“How are you today, Sam?” Colleen stands up from behind the counter as I open the door.
She used to practically sing her “It must be Wednesday” line, but today, I get the same awkward greeting I got last week, her voice dropping into a lower octave when she says my name, her lips pursed sympathetically while she waits for my reply. I tell her I’m fine.
I’ve already apologized for bursting in here that day, and she insisted I had nothing to be sorry for. That she’d already forgotten all about it. Clearly, she hasn’t.
“She’s waiting for you. Go on in.”
I was kind of hoping Sue would suggest moving our meeting to her backyard oasis, where we could talk in comfortable chairs around a fountain and among flowers, but no such luck.
When I step into her office, she stands up from behind her desk and crosses the room to meet me halfway. “Wow. You look different today,” she says, beaming at me.
“Do I?” I ask, like I don’t know what she’s talking about. But I do. I’m wearing jeans and a plain, long-sleeve T-shirt. My hair is long and straight, but I didn’t flat iron it or anything. And I’m hardly wearing any makeup, just a light bit of foundation, some blush, and mascara. I’ve been scaling back over the last few weeks. This feels more like me. And I have an extra hour to sleep now.
“If it weren’t for the holiday decorations all over town and the fact that I have to cook Christmas dinner for twenty people next week, I’d swear it was the middle of July,” she says. “You look relaxed. And happy. Like Summer Sam.”
I’m not sure how to explain it, but I don’t feel like Summer Sam. I’m more relaxed, happier than she ever was, because even in July I was dreading August, and finding it hard to be truly happy when the sand was flowing into the bottom half of the hourglass and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“Summer Sam was always…” I pause, searching for the right word, and settle on: “Temporary. But this feels pretty permanent.”
Sue smiles.
“I registered for the advanced swim program today. Five a.m. practices every morning.” I roll my eyes. “But year-round meets, a chance to swim at Junior Nationals, and a much better shot at a scholarship.”
Now she’s beaming. “Well, that’s certainly cause for celebration.” Sue glides over to the minifridge and removes a bottle of sparkling apple cider. She pours it into two plastic champagne flutes and returns, handing one to me.
“To Sam,” she says, raising her glass in the air.
I clink mine against it and echo her words. “To Sam.”
We take our ciders over to our chairs. I kick off my shoes and Sue hands me my putty. I take sips from my glass as I fill her in on my week, and she listens and nods. She doesn’t have her leather-bound portfolio on her lap like she usually does, so I have a feeling this is going to be a light session. After the last few, I imagine we could both use one.
Three weeks ago, we spent the entire time role-playing my breakup with the Crazy Eights. The week after that, I spent the whole time crying, wondering if I’d made the right decision. Last week, we switched gears, and Sue convinced me to recite the poem I wrote for Caroline. And then she asked me to read more of my poems, and I cried even harder.
As I was reading, I started to realize how much the number three has been impacting my thoughts and actions, and by the end of our session, I told her I wanted to work harder to control my impulses. Which meant I had to fess up about the odometer.
Sue pointed to the putty in my hands. “What if you took a chunk of that with you today and used it to cover the numbers?” I’d squeezed it in between my fingers and told her that might work. “If you feel like you truly need to remove it before you park, go ahead,” she says. “Then put it back. But see if you can keep it on there for good.”
I still think about those numbers every time I park, but I haven’t cheated once.
We talk about AJ next. I fill her in on everything, and then I tell her he drove me to my appointment today.
“He needed some new guitar strings, and the music store is a couple blocks away.” I take a sip of my sparkling cider, thinking about how the whole conversation with AJ played out.
We’ve talked a lot about Sue over the last few weeks. He knows how important she is to me, and that I want him to meet her someday. I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet, but I liked the idea of him dropping me off. I told him he could meet Colleen if he wanted to.
“I kind of needed him to see where I go on Wednesdays.”
I can tell she’s proud of me. I’m feeling a little proud of myself, too. It feels good to talk. It feels good to be surrounded by people who make it so easy.
And then she asks me about Caroline, and I get quiet for a long time.
Finally, I tell her how my stomach falls every time I look at the other end of my locker bank and find it empty, and how I often sit in the first row of the theater during lunch, writing in the dark like the two of us used to do. I admit that last week, I started making a playlist of songs that were popular during Caroline’s high school years and titled it Right Beside You after the lyrics in a Snow Patrol song.
“I miss her. A lot. Every day.” The lump in my throat swells and I can feel my eyes welling up. I don’t want to cry. Not today.
Sue must be able to tell from the look on my face, because she stands and claps her hands together once. “Hey,” she says excitedly. “I have something for you.”
She walks over to her desk and returns carrying a box wrapped in bright blue paper with a big white bow around the center. She hands it to me.
“You got me a Christmas present? Let me guess. A shiny new brain? A healthy one this time?” I give it a little shake. Damn. Too light.
“It’s just a little something. I couldn’t resist. It spoke to me—said you two needed each other.”
“Hey, if I can talk to imaginary people, I guess you can talk to inanimate objects.” I tug at the bow and it falls to the floor. I pull the lid off the box. “No way,” I say. I hold the T-shirt up in front of me so I can read the big block letters: I AM SILENTLY CORRECTING YOUR GRAMMAR.
“Sue, this is awesome. It’s so…” I stop short of saying the first thing that pops into my head. Then I say it anyway. “Caroline.”
I stand up and hug her, even though I’m not supposed to, and she hugs me back, despite the fact that we’re breaking her “professional distance” code. I layer my new shirt over the top of my long-sleeved tee and model it for her. “What do you think?” I ask.
“Perfect,” she says.
No. It’s not perfect. But it’s me.
When our time is up, I leave her office and head back to the waiting room, realizing that, for the first time in five years, we didn’t talk about the Crazy Eights.
AJ had said he’d meet me downstairs, so I’m surprised to find him in the waiting room. “Hey,” he says. “Nice shirt.”
“Thanks. It was a gift from Sue.” I point to Colleen. “Did you two meet?”
“We did,” she says. She’s no longer wearing that pity-stare. She’s looking at us with the glowing, giddy expression I’m more accustomed to.
“See you next Wednesday,” I tell her.
AJ and I walk out the doors and stop in front of the elevators, and once we’re out of Sue’s office and away from Colleen’s curious eyes, he wraps his arms around me. I feel his fingers in my hair and his breath on my neck, and he doesn’t say a word, he just hugs me tight for the longest time. I love the way I fit in his arms. How my ear rests perfectly against his chest and I can hear his heartbeat.
“Thanks for coming today,” I tell him.
“I’m glad I did.”
“Me too.”
I reach out and press the elevator button. Once. I feel the urge to push it two more times, but I grab AJ’s hand and kiss it instead.
