by Aidèe Jaimes
37
The drive home is a quiet one. I can’t exactly tell what Owen is thinking, and honestly I don’t worry too much about it as I am lost in my own thoughts. The houses and buildings are nothing but a blur as I remember what Dr. Wade said to me.
There is nothing wrong with me. At least not physically. Emotionally is another matter. Panic or anxiety attacks she said. It makes perfect sense I guess, what with everything that has happened in the last year.
When we arrive, Owen parks in front of the drive and unlocks the car, but doesn’t turn it off.
“Aren’t you coming in?” I ask him.
“I didn’t want to presume that was okay,” he replies somewhat shyly.
“Owen, this is your house, too. And even if it wasn’t, you’d always be welcome.”
“Do you want me to stay?” he asks, and I can see there is so much more meaning to the question.
“I would love that,” I say because I think he needs it, even more than me.
Jess brings Mia over in the afternoon. For the first time in a long time, we enjoy time as a family. Not that we hadn’t been together recently, it’s that this is the first time we truly let go and just are a family. It is a reminder of everything that we’d put on the line with our shenanigans.
“Are you staying the night?” I ask him.
“I thought I could. I’m sure Ray could use the alone time. He’ll probably throw a party,” he says laughing. Ray and his girlfriend broke up three months ago, and Owen has been staying with him. It’s only a temporary thing, though. Owen put a deposit down on a two-bedroom apartment not far from here. Whether he’ll stay there a short while, or much longer, only time will tell.
“We could watch a movie,” I suggest.
He chuckles and says, “Let me pick because you’re going to fall asleep anyway.”
We go to the bedroom and lay on the bed to watch. It’s the only place where we have a television that won’t make too much noise for Mia.
Owen picks Saving Private Ryan.
I squeeze into him and look up into his face. “Is this okay?”
“Mm,” he sounds, and I take that as a yes.
As predicted, my head starts to droop within five minutes. He pushes on me gently and I giggle. “Sorry! I can’t help it.”
“Not even five minutes!”
“I know, I’m awful.” I look up at him through my lashes as I laugh, then stop when I realize he’s not laughing with me. In fact, all I see in his green eyes is heat, and all I feel as he leans down and kisses me, is that all too familiar passion that I immediately respond to. I can’t help it, it’s been ingrained in me for sixteen years, my body so attuned to him that I automatically ignite with his touch.
The movie and my sleepiness completely forgotten, I climb onto his lap, straddling him, my mouth on his. His hands rove my back, his arms keeping me close. I press my core onto his hardness and he moans into my mouth. There’s a desperate need for him, as if though we don’t come together now, it will never happen.
Our breathing is hard and heavy and I start to take my shirt of, wanting us closer. But he stops me. It confuses me, and I search his face, my brows pinched together. He’s struggling for control, I can tell.
“Owen?”
“We need to talk, Cris.”
Sighing, partly in sexual frustration and partly because I genuinely can’t breathe, I sit back on his legs. “I know.”
His hands naturally go to my thighs and rest there. “I want us to work and I think I’ve shown you that.”
“You have, and I want us to work, too. I want to have what we had.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I don’t think that you’re a cheater. At least I don’t think it’s a problem of once a cheater always a cheater. But I do think it’s something to do with this guy specifically. Am I right?”
I don’t want to answer that, but I also want to be honest. He’s not angry, simply trying to find resolution. “Yes.”
“Why don’t we move? We could find a new start, somewhere we don’t have to worry anymore.” He doesn’t say it specifically, but I know he means somewhere he doesn’t have to worry about Bo.
“Move? It seems drastic.”
“I think we need something drastic. Cris, the thing is, that you have a choice to make.”
I huff. “There is no choice to make, Owen. I’m married to you.”
“Yes, but you’re not mine anymore. You are nobody’s. And if you want me, then you have to choose me. Move away with me.”
I stare at his chest as I think of what he’s offering. A new life somewhere else, away from my home, from my friends and family. But I would have him. I would have my marriage back.
“All I’m asking is that you think about it,” he tells me and I nod.
“Where are you going?” I ask when he moves me off him.
“To the guestroom.”
“You don’t want to stay here with me?”
“I do, more than you know. Even more than that I want you to choose me. Until you do, I don’t want to have sex with you.” With those words of rejection that sorely remind me of the one’s Bo used, he leaves me hurt and more aware than ever of one thing. I do have a choice to make.
Damn me!
I can’t believe I’m here again. Though I’d sworn never to grace Dr. Riker’s doorstep ever again, now I stand here, straightening my shirt and slacks, then look at my watch to make sure I’m on time. Twelve-thirty.
Today is Wednesday. This is the one day where Katie picks up Mia from school and watches her until three-thirty. There would be plenty of time for my session, a quick bite, and then home. No one had to know that I’d come to see the shrink.
Blowing out a breath to calm my nerves, I push open the heavy wooden door painted in Williamsburg blue, and walk into the foyer. If I didn’t appreciate the doctor when I was here last, I definitely appreciated the old house she used as her office.
Located in downtown Charlotte, it’s part of a block of old homes that have been converted for business use. I love it. Not only were the buildings dated from the late 1800s spared demolition when they built the high-rises not a block from here, but they were preserved beautifully, the historic association having taken a hand in the process. Because the homes were large and expensive to maintain, it was decided to allow businesses to bid for them and create a sort of little old time looking business district for a few blocks.
All this I learned from Natalia, her assistant.
Past the entrance hall and to the right is a waiting room. Natalia sits in the dark space at a large oak desk. Though she’s fairly young, no more than twenty is my guess, she wears little rose colored readers with a chain to hold them to her neck. I don’t know if she needs them, or it’s that she wants to look sophisticated. Either way, it’s certainly an interesting look. Maybe it’s that she wants to look a little like the doctor.
The young brunette doesn’t notice me until I step on a squeaky old floorboard.
“Mrs. Roberts, so nice to see you again. Dr. Riker is just finishing up with a patient, but if you’ll have a seat, she’ll be right with you.” Natalia indicates the two chairs placed beside a large window across the room from her.
Before I can sit down, I hear the door to the adjoining room open and the patient, an older fellow, steps out, bowing as he leaves. “Thank you, doctor. I’ll see you tomorrow, same time?”
“Of course, Mr. Steele. See you then.” He waves goodbye and nods his head towards us, too, and then walks out of the house.
“Natalia, please send Mrs. Roberts in,” the voice comes through the intercom about two seconds after I hear it coming from the other room, unsynchronized.
The shrink stands in greeting when I walk through the door and sit on the couch across from her, the vinyl making that fart sound when as it gives to my weight. I cringe a little when I notice we’re wearing almost identical outfits, olive green shirt over black slacks. She may have winced a little, too, but if she did
she recovers quickly.
We sit and I see she’s already got her trusty fancy wood pen and notebook at the ready.
“I have to say I was a bit surprised when I saw your name on my appointment calendar. After the way things ended last time, I didn’t expect to see you here. Certainly, not without Owen.”
“Yes, I honestly didn’t think I’d be back either.”
“What’s changed?”
Looking to the recorder sitting on the desk beside the pad, I nod to it. “Aren’t you going to turn that thing on?”
“I did, just as you came in.”
“Oh, okay.” Working my lip and fiddling anxiously with the strap of my bag, I inhale a shaky breath and then let it go slowly. “Owen moved out of the house.”
Her eyebrows raise in surprise, and I wonder if he hadn’t shared that with her or if she was pretending for my sake. “Was this a mutual decision?”
“Not really. It was sudden, though not unexpected given the circumstances, I suppose.”
“What circumstances?” she asks. “Have things changed since the last time I saw you?”
“I had an affair,” I blurt out. “He said he’d talked to you about it?”
She sits back in her office chair. “What I have discussed with Owen in confidential. Are we talking about the same affair you had in New Orleans?”
“No. Yes.” I sigh. “Same man, but recently I’ve been with him again.”
Though she may have been surprised by Owen moving out, I can tell this is not the first time she’s heard that I slept with Bo again. “Mrs. Roberts, tell me something, do you love your husband?”
“Yes. With all my heart.”
“And what of this man. Do you love him?”
“Yes. With all my heart.” Hysterical laughter bubbles up. “I know it sounds crazy, that I could love two men at the same time. But I do.” I shake my head. “They are both expecting a decision from me, but it’s impossible. It feels like I’m standing at a fork in the road, and both ways look right, and they also both lead me to certain death. How can I choose? I feel so utterly lost.
“That’s why I’m here. I’ve told my friends, my dad about this. They each have a side, each giving me a biased opinion on who the right man is. Or they tell me exactly what I want to hear, being careful with my feelings. You on the other hand, I know you don’t like me. You can tell me exactly what I need to do with honesty.”
Doctor Riker cocks her head to the right, a deep frown between her brows. “What makes you think I don’t like you?”
“Your notes,” I say pointing to the pad.
“My notes?”
“Yeah. When I was here you looked at me and wrote with what I can only assume was judgement.”
She laughs, a real amused sort of laugh that makes me feel a little stupid for my assumption. Or maybe more so because I voiced it. Standing, she comes around the desk with her notepad and recorder in hand. “You want to see what I wrote about you?” she asks handing me the thing.
I nod my head and accept it, then begin to read.
Patient; Maria C. Roberts (Cris)
-Comes to me with husband, Owen, to openly discuss the extramarital affairs had by both.
-Posture is uncomfortable, body at slight angle away from husband. Arms crossed in front of chest.
-Short glances only at husband.
-Hostile.
-Distrust.
-Right arm twitches.
-Eyes close at mention of initial affair. Refusal to speak of it.
-Refer to tape CC546
Looking up in puzzlement, I ask, “Is this it?” I could have sworn she was writing every time I looked towards her.
“You’ll see I don’t write very much of the conversations. This trusty little recorder is what I rely on. If I take too much time writing, I can’t really listen. There are little nuances, inflictions of the voice that tell me so much more than the words can. Body posture is a big indicator I use as well.”
She takes the recorder and replaces the little cassette with one I hadn’t seen she had in her hands and presses the rewind button until it stops on its own. For a moment, I have to wonder why she doesn’t use slightly more modern technology, but I guess if she’s been doing this for twenty years, she might be accustomed to doing things a certain way.
“Cristiana, this isn’t something I usually do. No scratch that. This is something I never do. But in your case, I think the only way I can help you is if I can gain your trust. So, I want you to listen to my notes based on the recording from our previous session.”
She hands me the recorder and I hesitantly take it from her hands. Then I press play. There is a moment of silence after a very obvious breath.
In the case of Owen and Cristiana Roberts, today, I will be focusing on the latter.
The patient sat rigid and away from her husband, which to me shows a level of distrust and vulnerability. It was obvious to me as well, that while she voiced a willingness to be here in support of him, her feelings on the matter were quite different.
The posture changed as they both shared memories of the day they met, with Mrs. Roberts holding his hand and for the first and only time during the session looked into his eyes.
However, this quickly changed when the matter of his affair was brought up. There was a blatant refusal to discuss the events that led to the affair, which I hoped would help in the healing process, as they do have a genuine love for each other. But it seemed to have the opposite effect when he told his side of the story, as in the end, when he conveyed his distress over the matter, she shut down, retreating into herself.
I was myself able to see the distance he spoke of, though I do not believe it to be a distance caused by him. This suspicion was further confirmed when she refused to speak of her affair in any degree, and the ache at her part in it was overly evident.
There’s a long pause.
It wasn’t the usual remorse I see in couples that want to rebuild a relationship. Yes, there was sadness in her eyes. So much sadness. But there was more than that. There is no doubt in my mind that what I saw was conflict. Perhaps at the lack of guilt?
But, if she loves Owen, why would there be a lack of guilt at having taken off with another man. Unless… Unless there was also an emotional connection. Mm. This one is too close to home.
The recording stops.
I wipe at my face and am surprised at the wetness that I find. Nowhere in her notes or recording is there judgment.
The doctor gently takes the recorder from my lap. “It seems I was correct in my assumption of your feeling towards this man.”
The knot in my throat is hard to swallow, and it takes me a minute to get it down and answer her. “His name is Bo.”
She nods as if this was all she needed to hear.
I shake my head, tears spilling faster down to the clasped hands on my lap. When I look up at her, she’s studying me in that way that she does, only this time I realize it’s not ill intentioned, but simply watching how I react. It’s her job.
“I haven’t slept with Owen again since I slept with Bo this last time. It feels wrong. Tainted.”
“I can understand that.”
“Tell me what to do.” I look to her imploringly. “How does anyone make a decision like this?”
Taking my hands in hers, she says with true sincerity. “This is a very hard thing to do, Cris. I don’t envy you. Things are so different when it’s a clear-cut affair. But this… It’s not often I encounter it, believe it or not.”
“Then how do I make the choice?”
“Mm,” she says thinking to herself. “You said you envision yourself at a fork in the road.”
“Yes.”
“All right then, here’s what I want you to do. Close your eyes,” she commands softly and I do. “Now I want you to imagine that road. Picture it in your mind’s eye, as if though you are really there. Make it real.”
With my eyes closed, I focus on the image in my head. A dirt road that forks
into two, between a dense forest that darkens them so that I can’t see where they end. Both identical paths, beautiful and terrifying at the same time. “I’m there.”
“Assign Bo to one, and Owen to the other. Don’t tell me which is which. Keep that to yourself.”
“Okay, I did.”
“Now, I am going to tell you which one to go down. You must promise me that you will walk down that path no matter what. This is the man I want you to choose. Do you understand?”
My eyes pop open. “What? You mean we’re going to basically flip a coin.”
“Of course. If you can’t make up your mind, both paths equal in your mind, then it shouldn’t matter who you choose. You will be equally miserable, and happy. Am I right?”
“I…” I shake my head, then nod in agreement, remembering the day when I’d stood on a real road, watching Bo and Owen drive away, desperately trying to figure out who’d turned left and who’d turned right. Maybe it was some sort of forewarning, that I’d one day soon be having to make the decision blindly, not knowing who I’d really choose. Who went left and who went right…
What other choice do I have? It’s been dragged on too long. At some point, I will end up losing them both if I continue. The pain will only be prolonged. My lids close and the roads are before me.
“Cris, you need to walk down the path on the right.”
My breath catches even as my heart races and I turn my head to the right.
“You promised. Do not switch now. The choice is made. Go down the road.”
Panic sets in as I begin to walk down, the soft dirt puffing slightly with every step. As I go further in, the man I’d named for the right begins to form. And when I reach for his outstretched hand, I glance to my left and see the other’s face.
The pain that lances within my chest at the thought of never seeing him again is swift and sharp. There is a sting in my left eye and I wipe at the fat tear that threatened to roll down my cheek, catching it with my forefinger instead. I study the wetness, and it dawns on me then what this is.