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I swear Journee’s skin is redder than mine. She is blushing worse than I am as we both try to figure out what to say in response to this woman’s inquiries. My dark pink scrubs and Journee’s burgundy ones seem to compliment this new flushed look we’re both wearing.
“Mrs. Sexton, I’m going to plead the fifth, finish my coffee, then I’ll see you on the stretch mat in five.”
The older woman smiles before she winks at me.
“Your secret’s safe with me, honey. See you inside.”
She pats my arm as she makes her way to the first therapy room on the left. As soon as she closes the door, I turn to face Journee who’s fighting back laughter.
“When I tell you that woman makes my day, every day, I so mean it.” Journee snatches a piece of my croissant from the open container as she stands. I swat at her but miss. “Thanks for this. You know, she raised some good questions. Questions I’d love the answers to. Later.”
Instead of responding to her, I grab the rest of my breakfast then head to the break room. Before I put my coffee and sandwich away, I take a quick bite then drink. A few deep cleansing breaths along with a couple affirmations and I am ready to start my workday. Hopefully, nothing else happens to make this an even more “manic Monday” than it already has been.
Three hours later and so far, nothing too farfetched has happened. Mrs. Sexton tried to set me up with her single grandson. I declined that setup. I don’t know why but I feel like her grandson would be a little young for me. I’m a twenty-five-year-old, single ... woman who has enough baggage to fill a passenger jet’s cargo bay. I would probably send that poor boy home crying to his therapist. If he didn’t have one, he would after spending time with me.
My second patient wasn’t as chatty. Since I only see two or three patients a day during the three days of week I work, that part of my day goes by quickly. Now, I am at my current love/hate part of the day. The quiet time. As we sit in complete silence, Noelle and I work through charting last week’s patient files. I’m proud of myself because I did follow one of the requests of my therapist’s. I’ve limited my interactions with therapy patients.
Number three of the psychiatrist’s suggestions was that I slowly return to work. I figured volunteering at the foundation would be better for me than trying to figure out my life at home. This made more sense. I’ve returned to duty part time and have been doing more administrative work than anything else. All the things most people are annoyed with or too busy to complete, I’m usually the one working on.
Noelle agreed with my choice. Noelle Embers is one of my other friends and my current psychiatrist. How she compartmentalizes the different aspects of our relationship as well as everything she deals with in her life is beyond me. The petite framed marathon runner is dressed in plum-colored scrubs today. Her white coat hangs on a coat rack near her office door. Her usually straight, jet-black hair is streaked with burgundy highlights and hanging loose around her shoulders today. Her soft peach tone skin catches the sunlight from the windows making her look like the goddess she is as she works. I can even see her freckles today.
My focus returns to the files sitting in my lap and beneath me. I’ve been sitting, staring out the window, lost in thoughts that dance across the late morning sky when muffled voices reach my ears. The commotion that grows louder on the other side of the door also catches Noelle’s attention. Talk about disturbing the peace.
Dr. Embers’ office is a warm beige with clear glass shelves on one side of the half wall of windows with the beige cover seat where I’m sitting. The other side is a wall of bookshelves. A taupe-colored couch with three white pillows and two red ones in the center sit under the shelves that house a variety of stone, glass, and clay items. Several silk tapestries hang in various parts of the office. Two hang over the dark wood bookcases. The one that hangs in the center of the wall above the couch matches the color of the walls perfectly. If it weren’t for the dark wood item it’s hanging on, I couldn’t see that it was a piece of fabric and not a mural on the wall.
I’ve found most of the office and rooms in this building have a wall of bookshelves. Hers has strategically placed color-coordinated books, boxes, a framed fan, a clock, a sandglass, and other things that are lit by a background light on each shelf. She also has a blood red desk chair. Her office color scheme is black or dark brown and cream/beige with red accents. Her office is one of the places I love to visit because of the calm I feel. Plus, the décor speaks to me. Her Japanese heritage is prevalent in this room.
Giggles, rushed movement, and repeated shuffling has Dr. Embers up and out of her seat a few seconds later. She quickly crosses the distance of the large, dark chocolate Tatami rug that takes up most of the floor between her stark white rounded desk and the old wooden door of her office. It's then that I notice she’s rocking her leopard print flats and not sneakers that match her scrubs.
Dr. Embers peeks out the doorway. After a few minutes, she closes it. She pulls her white coat from the rack then puts it on.
“Hey, what’s with all the commotion out there?”
“I’m thinking somebody famous is here. That’s usually the only time this much motion happens at once. That or a fi ... a drill.”
She clears her throat then watches me for my reaction. I don’t so much as flinch.
“I’m guessing that’s my cue to head out the back. I probably should head home. That’s not something I want to partake in today. I don’t have any desire to meet the new celebutante with no real issue.”
“Oooh, harsh. We’ll have to get into that during our next session. I feel like there’s something to unpack there, Missy.” She takes a deep breath then fixes the collar of her coat. “Thank you again for putting together the party. It was a nice surprise. I’ll see you tonight and I promise, I won’t where the therapist hat.”
“You’re welcome. Anytime. I’m glad the doctor isn’t coming tonight. I’d hate to have to uninvite you or worse kick you out for ruining the evening.”
Noelle smiles then exits, turning the lock as she goes. I leave through the restroom which leads to the filing room. Her office is a converted bedroom which has a connecting bathroom to another converted bedroom. This room houses all our files in physical and digital form. There is a computer station here with two computers. We could work in here and most do. Noelle’s office has a view of Forsyth Park. I love being in the Historic District. Sitting at the window seat is better than sitting in the rolling chairs found in the filing room any day.
I make a stop in the kitchen to snag a slice of cake. Cake is one of my weaknesses. I smile because it reminds me of a scene from theJumanjimovie; the new one with Dwayne Johnson and Kevin Hart. It’s as I’m walking to the former dining room that is now a converted locker room that I catch a glimpse of someone familiar. The long, dark hair gives me pause. The person I knew wore his hair that way but the person he became as always kept his hair short and neatly trimmed. Besides, there’s no way that’s him. He lives on the west coast.
I do a doubletake but can’t get another glimpse of him because there’s a crowd around whoever it is. I dismiss the thought.
“There’s no way that was Daire. Of course, he would cause that type of chaos, but no way could he be here.” I’m muttering to myself as I enter the locker area. The ceiling fans are blowing and I’m loving the cool air as it washes over me. “Weird.”
“What’s weird?”
Journee’s question startles me and instantly pulls me from my drifting thoughts. I welcome the reprieve because I definitely don’t need to go down that road. It leads nowhere fast.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Enjoy the rest of your shift and I’ll see you at home.”
“You sure? You seem a little off. I can cut my shift short if you need me to?”
