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“And he didn’t stop you?” Dr. Browning frowns. “That doesn’t sound very much like how he’s behaved before. What changed?”
“I don’t know.” I chew on my lower lip, feeling anxious. “I think he almost did. But it was like–like hecouldn’tstop. Like he wanted me too much.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
“It made me feel good,” I confess, feeling myself flush again. “It made me feel wanted. Like things could be different for me.”
“Is that where you feel like a line was crossed?”
I shake my head, feeling the anxiety rise at the thought of talking about the rest of it. “We–we made out for a while. He picked me up and put me on the bathroom counter–he was into it, too. It wasn’t like I was pushing him. He took things further. I thought we might do more than kiss–and then he pulled away and said we needed to stop. That he felt guilty for–he used the term “lusting after me” when I’d been at the docks trying to work through my trauma. But the thing is–I feel like those twenty minutes of making out in the bathroom, or however long it was, went further towards helping me deal with it than standing out there on the docks. It made me feelnormal.” I hug my arms around myself again. “Like any girl with the guy she likes, kissing him for the first time.”
“And did you express that to him?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t know how to explain it then. It just came to me–the right words to describe it. But I wanted more. And Itoldhim to tell me if he wanted me to stop. I–” I bite my lip again, twisting my hands together in my lap. “I went down on him.” The words come out in a rush then, as if I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep talking if I don’t say it all now. “He didn’t tell me to stop. He finished–in my mouth. I loved it, every second of it. And he held me for a minute afterward, and I thought things were okay, that they’d be different after that–and then I tried to kiss him, and he pushed me away. That was when he said we’d crossed a line. That he needed to keep his vows that he had left to make up for what he’d done in the past. And I–” I shake my head, my eyes burning at the memory. “I ran out of the house before he could really say anything else.”
Dr. Browning nods. “That was your first time doing that with a man that you wanted, right?” She looks at me sympathetically. “I imagine that wasn’t the reaction you wanted.”
“It was perfect, until he said that–the last part. He could have said no. But he couldn’t stop himself…and then he rejected me. It hurt–”
“I’m sure it did,” she says gently. “Was it his first time, as well?”
I blink at her. “How do you know–”
“An educated guess, based on Max’s past.” Dr. Browning sighs. “Sasha, this is why I haven’t encouraged this relationship. You and Max are both dealing with very different issues and types of trauma. Your response to it is to seek out a connection with the one person who makes you feel safe. Unfortunately, that same person reacts to his trauma by denying himself connection in order to feel redeemed. Max has deep-seated beliefs and values that have been taught to him,ingrainedinto him, and whether they’re right or not, whether they belong in his new life or not, they’re not going to be easy to shake. If he were going to try to move past those, it would be easiest with someone who didn’t have trauma of their own. By trying to push forward with a relationship, the odds are very high that one or both of you will hurt the other emotionally, Sasha.” She sets down her pad, looking at me with what I think is meant to be sympathetic, but feels very much like pity.
“This is why I’ve encouraged you to go on dates with other men and explore other relationships,” she says gently. “You don’t need to engage physically with them if you don’t want to. You don’t need to go on second dates if you don’t feel a spark. But just exploring a connection with these other men will show you that there are options outside of Max. You may even realize that what you think you feel for Max is only because he’s theonlyoption you’ve given yourself.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I whisper.
“I know. But how willyouknow for certain if you don’t try?” Dr. Browning glances at the clock. “I can’t make you do anything, Sasha, and I never would. But my suggestion before our next meeting is that you try to go on a date with someone else. If it isn’t enjoyable, you can take some time before you try again. But see how you feel. That is my recommendation.” She smiles at me. “We’ll talk more about this next week.”
As I walk out of the office, I open my phone and flick to Tinder. There, in my messages section, is Nick’s handsome face smiling back at me.
Hey there, beautiful. I hadn’t heard from you, but I thought I’d shoot my shot one more time. If you don’t answer, I’ll guess you’ve found someone else. But I’m free this Wednesday night if you want to grab coffee, a drink, dinner–anything you want, really.
I hesitate, feeling a lump in my throat. I don’t want anyone other than Max. But I think back to the week of silence since the encounter in his house, the way he’d so firmly told me that nothing more could happen between us.
I can’t keep pushing him. My therapist is right about that–it will only hurt us both. And I know, deep down, that I don’t want to be lonely forever. I don’t know if it’s fair to Nick to use him as this kind of experiment, but what is dating anyway, really?Isn’t it all just really a series of experiments to see what works and what doesn’t?He’d reached out to me twice now, so he’s clearly interested. It’s not wrong to test the waters to see if I am.
And what if Dr. Browning is right? What if I only want Max because he’s all Iletmyself want?
I don’t believe that’s true for a second. I think the connection between Max and me is real, no matter whether anything comes of it or not. But my therapist is right that there is one way to find out.
Swallowing hard, I start to type out a reply.
—
On Wednesday night, I find myself outside of a swanky French restaurant in downtown Manhattan, standing on the curb as my driver pulls away, with a reminder to text him as soon as I need a pickup. It had taken me ages to pick out what I wanted to wear–not wanting to looktoosexy, but also not frumpy, without the slightest idea as to what someone actually wears on a date like this. Caterina had finally taken pity on me and let me borrow one of her dresses, an emerald-colored dress with a silky skirt and chiffon bodice that ties around my neck in a halter style and comes to just above my knees. The gathered chiffon hints at cleavage without showing any, and it gives me a little shape without being too short. I’d paired it with my studded sandals and rose gold hoops, borrowing a leather box clutch from Caterina. Now I’m staring at the gilded front door of the restaurant, wondering if I should just call my driver to take me away now.
But that would defeat the purpose of tonight, and I can hear Caterina’s disappointment, even just thinking it.
Ultimately, that propels me through the door. I see Nick instantly waiting in the lobby, as handsome as his photo with his brown curls tamed back and green eyes twinkling at me. “Sasha?” he asks, with the sort of tone that suggests he’s utterly stunned at seeing me, and I have to admit thatdoesfeel good.
“That’s me!” I manage with a nervous smile and instantly hate myself for it, but Nick seems like he doesn’t bat an eye. He lets the hostess know we’re ready for our reservation, and she sweeps us through the dimly lit restaurant, up to a second-floor balcony table under a candlelit chandelier.
It’s very romantic and very expensive-looking, and I’m glad for the credit card in my purse. My bank account is well-padded–I rarely have many opportunities to spend the money I’m paid by Viktor and Caterina for my nannying. Still, I can only imagine what a meal here might cost me, and I want to at least offer to pay for my dinner.
“So tell me a little about yourself,” Nick says as we settle at our table, glancing over the drink menu. “I’ll have a Manhattan,” he adds to the waiter. “And you?”
