It’s true. He would. He would walk through fire, cross oceans, climb mountains. And I would do all of it for him. That’s always been the honest truth. It was just buried under our grief without either one of us knowing.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Kendall
NOW
I recently learnedthat seahorses mate for life. Apparently, only about three to five percent of mammals are monogamous. And that’s even including humans. Seahorses, though not mammals, express their devotion to each other by performing a dance that’s almost as elaborate as a ballroom routine. There’s also the reproductive role male seahorses play. Unlike humans, female seahorses deposit her eggs into the male where he fertilizes them. He then carries them until they’re ready to be birthed. Sounds like the perfect partner if you ask me.
I know if James had the option to carry a baby in my place, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He’d learn the waltz or the foxtrot or even the tango, producing his own performative mating dance. He’d also happily take on the laborious duty of bearing a child. Because that’s the kind of partner he is.
“So, you think James is…”
“A seahorse,” I answer. My therapist stares at me through the screen, an incredulous look on her face. Though a bit dubious, a smile peeks through the quizzical furrow between her brows. I guess listing all the reasons why my husband is moreseahorse than man—figuratively, of course—turned my playful little simile into a concerning comparison.
I just finished telling her my recent discovery about seahorses and their mating rituals. It came up during our session after I told her the details of the recent conversation I had with James. It started with a simple question. “How are you?” A generalized inquiry of my life since our last session turned into a long-winded story about ocean life. But I don’t think Sam minds. In fact, she’s been hanging onto every word, wariness and all.
“Sorry,” I tell her, realizing this segue was one I hadn’t planned on. “Didn’t mean to bore you with…that.”
She shrugs off my apology. “It’s fine. You’re not boring me.”
“But to answer your question, I’m good,” I say, finally answering her question.
“That’s good to hear.” The light tone in her voice, the hopeful tilt and easy cadence, shows she’s being honest. And that she believes me. Or maybe for the first time, I feel like I’m really telling the truth. I don’t feel like I need to hide behind my silence, wondering how much she can see through it. I’m splayed open, like a well-loved book, and I don’t even mind.
“In fact, I wanted to tell you I’ll probably be doing fewer sessions.”
“Oh?” That concerned look is back, overlapping the amused curiosity she held. “Is there a reason why?”
“James and I actually started going to couples therapy,” I explain. “And I don’t know if I can do weekly sessions. You know, schedule-wise.”
“I see.”
“Is that okay?” I don’t know why I’m suddenly nervous. It’s not like I’m breaking up with her. I just want to be able to spread my time between our sessions. I don’t know if I absolutely needweekly sessions on top of my sessions with James. But what do I know? Maybe I do.
“We can do every other week for now,” she answers after some thought. “And we can check in each time to see if an unscheduled session is needed.”
“Okay,” I agree. “But do you think I’ll be okay?” The sudden realization that I won’t have her to talk to every weekend like some crutch brings on an unexpected wave of dread. What if I’m not ready for this change? Maybe her apprehension, as badly as she tried to hide it, is there for a reason.
“Why don’t we just play it by ear?” she suggests, putting me a little at ease. “We can keep our appointment as a backup, and you can cancel if you feel like you’re ready to skip it.”
I nod. I can do that. I can play it by ear. Take the training wheels off one at a time instead of having me fly off into a half-pipe with no helmet or elbow pads.
“How about we work on some exercises until then?” she asks. She says it like a suggestion, but it’s more subtle in the way that she leaves it up to me.
“Okay,” I agree. “What kind of exercises?”
“We can do journaling like you mentioned before,” she answers.
I nod. I can journal. I can write, tap out those emails like I’ve been doing. “I can do that.”
“How do you feel about me giving you something more specific and purposeful to journal about? Kind of like homework.”
I’m usually the one giving homework. It’s different being on the other side. “What kind of homework?”
“After you have your meetings with your family therapist, I want you to write down two to three thoughts you take away from each session.”
“I can do that.”
