“I went to the studio and I’ve been hanging out with Joel,” I confess. “I’ve only fallen deeper. He’s all I can think about, and it’s not only him… it’s her too, his wife, Renee, and their daughter. I just can’t keep away. I want to know everything about their lives. I want answers to my questions.”
She crosses a leg over the other, and shifts in her curved leather egg-shaped chair. She’s wearing fabulous shoes today — ruby colored, two ankle straps criss cross over her delicate ankles. The clasps are gold and match her long necklace. “Well, it makes sense and it is absolutely normal,” she tells me. “Because of Ava and your suspicions about her, your life is entwined in theirs, and you want to know more. Only, I think you’re afraid of the answers.”
I nod.Exactly.
“Have you talked to Brian?” she asks softly. “It’s crucial that you do. Perhaps he can give you the answers you so desperately seek.”
“I can’t,” I tell her. “I’m afraid it will change everything, shake up the status quo.”
“Yes, Mischa,” she says patiently. “We both know how order is important to you. You struggle with any kind of change, and this is… this is a huge change, a giant adjustment.”
I sigh. “Yes, I’m not the most adaptable person. I’m not a ‘go with the flow’ kind of gal.”
She laughs. “And that’s perfectly okay, Mischa. We’ll get you through this.”
I exhale a long breath of relief. Thank god for Dr. Russell. “Thank you.”
“I also like to hold this secret in the palms of my hands,” I confess. “It’s mine right now. No one knows what I know. Joel doesn’t know, neither does Brian. And Renee… I’m not sure about Renee.”
“Have you seen her again?”
I look away, toward the window, not capable of facing Eva. I’ve behaved so badly. I feel like I’ve disappointed her. I often feel that way. Trying to be normal is a constant struggle. “I went to her store again,” I admit. “In fact, it’s where I bought this whole outfit.” I kick up my foot. “Louboutins. This whole outfit costs just under four hundred dollars.”
She smiles. “Great deal. Love it.”
The thing I love bout Eva — she never judges. I suppose that’s all part of the job. She’s like the compassionate older sister I never had. My sisters are anything but kind and understanding.
“Anyway, Renee knew who I was. She knew that I lied about my name the first time I went to the store. She remembered me from a party years ago, and so did I. That summer… was the night I think she and Brian…” my words trail off. I really don’t want to go back to that. I’ve been so desperately trying not to think about it. I’ve been burying my head in the sand. Instead of obsessing over it, I’ve diverged my compulsions to Joel and Renee and Ava. It’s a common tactic for people like me. When you're extremely upset about something, you start to obsess over something else, something somewhat or completely unrelated.
When I lost my job at the Gap, I became obsessed with watching reruns ofFriends. When a friend passed away, when the boys were young, I became obsessed with collecting boys’ clothing and decorating their rooms — I didn’t want to think about my own mortality. I’d spend all my free hours shopping, online and in stores. It got so bad, it affected our finances.
And here I am at it again. Obsessed with Facebook, yoga and consignment shopping… and three beautiful people.
The rest of the session is productive. I confess everything, and Eva and I go over a recovery plan. This includes an allotted amount of daily time on social media — fifteen minutes a day. A plan of action for when I’m particularly vulnerable, when I’m tempted to browse Facebook or visit Renee’s store. Everything from time with my family, a walk, a bubble bath… a favorite show. A single session at Juliette’s studio per week (this will be the most challenging part). I promise with the best of intentions that I’ll return to my old yoga studio. And most importantly, a plan to talk to Brian.
I leave Dr. Russell’s office feeling about a hundred pounds lighter. I have hope. I can get through this with her by my side.
25
As per Dr. Russell’s instructions, I’m indulging in a little self-care. I’m stretched out in a warm bath. The red-tipped toes of my right foot are pressed against the wall tiling, my left knee protrudes from a mound of bubbles. It feels good, but unfortunately I haven’t quite escaped my thoughts.I can do this, I tell myself. I haven't seen Joel or Renee in about a week, and I’m still alive, still functioning. I’ve only creeped them on the web twice. I’m getting better. I haven’t spoken to Brian yet… I’m a coward.
I’ve been keeping my phone and laptop out of sight, in an effort to escape the compulsion to behave badly. Unfortunately, I’m expecting an important email for work, so this is how I justify its presence in the palm of my hand as I lay in the bath. I press the round button, bring it to life, and click on the Facebook icon. I tell myself that I won’t touch the search function. I’m just scrolling my feed, seeing what’s new with my friends and acquaintances. I’m pleasantly surprised to see I have a new friend request. My breath hitches when I press on the icon — it’s from Joel.
I know I should dismiss it, but there’s no way I’m doing that. I only hesitate about five seconds before accepting his request. A message appears and my foolish heart skips a beat, hoping that it might be him. Disappointment hits me when I see that it’s just one of Facebook’s annoyingSay hi to your new Facebook friendmessages.
No, I won’t wave hi. That’s just plain creepy and lame. I shake my head and throw my phone on the pile of towels sitting on the bench next to the bath.
And then, the obsession begins. When will he message me? I want to slap myself. I really do. I’m such a pathetic crazy bitch. Who cares if he messages me. He’s just a guy I barely know. He’s married to a goddess, and I have a husband too. I’m acting selfishly and foolishly. I’m ashamed of myself.
But I can’t help it. I hate myself. What I wouldn’t give to be normal. Are my friends like this? Is Gretchen obsessing over the order of the cereal boxes in her kitchen cupboard? Is Abigail desperately awaiting a message from some random guy? Is Claudia obsessed with a woman she barely knows? Are any of them creeping on people on Facebook for hours?
Would they drop me like a hot potato if they knew what I was really like?
* * *
It’s beentwo days since I’ve accepted Joel’s Facebook friend request, and I’ve come to terms with the fact that he’s not sending me a ‘hello’ message. I’m in the middle of folding laundry when I absentmindedly pick up my phone. I have a Messenger message and I expect it to be either Claudia, Abigail or Gretchen — they’re always sending me messages. Claudia likes to send me memes. Gretchen favors inspirational messages, and Abigail usually just says hi, or rants about something.
My heart stops for a second when I see that the message is from Joel.
