“I, uh…I always keep one on me just in case,” he explains.
“For how long?” I ask. My voice sounds so flat, so detached.
I don’t look at him. I can’t. Not as he says, “A lot longer than a month,” leaving me with no promise and a pathetically in-love heart.
* * *
The topic of our break-up has remained unfinished, neither of us making the effort to pick up where we left off. Not that we really left off anywhere other than a nerve-wracking kiss and a tube of cherry lip gloss that I’ve been too afraid to pick up off of the coffee table. He’s noticed that I’m a bit out of sorts, and yet he’s not said anything. But I notice the worried looks he sends me when I can see his reflection in the window.
“I’ll see you tonight?” he asks, forehead resting against mine.
“Seeing as I now have a delectable two weeks off, yes you will.”
This week is all about getting this manuscript finished. Last night was a perfect evening—Finn and I sat side by side on the couch, him working on plans for the new house, me typing away like mad on my laptop. Knowing that Janelle loved what she read lit a fire under me. Seeing the both of us rediscover our passions together has formed a bond between us that goes deep. There’s this new light in Finn’s eyes that wasn’t there before; something bold and defiant that I think shows he’s ready to start taking control of his life and his health. He was supposed to start back at therapy two weeks ago, but he pushed it back to this week once his employee couldn’t make it to work.
From what I’ve been able to see, the compulsions are still very much present, but the difference is that Finn is no longer allowing them to gain control over his life. I still see the dip in his smile and the wince he tries to hide when an intrusive thought passes through his mind like a string of barbed wire. He says that he feels more in control and that lends him strength to understand the difference between anxious thoughts and reality.
Today is his first session after months and I just hope that this upward trajectory he’s on doesn’t fall so far that it will take him months or years to bring it back up.
He smiles down at me, a warmth in his eyes that extends down to his smile. “I—” He catches himself and my body leans forward in anticipation. He looks like he’s having an internal debate—a frown here, a look of frustration there. He looks at war with himself. In the end, with a clenched fist and pinched expression, he says, “I’ll see you later.”
ChapterTwenty-Six
FINN
“It’s been a while since our last session.”
Dr. Madden hasn’t been outwardly changed by grief. The same gray suit sits on his tall, muscular form, his hair only just touched with a little more silver than the last time I saw him. His soft features show some slight weariness, but other than that, he’s still the same old Madden.
“It has,” I confirm.
“And how have you been?”
I shrug off the question. I thought going back to therapy would not be much of a transition for me. I’ve grown to trust Dr. Madden over the years, and yet it would seem the knack I grew for shutting myself off has grown to be a bit of a habit.
Dr. Madden sees that, his chin almost meeting his chest as his eyebrow raises.
“Not in the talking mood today?”
“More like I’ve forced myself out of the habit.”
“The habit of talking, or sharing?” he asks.
“Both?”
He looks intrigued by my response.
“And what do you think you will need to get back in the habit?”
I laugh, all humor forgotten from the sound. “A time machine?”
He chuckles to himself. It’s not like what you see in the movies. He doesn’t write in some little notebook when he hears something worth diagnosing. He simply sits, listens and tries to guide the conversation to where he knows he might strike gold.
“And what would you do differently if you had one? A time machine.”
I contemplate his question, and the answer causes my chest to tighten. I stare down at my lap. “I would keep my parents alive.”
Dr. Madden’s kind smile falters. It’s what I like about him. He’s not some emotionless yet obnoxious idiot who acts as if all the things he hears don’t affect him. He still wears his emotions on his face, even if they are muted and controlled.
