I press the little lever under the chair, and the seat lowers until it’s at a comfortable height.
The office is nice. I looked through it earlier, and the heavy dark-stained furniture is very Dominic. But the leather office chair is comfortable, and there’s a place to plug my laptop in right on the desk, so it’ll suit me just fine.
For a moment, I think about leaving my cold bottle right on the desktop, but the craftsmanship of the desk is beautiful, so I start opening drawers, looking for a coaster.
I don’t find one, but I find a blank notebook, which will work.
After turning on my laptop, I click the link to join the web session.
There’s still a couple of minutes before we’ll start, and I glance past my computer to the office door. I’m tempted to go lock it, but I have to trust that Dominic won’t just walk in during my session. Not to mention I can’t imagine a locked door would do much if he really wanted to get in.
My screen shows my face looking back at me as I wait for the doctor to join.
I tighten my ponytail.
I shift in my seat.
I take another sip of root beer.
I’m always a little nervous before our appointments because therapy is never exactly fun, but today I feel extra stressed.
Probably because I know I have to tell her that I got married and moved to a new state since we last talked.
I shove my hands in my lap and remind myself that she won’t judge me. She never has.
The scent from the lunch Dom brought home for me fills the office. I won’t eat it while we talk, but I always feel wrung out after therapy, so my plan is to just sit here and eat it cold afterward—by myself.
I’m considering opening the container to sneak a fry when the screen changes, alerting me that the doctor is about to join.
“Good afternoon, Val.” Doctor Amy smiles at me, her springy gray curls framing her face.
“Hello.” I wave. Like a moron.
“How was your day today?” She starts the session as she always does.
As I’ve learned to do, I take my time before answering.
I think about waking up with Dom half on top of me. And about him kissing the back of my head while he thought I was sleeping.
I think about the work call with the girls this morning and all the laughs and smiles we had.
I think about how I felt when I thought Dom had a room set up for another woman. How it made me feel sick to think about him with someone else.
And then how relieved I felt when he said they were his mother’s things.
And I think about him dodging the bra I threw at him because it was his mom’s bra.
I smile. “It was good.” I think about the delicious-smelling food waiting for me, because my new, definitely crazy, husband checked on me and wants to make sure I eat. And that he brought me a gyro and fries because he likes my softness and isn’t trying to put me on a diet. “It was actually pretty good.”
“You sound surprised by that.”
I lift a shoulder. “The last few days have been not so good.”
Doctor Amy makes a sound of understanding. “Want to talk about that?”
“I don’t really know where to start,” I admit.
“What were some of the feelings you had that made it not so good?”
The lightness of a moment ago drifts away, and I roll my lips together. “I’ve been… I had to go to a funeral yesterday.” I swallow. “And I know my mom’s funeral was six years ago, but recently, I’ve been having all those feelings again.”
“Which feelings?”
“Like I don’t belong anywhere.” It comes out quiet.
“And did you feel that way yesterday, too?”
I shake my head. “No. Yesterday was… how it should be.”
She tips her head. “What do you mean?”
“It was sad. Horribly sad. But…” I have to break off. “Someone hugged me.” Tears I didn’t even know were building drip down my cheeks. “And it-it just… I didn’t even know her, but she hugged me, and I hugged her back, and it helped. Ya know? It was just a simple hug, and suddenly, I didn’t feel so alone anymore. And it just… It makes me so mad. Because why couldn’t I have had that?” I rub my hands across my cheeks. “I know we can’t change the past, but I can’t stop myself from wondering how my life would be different if I’d had that sort of… support.”
The doctor nods. “Just because we can’t change the past, doesn’t mean we can’t be mad at it.”
“I know.” I sniffle.
“And it’s okay to daydream about a different life, so long as you’re still giving yourself credit for what you’ve accomplished on your own.”
I nod.
“But you said today was better?” she asks.
“Yeah. I, um, slept well last night.” My cheeks are already coloring from crying, so I don’t have to worry about blushing. Because I hate to admit that I sleep better with Dom at my side. Or draped across me.
And the orgasm probably didn’t hurt.
