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It is challenging, but it’s necessary. Therapy isn’t just letting people unload their problems and their hardships at a therapist’s feet. It’s a conscious effort by both parties to create healthy ways to manage and minimize behaviors, pain, stress, trauma, or other mental health difficulties. For my patients, the pain and fear and unfairness of a diagnosis plays a role in sessions—of course it does—but my job is about more than that. I help my patients see their value and their sense of self outside of cancer. I help them find healthy coping mechanisms and boundaries that they can enforce to ensure that the big C doesn’t take over every single facet of who they are.
“I caught the hockey game while I was there,” I say, and Kenzie gives me a small smile.
“That’s nice. I’m not really much of a hockey fan.” She sounds almost apologetic, but I don’t mind that she isn’t a fan. “Did your brother go too?”
“Something like that.” I say and reach for my drink.
The bartender was heavy-handed with the rum, and it burns a warm path down my throat to sit in my stomach like a little heater. This isn’t as intense as scotch or whiskey, but it still leaves a pleasant heat in its wake. I don’t drink rum often, but this isn’t bad. I could send Quinn a picture of my drink and tell her I’m thinking of her even now. Except it would be rude to pull my phone out and message someone else when Kenzie and I are the only two here. That would be….
My phone buzzes in my pocket and it takes superhuman skills to reach for the device as if I’m simply curious to see who’s messaged me, and not ripping apart at the seams hoping it was Quinn. Knowing my luck it’s SPAM or something from the APA about professional development, but there’s her name across the front of my screen and I’m trying for nonchalance even as my fingers turn white from the way I’m clutching at my phone, and I can’t breathe, and I can’t think, and my pulse is pounding in my ears like a drumbeat.
The screen goes dark and I swipe it open on instinct. I pause. I know for a fact that if Quinn wants to open up a real conversation right now, I’ll be worthless company. I don’t open her message, but I don’t take my eyes off the little red notification bubble.
“I’m so sorry, Kenzie,” I fish my wallet out. “Something’s come up.” I’m still staring at my phone as I throw several bills on the table. Between my contribution and Carl’s, Kenzie is more than covered.
“It’s okay,” she says. “We can do a rain check, just you and me.”
It’s the end that breaks through my Quinn-induced haze. All of my worry over the appropriateness of going tonight hits me again with the force of a six-foot-three, two-hundred-and-eighty-five pound defender. My subconscious picked up on the signals even though I missed them. I’d even studied her makeup earlier and was too distracted by thoughts of Quinn to figure it out. Kenzie didn’t just organize dinner and drinks with her coworkers. She was interested in dinner and drinks with me.
A week ago, I would have said I wasn’t looking for anything serious. Now I don’t know what I’m looking for, just that I’m not looking for it with Kenzie. I owe her a definitive answer.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I say, channeling my soothing session voice. “I didn’t think of this as a date, Kenzie. You’re smart and kind and I enjoy working with you, but I’m not looking to date you.”
“You have a girlfriend?” She smiles, but it looks a little wobbly.
“No.”
Quinn is not my girlfriend, no matter how interested I am. But also, turning someone down because of a relationship can send the wrong message. It can send the “if only I wasn’t in a relationship with someone else, I’d gladly be in one with you,” message, and it isn’t fair to Kenzie, or to me, to leave that open for interpretation. “I’m just not interested. I’m sorry.”
“Well, I guess I can’t fault you for being honest,” she says and flips her hair back over her shoulder. “And you can’t blame a girl for trying. See you at the office tomorrow.”
TEXT MESSAGE
TUESDAY, 6:32 PM CST
Quinn Cooper:
I just saw Graham and he asked where Rick was.
Didn’t have the heart to correct him. So I guess that’s your name now. Rick.
Erik Varg:
Good name. Sturdy. An honor to be named by a kid with such conviction. Where did you see him? I thought he wasn’t one of your students?
Quinn Cooper:
I already updated your contact information, Rick Varg.
Awe that’s cute. Rick & Vic.
He was at the grocery store with his mom and siblings. Looked at me like I was a dog walking on two legs.
Erik Varg:
As he should. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that teachers need to live at school?
Quinn Cooper:
