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CHAPTER 1
What the hell am I doing here? Why did I ever agree to this? I wonder if I can just get up and walk away.
I swallow down the reflux that has been ailing me for weeks now, pressing down on the pit of my stomach with stiff fingers, then wipe my palms on my jeans. The room is quiet but for the scratch of pen on paper, swift and hard as I am sure is the judgement going on that sheet.
Owen takes my right hand in his and squeezes it gently, smiling tentatively when I look at him. “It’s going to be okay, Cris. This isn’t an inquisition.”
“I know,” I say smiling, though I can’t say I fully believe him. Then, leaning towards him and eyeing the fifty-something year old woman not fifteen feet from us, I whisper, “Do we really have to do this?”
The brunette must have super hearing because her head snaps up and she looks at me above rose gold readers. Dark blue eyes study me for a moment, then she goes back to writing intently on her pad, her mouth contorting strangely as she does.
There is a loud screech as Owen adjusts his position on the black vinyl loveseat, and I unconsciously follow suit. Every sniffle, every creek sounds like it’s been set to high in this quiet room.
Finally, after what seems like an hour of waiting, Dr. Gwendolyn Riker clears her throat, then removes her glasses and sets them on the pad she’s been writing on. I swear her eyes narrow as she looks at me. “I hope you don’t mind?” she indicates to a small recorder on her glass desk. “I like to record my sessions, as it’s much easier than writing everything. It allows me to go over the conversations later.”
“Not at all,” Owen tells her readily. I simply offer her a tight smile.
Pressing a button on the side of the gray box, she brings the mic to her mouth and begins. “We are here today with Owen and Cristiana Roberts, patients 769964. The date is January 20th. It will be an open and honest discussion on the events that happened within the last year, concerning marital affairs by both parties.” She sets the recorder on the desk.
I cringe at her words. God, I really don’t want to be here, but Owen insists that we need help. Marriage counseling. Never in a million years would I have thought we’d do this. Yet here we are.
Dr. Riker looks at me. “Cris, you look uncomfortable.”
“I am,” I admit.
“I assure you there is no need. You are in a safe place. Anything discussed here is for the benefit and honesty in your marriage. When we keep things inside and don’t discuss them in a respectful and open manner, we become resentful, angry.”
“I’m not resentful or angry,” I tell her because at least in this moment, I think it’s true.
It’s obvious she doesn’t believe me. She purses her lips and writes something down. Sitting a little higher, I desperately try to see what she’s writing, but the letters are too small to see from my distance. Plopping back, I give up trying.
I can’t say why, because really I’ve just met her today, but I don’t trust her. Jess said to me that it was a reflection of my own issues when I told her yesterday we were coming and how badly I wanted to call the whole thing off.
“I don’t have issues,” I’d told her. “That’s why I don’t want to go.”
If I could have cancelled, I would have. But when I tried to talk to Owen about it, he seemed to really need this from me.
“Whyareyou here?” Dr. Riker asks me.
Shrugging, I say, “I guess so that you can tell us what’s wrong with our marriage?” I am trying to be funny, but I sort of believe it, too. Yet another reason not to be here, I think to myself.
I’ve never met anyone that’s been to marriage counseling that didn’t end up in divorce. True, I’ve only ever met one couple that’s been to therapy, but that one couple called it quits after they’d discovered they’d simply “healed in different directions.” I believe those were their actual words.
“My job is not to tell you what’s wrong with your marriage, Cris,” the counselor says. “I’m here to facilitate a conversation. To help with communication.”
“Then I guess I’m here because Owen wants to be here.”
“You do not agree to the open discussion?”
“That’s not what I said. It’s that I don’t understand what we need to discuss.” Especially in front of a complete stranger.
Dr. Riker looks at me with appraising eyes, and I hate that I can’t tell if they are hostile and judgmental, or simply studying my body language. “Owen has been coming to me for a few weeks now. We have discussed in depth what has happened between the two of you. With his permission, I can tell you that one of the concerns that has been a constant theme in our sessions is that of communication. Owen feels that there is a lack of it, starting with the affairs, your feelings then, feelings now.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know where the miscommunication would be. We discussed his affair and he knew exactly how I felt about it. There was never a question about that. It’s over now.”
“Is it?” Owen asks and I look at him questioningly, then back to her.
“Perhaps then, that is where the miscommunication lies. You are not on the same page when it comes to what has been laid out on the table. Owen can elaborate on what has brought him to seek help. Owen, will you look at Cris, take both her hands in yours, and tell her what your concerns are.”
