Page 115 of Goodbye Days

I lean back and rub my mouth and look over Dr. Mendez’s shoulder. He’s so still, it draws the sound from my mouth.

I continue. “This is so embarrassing. At the end of the night, I tell her I have feelings for her, and she says she doesn’t feel the same way, and it all goes down the toilet and I tell her Eli wasn’t that great and blah blah blah. We haven’t said a word to each other in almost two weeks.”

Dr. Mendez nods and taps his lips, looking meditative. “Do you see yourself as worthy of being with Jesmyn?”

I start to say “of course,” but catch myself. “Maybe not,” I say after a few seconds’ contemplation.

Dr. Mendez leans forward. “Is it possible you introduced some chaos into the relationship, perhaps to sabotage it, because on some level you felt undeserving of being with her?”

A door opens in my mind and I walk through. “Yeah. Possible.”

Somehow this comforts me. It doesn’t fix anything. In fact, it only makes more clear that it was my fault. But still.

“It sounded like you two were very close. If I were a betting man, I’d wager on your relationship ending up on good terms again.”

“Any ideas on how I could make that happen?”

“Honesty. Humility. Listening more than you talk.”

“Okay.”

We stare at each other for a short while.

“So,” I say. “The district attorney decided yesterday not to press charges against me.”

Dr. Mendez’s face illuminates. He laughs and claps. “Fantastic! I really need to keep up on local news better. That’s wonderful!” He looks as relieved as I wish I felt.

“Yeah, it is. I mean, yeah.”

“But?”

“But I ended up agreeing to do a final goodbye day. With Mars’s dad.”

“The judge.”

“The judge who hates me.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s this Sunday. I’m really scared.”

“I bet.”

“Any ideas on how I should handle it? Please actually give me an answer just this once and I’ll never bug you for one again.”

He takes a deep breath and laces his fingers around one knee. “Be honest. Be humble. Listen more than you talk.”

“No, but it’s weird, right? How we’re totally good on last names now and we don’t need to invent any more,” Blake says.

“Like how in the old-timey days, people were named after what they did for a living. So John Smith was a blacksmith. But yeah, we don’t have ‘John Programmer’ or ‘John Pizzadeliveryguy,’ ” I say.

We crack up, our laughter echoing down the hall.

“Bill…Walmartgreeter,” Eli says.

“Amber Pornstar,” Blake says.

“Jim and Linda Garbageman,” I say.