have moves, you’re an old white guy. Old white guys don’t have ‘moves,’” I point out, holding his arms down in an attempt to get him to stop.
“George likes my moves,” he mutters before looking at me out of the corner of his eye with a half smirk.
“Ugh! Dad! No! I donotneed to know about George and your moves!” I cover my ears with my hands and shriek. This gets him to double over in laughter. While I might be mortified by his attempt to talk about his sex life, at least he’s not shimmying anymore.
“Okay, okay, I’m done,” he promises. “But I mean it, you and Miss Rae work too hard. You should go out, have fun, meet new people.”
“Yeah, in all my free time.” I roll my eyes.
After coming out of residency, I hustled hard to build up my client base so I could go out on my own and start my practice. My hustle included long days of client sessions and nights catching up on paperwork and billing. The reality of psychology is that only half of your time is spent with patients. The other half is spent on paperwork, scheduling, and my least favorite thing, dealing with insurance. Many of my patients needed to have a prescriptionfilled or want to use their insurance to pay for their sessions.
Unfortunately, many insurance companies don’t want to take care of the people who paid them good money to do just that. I’m not going to let that stop me though. For the clients who can’t get the help they need from their insurance, I offer discounted services and set them up with low-cost or free medications when they need it.
“You need to have better work life boundaries,” my dad says in the intonation he uses when he is trying to be delicate.
“I have healthy work life boundaries. I no longer work on the weekends and I never take my paperwork home with me. I’m just so exhausted by Friday that I want to go home and sleep the whole weekend.”
He clicks his tongue at me. “I still think you and Miss Rae need a girl’s night out. Could do you a whole lot of good.” He tips his head at me in a way only dads can do.
We continue on our walk, taking in the city as we go. Pastel painted buildings and old ivy make me feel at home while the November sun warms our skin. It’s the perfect weather to get to wear a jacket without simultaneously sweating your butt off. A cool breeze off the ocean keeps things cool and knocks the humidity down a few notches. It never gets ‘cold’ by traditional standards in Charleston which I’m fine with. I’ve never liked cold weather. The few times it snowed growing up I was miserable until the sun came back out for good.
“What are you and?—”
I start to ask him about his weekend plans with George when the sound of a fire engine wails from down the street. I turn over my shoulder to look for it and pause, waiting for it to get closer. Within seconds, the massive red truck comesbarreling down the narrow road. Men sit backwards inside the truck, headphones on, and I can only assume mentally bracing for whatever bad day they’re about to step into. Watching it whizz past me, I can’t help but think about the surly man who was sitting in my office not even seventy-two hours ago and wonder if he’s somewhere on that truck.
