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As Colleen got settled, she considered the familiar black and white photograph of a rural road above Jalane’s leather chair. A man was shown from behind, walking down a meandering road with two border collies by his side. She often looked at this photograph when she contemplated a difficult question from Jalane.
“Well, now,” Jalane said, getting comfortable in a large, brown, leather chair, as the aroma of her favorite lemon ginger tea filled the room. Jalane took a sip of tea. “You said in your email your father died recently. I’m very sorry.”
Colleen nodded, a little embarrassed that her father’s death wasn’t the main reason she’d made this appointment. “The funeral was a week ago. It was hard. It still is, but I’m working my way through it.”
“You’re not here to discuss your father’s death?”
“No,” Colleen said, lifting her head. “After I saw you last, I was doing okay for a long time. But since my father died, a few issues have come up again.”
“Ah. I see,” she said with a nod. “A few old wounds have re-emerged?”
“Yeah. And please don’t use the analogy that I’ve uncovered another layer of an onion,” Colleen said, shaking her head. “Because that onion has way too many damn layers.”
Colleen and Jalane laughed together for a few moments, until Colleen couldn’t stop her emotions from spilling over. She grabbed a tissue and sobbed.
Once Colleen got her crying under control, Jalane asked, “What’s going on?”
Picking up one of the needlepoint throw pillows and holding it tight next to her, Colleen felt more focused. She took a deep breath. “I’m dating a man who’s wrong for me. A family friend came to the funeral—someone I cared about but kicked me to the curb years ago. And, our old neighbor—Mr. Pike,” Colleen paused for a moment. It was strange to speak his name after all these years. “He showed up at my parents’ house after the funeral.” Colleen gulped back more tears. “I didn’t think I’d ever have to see him again.”
“Did he say anything to you?” Jalane asked gently.
“Not much.”
“Did you ever tell your parents what he did to you?”
“No,” Colleen answered quietly, running her fingers over the threads on the pillow. She and Jalane had discussed this many times, but Colleen always resisted. She looked directly at her therapist. “I couldn’t then, and I won’t now.”
Jalane remained silent, her brown eyes locked onto Colleen’s, waiting for her answer.
Colleen used to hate these gaps in the conversation because these were the moments that hung heavy between them until she could find a way to express her thoughts and feelings.
Anxiety and guilt ripped through her. Colleen shifted her eyes away. “I can’t.”
“You’re her daughter,” Jalane said, her voice was measured and calm. “She would want to know.”
And there was the issue that nagged at her. She should have told her parents when she began therapy in college, but she put it off. And now, she was right back where she started. “My mom was grieving back then, and now she is again. I can’t dump this on her right now.”
Jalane took another sip of tea. “Have you been sleeping okay?”
“It was hard at first; all those memories came back. I’ve had a few nightmares, but I used my mindfulness tools to help me focus on the present moment.”
“Good. I want to talk more about Mr. Pike, but first, let’s unpack what you’ve told me. Why is the man you’re dating wrong for you?”
She set the pillow aside. “Brian is wealthy and will never fit in with my family. And before you interrupt me,” Colleen said, holding up a hand, “I know I’ve sat here for hours and hours complaining about wanting to be with someone who could give me a better life than my mother had with all those kids. I mean, I love my parents and my brothers, but money was a struggle. I wanted love and money. But I’m ready to accept my theory doesn’t work. At twenty-eight, I’m done waiting for my Prince Charming to show up, and Brian is definitely not Prince Charming.”
Jalane narrowed her eyes. “Then why are you with him?”
Colleen gave a little shrug and picked at a small snag on the pillow as she mulled over her answer to an obvious question.
“We met at a Preston Museum dinner party two years ago. Brian had just arrived in Los Angeles and didn’t know anyone. He was handsome and from a wealthy family.” She said with bitter laughter. “I’m embarrassed to admit those were my top two requirements for dating. Anyway, we clicked right away. We shared an interest in the Los Angeles art scene. Most of the guys I dated had no interest in art, but Brian and I never got tired of going to exhibits, talking—or arguing—about art. I thought I’d found a partner, someone who supported my career objectives. Not long after we met, he asked me to move in with him, but I hesitated.”
“Why?”
She’d given a lot of thought to this central issue over the last few months. “At times, Brian can be pretentious and a little too critical. Not a good combination. It’s one of the reasons we’ve broken up a few times over the last two years. But he always comes back and apologizes, and we get back together again. So, yeah, it wasn’t perfect, but I thought I could manage it.”
“Why do you take him back?”
Her question was spot-on, and the issue Colleen had been avoiding. She shook her head in reply, too ashamed to answer the question.
