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As soon as we step through the door and I get a good look at the “Trauma Pit Stop Stations” marked by cardboard signs taped to the walls around the conference room, I break out in hives.
I have no urge to explore “Childhood Trouble” or “Teen Traumas and Trials” with anyone, but especially not with Patrick. I don’t want to explore anything with Patrick except my jujitsu skills on his grabby hands the next time he drools all over Nora.
I get it—she’s a fucking knockout—but she’s also my wife, at least as far as old Patty knows. And he’s supposed to be helping us mend things, not hitting on vulnerable women who are looking for support saving their marriages.
He’s on my shit list already, and then he suggests Nora take his hand and lead him toward the “trauma pit stop” that speaks most powerfully to her, and I access a level of loathing I’ve rarely felt toward a near stranger.
“You know what, Patrick?” she says, pressing closer to my side. “I think we can skip right ahead to the finish line. I had a breakthrough last night; one I can’t wait to share with the man I love.”
Patrick’s dark, bushy brows hitch higher on his forehead. “Well, that’s great, but that’s not the way this works. You can’t go straight to jumping out of the airplane. You’ve got to learn how to put your parachute on and pull the cord first.” He nods toward me. “You might be surprised how much you don’t know about each other. For example, do you know what Kitty’s childhood was really like, buddy? The real deal? Not the pretty picture your in-laws paint for the outside world?”
“I don’t know my in-laws,” I shoot back, hating him for going straight for Nora’s jugular, like he has some sixth sense that she had a rough time as a kid. “They aren’t in Nora’s life anymore.”
Nora nods. “That’s right. I don’t have a relationship with my parents.”
Patrick’s broad forehead furrows and his wide, stupid mouth turns down at the edges. “Oh no. I’m so sorry to hear that. Sounds like we need a pit stop in childhood trouble.”
Nora shakes her head, her smile wide and confident. “No, we don’t. I dealt with all of that stuff a long time ago. I had tons of therapy as a kid and teenager. My grandmother was insistent.” She loops her arm through mine, hugging my bicep. “And Charles knows all about it. We’re actually wonderful communicators, at least when it comes to verbal communication. Like I said, I think we can go straight to the finish line.” She gives a little shrug before adding, “Or straight to Sexual Trauma and Dysfunction. That’s where we’ve been having trouble.”
To say Patrick’s eyes light up is an understatement. He starts to glow from the inside like a demented jack-o’-lantern. I think he even starts to drool a little, though he swipes his hand across his mouth before I can be sure.
Once he’s done mopping up the saliva inspired by the thought of “Kitty’s” sexual trauma—I want to punch the man more with every passing second—he claps his big hands together. “Sounds great. Let’s put you in the pit stop, Kitty. Old Charles here can standby, ready to come in if you tag him for a refuel.”
He starts toward the pit stop marked by a giant pink circle, tossing over his shoulder, “But unless Kitty tags you in, I’m going to ask you to keep your thoughts to yourself, Charles. We want Kitty to feel safe sharing for as long as she needs to share.”
“Oh, I don’t think it will take that long.” Nora steps into the chalk circle drawn on the carpet—also in pink—beneath the sign. “I know exactly what I need to share.”
“That’s great, but don’t be afraid to keep going if new things come up,” Patrick says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, like a wrestling coach cheering on an athlete from the sidelines. “And don’t be afraid to get as dark or raw as you need to feel heard. I’m comfortable with graphic content, no need to keep it PG-13 around here. I’ve been married for twelve years, and I’ve been a trauma coach for the company for almost half of that.” He nods, his eyes still gleaming with perverse anticipation. “There’s not much I haven’t heard when it comes to sexual trauma and dysfunction, and I’ve got tissues ready to go.”
Nora’s upper lip curls the slightest bit, making me think she’s as repulsed by this trauma vulture as I am, but she only lets her real feelings show for a moment before she’s smiling again. “Okay, great. So…should I just tell Charles what I want to say?”
Patrick claps his hands again, making my jaw clench. “That’s right, Kitty Cat. Speak your truth and don’t hold back. We don’t worry about hurt feelings here. Feelings can be mended, but only if the truth is out and there are no secrets festering in the marriage.”
“Got it.” Nora turns to face me, taking a deep breath. “Charles, first up, I want to apologize for all the hurtful things I’ve said the past few months. About not finding you attractive anymore and wanting you to keep as many clothes on as possible when we’re having sex.”
Fuck. So, she decided to go with Plan A. It’s fine—we agreed on this course of action last night—but I was looking forward to discussing something else.
Anything else.
Especially now that I’ve met Patrick and his oh-so-punchable face.
But she’s already started down this road and there’s no turning back now. I brace myself for the worst and vow to play along to the best of my ability. Nora’s had zero undercover training, and she’s doing great. I can’t let her—or the agency that trained me to roll with conversational punches, improv style—down now.
“That was unkind,” she continues, “and I’m sorry.”
“Remember, you don’t have to apologize,” Patrick murmurs in a husky voice that threatens to activate my gag reflex. “This is your truth. You don’t have to apologize for the truth, not in this room.”
“But Iwantto apologize,” she says, keeping her gaze locked on mine. “Because…it wasn’t true. Not any of it.”
My brows lift. “It wasn’t?”
“Quiet, Charles,” Patrick pipes up. “Until you’re invited into the pit stop to help Kitty refuel.”
“He’s invited,” Nora says, pulling me into the chalk circle mere seconds before I lose my cool and tell Patrick to back the fuck off. “You’re always invited into my pit stop.” She takes both my hands in hers with a shy smile. “To my pit stop and my bed. Even if you decide you truly never want to have children.”
My brows hitch up another half inch. “Children. That’s what this was about?”
She nods, her focus dropping to our joined hands. “When you said you weren’t sure you wanted to have children it just…got to me. It hurt. So much. I’ve always just assumed I’d have kids someday. Imagining a future without them was so painful.” She sighs before lifting sad eyes to mine. “I guess a part of me wanted to punish you for that by making you hurt, too. But that was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
