He laughs. “Yes, that can be our official first rule.”
The waiter comes by, and I motion for another round of drinks. “Might as well be good and drunk for this,” I say. “Okay, what else?”
He holds his hands up. “This is your show, Kat. You get to make the rules.”
Pointing at him, I ask, “Just so we’re clear, you’re not that kind of therapist, right?”
He shakes his head. “No, not at all. I mean, I know of the treatments, and I learned some techniques in college, but I’ve never done it.” For a moment, he manages to look even twitchier than he has all night. “But I don’t feel comfortable doing...that. If you want the actual physical therapy, I can’t do it. I could lose my license.”
My body involuntarily shudders. “No, no, I don’t want that kind of therapy from you. Really, really no.” I frown a little. “But I don’t want you to get into trouble. Can you even do any of this?”
He considers this. “Well, I can’t date my patients. And I can’t perform physical therapy on anyone outside the hospital for insurance reasons. But you aren’t a patient, and this is definitely not sanctioned physical therapy.”
“This is...”
“Unofficial therapy sex?”
I stifle a giggle. “I feel like we’re living outside the law.”
Laughing, he says, “I’m a rebel.” I look at the rebel’s tie a little closer and realize the print is of stylized dinosaurs. Definitely a rebel. He adds, “So, legally, I’m okay. Let’s just think of this like I’m not Ben the pediatric physical therapist—I’m Ben, your friend, doing what I can to help out. But what about you? Are you all right with this? How do you even want to go about any of it?”
I rock back and forth in my seat for a moment. “Well. If this is therapy sex, and not, like, we’re dating sex, shouldn’t it be, um...”
“Therapeutic?”
I frown. “I was thinking more perfunctory. But that doesn’t sound right.”
He stares at the table. “So, not—” he motions with his hands, as if he can grab the right words if he just tries hard enough “—romantic? Emotional? What do you mean?”
I’m still frowning. “Yeah, I think. Okay. That.”
“Are you sure?”
I straighten up. “Yes. I mean, this is a means to an end, right? So, the romance, and foreplay, all of that, seems kind of misplaced.”
“I’m just curious,” he says carefully, “but wouldn’t things like foreplay maybe help?”
I stare at him. “Damned if I know. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
He stares back. “I don’t have a clue, either.”
“This is probably a terrible plan.”
The waiter comes back with our drinks and we both grab and start guzzling before he can even set them on the table.
15
“Fuck this fucking raven!”
I grab the now-unusable fondant and throw it across the kitchen. Butter and Liz both freeze mid-decoration. I take a deep breath, pick up my X-ACTO knife and lean back over my station.
“You, uh, you okay, sweetie?” Butter asks gently.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, focusing on cutting the wings as carefully as I can.
Shannon comes walking back into the prep area and straightens her apron. “Why do we hate ravens?”
“Kat is having a moment,” Liz says. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her gesturing to me with her eyes wide.
“Could we not point at me, please?”
“What’s going on, Pumpkin?” Shannon asks, standing next to me at my station. “You look a little...manic.”
“I’m fine,” I say, accidentally cutting the head off this bird. “Fuck.” I stab the damn thing with my knife out of spite, move on to a fresh patch and start cutting a new one.
“Okay, seriously, stop with the fondant,” Shannon says in her mom voice. “What’s going on?”
I slap the knife down on the table and snap up. “Nothing. I’m okay, really,” I lie. I run my fingers through my hair and pull my ponytail tighter. “I’m just a little overwhelmed.”
“We still have two weeks until the presentation,” Butter says. “We haven’t even finalized the recipes yet, hon. You’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself.”
“I just want to get it right!” I say a little too loudly, sucking in a sharp breath.
“Lady, you’re on edge. What is happening with you?” Shannon puts her hand on my shoulder, and I honestly feel like I might burst out laughing or crying.
“I’m supposed to have sex with Ben tonight,” I whimper.
The three of them—all three, simultaneously—drop their jaws open.
“Okay, honey, if that’s your reaction to sleeping with someone, I’m pretty sure you’re doing it wrong,” Butter offers.
“Oh, shut up!” I snap. “This is serious! What if it doesn’t work? Which it won’t. Of course it won’t.”
“So don’t do it yet,” Shannon says. “If you’re not ready.”
“Oh my god, I’m ready,” I say, and I can feel my hands clenching into sweaty grips at my sides. “Me? I’m ready. I’m so ready. You bring Ryan or Ben in here, and I’ll go right the hell now, okay? It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s my goddamn special that’s going to mess this up.”
“Kat, you are losing it,” Butter says, bringing me a bottle of water. “Calm down.”
I take the water and chug until the ringing in my ears stops. “My doctor gave me anxiety medication for my vagina,” I sigh. “That’s my life right now. My junk is strung out.”
“I’m getting tense just watching you,” Shannon says. “My doc gave me those pills, too. They were helpful. But what did your doctor say about everything?”
I shrug. “Take it slow, don’t rush, blah, blah.”
“That doesn’t sound ‘blah, blah,’” Liz scolds.
I hold the bottle to my forehead. “I know, okay? I do. I know I’m being stupid about this. I just...” I slump down onto one of the stools by the sink. “I just want to get past all of this, you know? I don’t want this to be my thing anymore. It’s all I can think about lately. I feel broken.”
“But you’re not,” Butter says.
“I am, though!” I insist. “And it’s not like I have to wait for a bone to grow back. It’s something I can fix. It’s driving me crazy.”
“Because you’re a control freak, you dork,” Shannon says with a smile and pokes me in the arm. “But you can’t force this. And if you really like Ben, I don’t think rushing into doomed sex is a great idea.”
“It’s not about that. This is therapy sex,” I clarify. “We talked about it.”
Butter gapes. “Seriously? You’re doing that?”
I shrug. “He wanted to help. I want to have sex. It seemed like a good plan.”
Shannon appears to be blatantly judging me. “What does therapy sex entail, exactly?”
“Well, Shannon,” I say in my best fake announcer voice, “I’m glad you asked. The plan is that this is in no way a dating venture, nor a romantic endeavor, but merely one friend helping another with physical assistance. It’s not about kissing and swooning. It’s about seeing what works and what doesn’t.”
Shannon rubs her temples. “I see no way this can end horribly. None at all.”
“Look, when you were going through this, you had Joe. And you had all that comfort and trust, and it worked. But I don’t have the luxury of time to form a marital bond, okay? Ryan and I aren’t in a place where we can do that, and I refuse to go all trial and error with him again. Joe was there to test your progress out on, so that’s kind of what Ben is. He’s my...tester.”
I can see her forcing her eyes not to roll. “This deadline is your choice. Why don’t you back the pressure off yourse
lf and take this slower?”
“I’m with Shannon,” Liz offers in a quiet voice. “This doesn’t seem to be helping you much.”
“Because I’m terrified if I don’t do it now, I’ll find some reason to push it off like I did before,” I shout, feeling an acidic burn of tears behind my eyes. “And two years from now, we’ll all be sitting here having this same conversation. Ryan and I will be in the same miserable place, except he’ll be off sleeping with other people because that seemed like a good idea at the time, and our rut will be so deep we’ll have reached Earth’s core levels. And you know what? My vagina can’t handle another two years on the shelf, okay? It’s not a fine wine. It will not get better with age, stored in a dark cellar. It needs to be uncorked right the fuck now.”
Butter frowns at me but delicately asks, “You’re going to have sex with Ben, but it’s not going to be while dating? How does that even work?”
“This is just, I don’t know, business. He knows all about Ryan and our arrangement, and he gets it.”
The room is filling up with their judgment and doubts. It’s okay. It’s not like I don’t already have everything they are likely thinking dancing around in my head anyway.
It hits me that until a couple of weeks ago, if there’d been something stressing me out this much, I would have been sending shouty or whiny texts to Ryan during the day. For four years, he’s been my not-Shannon/Butter/etc. outlet.
Is that even a thing I could do now?
Is that even a thing I want to do now?
Furthermore, I know I gave Ryan permission—nay, blatantly ordered him—to sleep with other people, but we never really agreed to me doing the same.
And what if this all fails horribly and Ryan and I split up? Because I damn well won’t keep him tied up in a relationship if our future is going to be like the last two years.
I’m definitely going to die sexless and alone.
“Okay,” Shannon says, clapping her hands together, making me jump. “Kat. This is your thing, and yes, what you’ve got going on right now is a little...strange, but this is your issue. If this is how you feel like you need to deal with it, well, then we support you, don’t we?”
“Of course we do,” Butter says. Liz nods.
Shannon continues, “We know how important it is to you to not surpass that two-year mark, so that makes it important to us, right ladies?”
Butter cheers an enthusiastic, “Right!” while Liz’s nodding accelerates.
“Is there anything you need from us? Is there anything we can do to help?”
I look at her, and I feel the burning in the back of my eyes again. “Am I being an idiot?” I rub my hands roughly on my apron. “This is the best option I can think of right now, but is it horrible? Am I being stupid?”
Shannon stares at me and considers everything. “Did you discuss everything with Ben?” I nod. “And you told him about all of it? Like, the honest truth?”
I nod harder. “I did. And he didn’t run away screaming or anything. And I’ve known him for five months, what with him coming to the shop every day, and we all know he’s a nice guy, right? He just doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be pushy about sex in general. Like, I need someone who will let me do this in my own time, and I think he will. He was definitely there for everything when we talked about all of this. And plus, he’s a therapist, so I feel like he’ll get what I need and at least understand what’s working and what isn’t, you know?”
“Those are all excellent points,” Shannon offers.
A pitiful squeak emanates from my throat. “This scares me to death. Aside from all the Ryan stuff, I really like Ben. I like having him in my life as a friend. What if I’m screwing everything up with therapy sex?”
Butter comes over and gives me a hug. “I dunno,” she says. “I think if he was willing to hang around with all that, he’s probably not one to scare easy. I mean, he came back after dildo day, girl.”
Liz makes a whining noise. “Oh god, you’re going to end up being best friends, and I’ll have to see him forever and remember that, aren’t you?”
“That’s now my main goal in life,” I say, clinging to Butter. “Second only to getting laid, of course.”
* * *
Dr. Snow says I need to relax, so I’m going to relax, damn it.
I’ve got two hours until Ben shows up at my apartment, but I’m certainly not feeling relaxed. I’ve got a tiny bottle of antianxiety medication for my special rattling around in my purse, but I can’t bring myself to take that leap. Not that I’m against medication or anything, but it feels a little early in the game to be calling in a pinch hitter.
I can relax.
I stare at my phone, the GPS leading me to a spa that is apparently located a mere ten blocks from my apartment. I haven’t had the time or desire to waste an afternoon at a spa since my mom gave me a gift card to one for my twenty-third birthday. I think I’ve probably passed this place several times, but it’s never registered in my mind before.
If I can’t deep-breathe my way into a calmer state, I’m going to pay someone to help.
I get why everyone says I’m pushing myself a little too hard right now, but I didn’t plan on the Coopertown deal lining up with my special epiphany. And quite frankly, all this below-the-belt nonsense is making it a little hard to focus. If I could just get a better grip on the situation, I’d be free to give those damn sugar ravens my full attention.
When I was in school, I would do projects when they were assigned. Shannon and my other friends would wait until the last minute, or spread the work out over a few days or weeks. Not me. I would sit down the night we were given the work and settle in until it was done. I didn’t like the responsibility hanging over my head. I wanted it done and out of the way so I could look toward anything else that might come my way.
I’d much rather get this particular homework knocked out and off my to-do list instead of waiting until the moment it’s due. A moment when it’s important and I’m emotionally invested and it would be devastating in one way or another for it all to go south.
I come upon Eden’s Tranquility and tuck my phone back in my pocket. I open the door and am greeted by a tinkling bell sound from somewhere. There’s woodwind music playing from overhead speakers, and a heady combination of aromatherapy smells that I’m assuming have been mixed up during the day.
The lights are low. There’s bamboo everywhere. So, a spa.
A calm-looking woman behind the front counter smiles at me. “Welcome to Eden’s Tranquility,” she says. “Do you have an appointment with us this evening?”
I walk up to join her and experience a slight fear of catching my hair on fire. I can’t imagine they really need so many candles at the hostess station.
“Um, no,” I explain. “Your website said you accept walk-ins. I was wondering if you have anything available for right now?”
“What kind of service are you looking for?”
I look at her hopefully. “Well, I need something relaxing. And—” I say, glancing up at the clock on the wall “—something that has me in and out in an hour.”
She smiles serenely. “All of our services are meant to soothe and relax.”
Pursing my lips together for a beat, I take a breath and say, “Okay, great. Then I need something that will relax me up right nice in an hour. And it’s pretty important.”
Giving me a somewhat questionable look, she starts typing on her computer. “We can certainly try. Most of our therapists are booked for the evening, but it looks like Tamara has an opening right now. Would you like to book a massage?”
I consider this. Massage, relaxed muscles, bingo. “Sign me up.”
The hostess, whose name is Brittany, according to her name tag, sits me down in a squashy armchair surrounded by ferns and bamboo with a stack of pa
perwork to fill out. Truly, they are asking for more information than I have to give at a doctor’s visit.
I don’t know why they need to know how much alcohol my grandmother drank per day, but I go ahead and scribble out that Grams liked a tipple of sherry on Sundays.
After a small chunk of time, a woman with naturally bright red hair comes out to greet me. “Hello, Kat,” she says, shaking my hand. “I’m Tamara. I’ll be your massage therapist this evening. Let me take those.”
“Hi,” I greet her, handing over the freaking ten-page essay worth of answers I’ve just written out and wondering why I can’t get away from therapists. “Thanks for fitting me in.”
“Of course,” she says, flipping through the papers. I can tell her soothing voice is something that’s been rehearsed. I wonder if it’s a job requirement here. “Follow me, please, and we’ll get started.” She leads the way through the lobby, and we head through a narrow hallway to the individual treatment rooms. “Now, I’m told you are hoping for a relaxing experience? Did you have a particular need you want met, or were you more looking for a night off?”
We reach an empty room, and she motions me inside. The walls are painted a soothing sage green, and it’s all accented with dark wood. The only lights are very dim wall sconces and candles lit on a table by the door. A massage table stands in the middle of the room.
“Erm,” I reply. “I have um, a date, yeah, a date tonight, and I was hoping to go into it nice and Zen, you know?”
Tamara smiles at me. “Yes, of course. First I’ll have you get changed, and then we can get started. Brittany mentioned you’re on a schedule, so I’ll make sure to have you out of here on time.” She motions to an empty basket on a chair next to some hooks on the wall. “You can place your clothing and personal belongings in the basket and on the hooks, and then lie facedown under the sheet. I’ll give you a few minutes to get changed.”
In a flash of red locks, she’s out the door, and I’m left wondering how long a few minutes is. Is this like a leisurely time when I can undress at a mellow pace, or more like eating in prison, when I’ve got about sixty seconds to get done what needs to get done before the door bursts back open and the riots break out?
The Awkward Path to Getting Lucky Page 10