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“Precisely. So vulgar.” She lifted her mug and saluted him with it. “And if that’s vulgar then I’ll proudly call myself that. People have to feel things. It’s toxic to pretend that everything’s fine all the time. That’s why I became a counselor. You don’t have to wallow, but you can’t push feelings aside forever. My sister is so unhappy. She married the right guy and has the right house and just had the perfect baby and she’s wilting like a picked flower every time I speak to her. This isn’t her life. It’s like a play she’s performing for my parent’s approval. But I can’t say anything because everyone believes that I just like to start trouble where there is none.” She sighed. “I’m already sick of the sound of my own voice. Tell me about your family.”
His body tensed up. As always, the words and feelings that he had got all tangled up inside and he couldn’t unknot them. “Um, typical Persian family. Loving. Happy. Loud. No drama or anything.”
She raised an eyebrow and said nothing, and he recognized it for what it was. A counselor making the quiet uncomfortable so the patient would fill it. He raised an eyebrow back and said nothing.
“Hmm,” she finally said after what felt like a full minute of silence. “You’re a vault, huh?”
“Sometimes.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “So you’re a therapist?”
“Not exactly. That required more school than I wanted to bother with. I know just enough to be dangerous and no more. But I worked as a mental health counselor for years. I didn’t treat big problems. I was more of a shoulder to lean on. Someone safe to talk to when things were tough.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“I did, but it was taxing. As an outlet I started painting these little cards with nurturing scenes on them, with affirming phrases. ‘Your feelings are real and valid,’ and ‘You are worthy of love,’ and ‘You are enough.’ Basic emotional care stuff. And I gave them to patients. One of them took a picture of his and put it online. People went crazy. They wanted to know where to buy them. He came in and showed me, all excited. So I started some social media accounts and began selling them, and then I made some videos and people really liked those too. It was cool to be able to affect people on a bigger scale than just individual sessions.”
“And that’s how Mama Talia was born.”
She smiled. “Yes.”
“Wow. So now you do that full time?”
“Sort of. I don’t like making or selling ad space, so I have a crowdfunding thing where people pay monthly and I give more content and individualized art. I do alright for myself. Sometimes the funding and sales take a dip. When that happens, I just teach community art classes or do wellness seminars. Those are fun.”
“And that keeps the lights on?”
“Yeah. Usually. I mean, I’m not getting rich from it, not that I want to be rich. I’m really not high maintenance, so it’s fine. I don’t like being tied down in doing just one thing anyhow, so it’s nice to have that flexibility. It also takes pressure off me to perform for the camera. If I’m not feeling it, I don’t do it. I’d rather be authentic and natural than force it for cash.”
God, he really liked her. Her passion, her care for others. Her absolute assuredness in who she was and what she wanted to do. It was energizing.
“Anyway,” she said. “Tell me about Gabriel-not-Gabe. What do you actually do here?”
“I’m the chief of security, so normally I’d be overseeing things, keeping an eye on the rest of the security staff, making the schedule, doing paperwork. I’m usually the policy police more than anything. But with the storm, and half my staff not available, I’m doing everything. Watching cameras, handling disturbances, checking on strange noises and still doing all the other stuff. It’s been a long couple days.”
“You poor guy,” she said. “How’d you go from the Marines to security?”
“Happenstance. I went into the military to pay for college and ended up staying for a long time. But I realized I didn’t want to make a life career out of it, so I got out and went to school for a while. I was getting a degree in IT Cyber Security. But I wasn’t happy, and my da—” the word stuck in his throat and he cleared it. “My dad said maybe school just isn't the right fit for me. He told me there was no harm in trying something else. So I applied for a job in security in a department store and just worked my way from there. I like it. I’ve always worked with good people and the job is interesting. Everyday you encounter something different so it keeps you on your toes.”
“Wow, you’re lucky to have a dad who supported you in changing your trajectory. My dad would have blown a gasket if I told him I didn’t want to finish my degree. He kind of did, when I didn’t go to grad school.”
His chest tightened. “Yeah, my dad was great.”
“Was?” She tilted her head. “I’m sorry. Would you like to talk about it?”
He shrugged in the way he’d become used to shrugging about it. “It’s been three years. I’ve made peace with it.”
She gave him a soft smile. “Subject change then?”
“Please.”
“How has your day been?”
“Much more uneventful than yesterday.”
She took a sip of her cocoa. “Because of the storm, you think?”
“No. It’s odd, but for some reason people tend to behave on Christmas Eve. Not always, but often it’s like the hush before the thunder. Yesterday we ended up with a full-on bar brawl. Today, so far, the worst has been a couple of noise complaints.”
“But tomorrow…”
