Unconditional

by Linda Rettstatt

  “It’s good, what you’re doing for yourself. Keep it up.” I stirred cream into my coffee.

  “How are things going with you and Thomas?”

  I paused. “We’re getting along. You know, I’ve accepted the fact that I can’t love Thomas as my husband now. And I can’t honestly be happy for him in his new lifestyle. But I also have to accept the fact that Thomas was my best friend and I loved him for that, loved him for the man he is. I still do.” I swallowed hard.

  “Even after what he’s done?”

  “In spite of what he’s done.” I fiddled with my spoon. “He went with me to the doctor last week. He wants to be involved in…everything. He even wants to be with me for Lamaze classes.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  “I suppose. I mean, he is the baby’s father. And it’s tough doing this alone. I need to think about it.”

  Audrey looked stricken. How many times had my sister assured me she would be with me? She’d watched countless videos and read stacks of books on pregnancy and childbirth to compensate for her own lack of experience in the matter. “Hey, Aud, you could be my coach.”

  “Me?”

  “Why not you? With all those videos, you probably know more about childbirth than I do. The instructor talks us through it. I just need someone there with me.”

  She grinned. “Sure. I’d love it.”

  “Thanks.” I polished off my piece of cheesecake.

  Audrey gazed at me. “When you were born, I thought you were mine. I mean, Mom and Dad kept saying they were going to the hospital to bring me a new baby. So I thought you were my baby, just like a new doll. Mom had a heck of time explaining why I couldn’t feed you, only she could. I was so curious about that. But she let me rock you and even change your diapers. I’m sure she had to go back and fix the diaper to keep it from falling off. But I was so excited about having a baby sister.” Her eyes shone with moisture.

  Tears blurred my vision and I reached for a napkin. “Shit. Look at the two of us.”

  “Yeah, we were like this as kids, too. One of us would start to cry, then the other joined right in. Remember that time in the yard when I got stung by a bee. I sat down and told you to get Mom. But you just stood there, crying harder than I was until Mom heard us both and came running.”

  “I remember that.” I wiped my eyes. “It was if I felt that same sting.”

  “Exactly. We couldn’t have been closer back then if we were twins, even if we are as different as night and day now. We feel one another’s pain.” She nodded toward my belly. “So I’m just hoping you don’t have a long labor.”

  I laughed. “I hadn’t thought of that. Well, then, the Lamaze class will come in handy for you, too. You can learn to breathe through the pain right along with me.” I stood and carried my dish and cup to the sink.

  Audrey draped an arm around me. “We ain’t got much, but we’ve got each other.”

  I clung to her. “That’s worth more than gold.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Meg, we have four new clients scheduled this week. What did you do, put your picture and phone number on the side of a bus?” Nikki asked.

  “I haven’t done anything. We’re supposed to be cutting down on new clients before my maternity leave. Who referred them?”

  “They didn’t say. But it’s weird—they’re all men. Maybe they thought they were calling the nail salon-slash-massage parlor down the street.”

  “When they come in, make sure to note how they were referred to me. That seems kind of strange. You did tell them I’d be taking maternity leave for a few months?”

  “Yes. They all said that would be fine. They were insistent upon scheduling with you.” The phone rang and Nikki answered. Her eyebrow lifted and she looked up at me. “Yes, we have an opening this afternoon, as a matter of fact.” To me, she mouthed, ‘Late cancellation.’ “Two-thirty. Bring your insurance information. Oh, and, who referred you? Uh-huh. I see. Okay, thanks. We’ll see you around two-fifteen so you can complete your paperwork.”

  “Well?” I asked.

  “This woman with an oddly deep voice said she was referred to you by someone at the GLBT center? What do you think that…? Oh. The GLBT center.”

  “Want to enlighten me as to what those letters stand for?”

  “The Gay, Lesbian, Bi, Transgender center.”

  “The…huh?” I glanced at the name she’d neatly printed in the appointment book. “Michael Staley. Not someone I know.”

  “Michael-a,” Nikki corrected and grinned. “This is gonna be good. I think I just figured out where all your new clients are coming from. Next week is gonna be like the annual gay pride parade in here.”

  “Oh, you don’t think… You think Thomas is referring people to me? No.” I shook my head. “No, he wouldn’t do that, not without mentioning it to me. Francisco. I’ll bet it’s that little bastard. This would be his way of rubbing my nose in the shit he’s stirred up.” My stomach burned with anger.

  “Who cares? You said it yourself—as long as they’re paying clients.”

  “Oh, someone’s going to pay alright. By the way, who canceled today at two-thirty?”

  “Mrs. D. She’s busy packing for a trip. Said she has to get away from Mr. D. for a few days, or she’ll kill him. I smell divorce in the air again.”

  The phone rang, and we both stared at it. Then Nikki picked up. “Ritter Counseling. Yes. Uh-huh. Um…” She tilted her head and glanced up at me. “How about next Tuesday at eleven a.m.? Your name?” As she scratched Steven Wasserman into the appointment book, she repeated the name aloud, emphasizing the hissing ‘s’. “Okay, we’ll see you on Tuesday, Mr. Wasserman.” Again, she hissed.

  “Let me guess.”

  “Ssssteven saw your card posted on a bulletin board. He didn’t sssspecify where.”

  “Will you knock it off with the hissing? I get the point. What am I going to do? I can’t counsel these people.”

  Her eyes widened. “These people?”

  “You know what I mean. I’m in no position to deal with the issue of alternative lifestyles with anyone. I can’t be objective. Crap. I’m going to have to find a place to refer them all. Do not take any more new clients. Period.”

  ~ * ~

  At two-thirty, I walked to the front office and opened the door to the waiting room. “Michaela Staley?” I extended my hand to the woman seated and flipping through an old issue of People. “I’m Meg Ritter,” I said.

  The woman stood and towered over me. “Yes, thank you for seeing me on such short notice. And most people call me Micki,” she said in a deep, husky voice.

  I took the intake sheet from Micki’s hand and led her down the hall. “Please, have a seat.”

  Micki chose the rocking chair. I sat in my swivel desk chair and scanned the paperwork. Referred by—GLBT Center. I set down the file and faced my new client. “So, Micki, exactly how did you hear about Ritter Counseling?”

  “At the center. Someone in a group mentioned your name, then I saw your card on the resource board.”

  “Someone?”

  “Yes. See, at the center we have support groups. And we like to share information about good resources outside the community?”

  “Outside the community?”

  She crossed her legs and sat back in the chair. “The GLBT community. I was Michael until four months ago when I had the surgery.”

  “The surgery?” I parroted once again. I realized I was sounding like an idiot.

  “Gender reassignment. I went through extensive pre-surgery counseling. But now I’m looking for a female therapist to help me deal with the issues of my newfound womanhood.” She flashed a bright, perfect smile.

  “I see. You know, I’m not sure I’m the best person for this. I mean, it’s a little beyond my expertise.”

  Micki tilted her head and stared at me. “But…you’re a woman.”

  “Yes, but…I’ve never been a…man.”

  “Oh. I see. Well, perha
ps I can find someone who’s more open to differences.”

  “No. Wait. You misunderstood.”

  Micki stood up—all six feet of her. “I understand very clearly. You’re prejudiced.”

  Prejudiced? That was the last straw. “Look, lady. You don’t even know me. If there’s anything I’m not, it’s prejudiced. My husband happens to be gay.”

  Her mouth gaped. “You’re kidding. Right? Is that like saying ‘some of my best friends are black’?”

  I slumped down into my chair. “I’m dead serious. I know there’s the whole confidentiality thing. But was the man who recommended me about five feet ten, olive complexion, dark hair, Latino?”

  Micki sat down again. “That is your husband?”

  I nodded. “Not for long. We’re getting a divorce. Now you see why I can’t objectively counsel you.”

  She placed a large, surprisingly smooth hand over mine. “Oh, sweetie. That’s gotta suck. I’m sorry. And I thought I had problems. Your ex had nothing but good things to say about you, but he didn’t make the referral. It was his partner, Francisco.”

  Anger flamed through me. “Oh, really?”

  “Yes. Well, I can understand your position. Do you know of someone else I can see?”

  I nodded. “I’ll help you find a therapist who can better serve your needs.” I flipped open my Rolodex. I jotted down a few names and phone numbers of colleagues. “Here you go. I am truly sorry for the misunderstanding. I in no way meant to offend you. There’s no charge for this visit.”

  I saw Micki to the door, then leaned with my back to the wall in the empty waiting room. “That went not so well. I’m going to kill Thomas and Francisco.” I turned and trudged down the hall to my office.

  An hour later, Nikki hesitantly told me the next client, Donnie Conrad, was there.

  Donnie, a flamboyant and expensively dressed middle-aged gay man, was not so understanding. He refused to listen to my reasoning as to why I didn’t feel it would be appropriate for me to work with him, then stomped down the hall shouting words like ‘discrimination’, ‘report’, and ‘licensing board’.

  “Oh, God. Nikki, call those other new clients. Tell them you made a mistake and have to refer them elsewhere. Tell them you forgot I was not accepting new clients right now because I’ll be going on maternity leave.”

  “Tell them I made a mistake?”

  I glared at her.

  “I made a mistake. Got it.” She flipped open the appointment book and picked up the phone.

  I poured a glass of water from the pitcher in the kitchenette fridge then returned to my office. This time, I took the rocking chair. Could things get any worse? My husband had declared himself gay, and I couldn’t begin to explain how that had fractured my ego as a woman. I was pregnant—something I had wanted for the last four years, but wanted with a husband at my side. And, now, I was going to be reported to the licensing board for discrimination. Why hadn’t I listened to my mother when she encouraged me to study computer science?

  ~ * ~

  “He thought he was being helpful,” Thomas insisted. “Someone from the group asked Francisco if he knew the therapist I’d mentioned. He must have taken one of your business cards from the desk in the den. Why didn’t you pick those up when you collected the furniture?”

  “Stop defending him, Thomas. He knew damn well I’d have a problem with these…these client…issues. Francisco may be a jerk, but he’s not stupid. And thanks to him, I am possibly facing disciplinary charges from the licensing board.”

  “I’ll talk to him about it. If there’s blame in this, it’s mine. I should never have mentioned you in my group. But everyone thought it was remarkable, the way you were willing to work at remaining friends now.”

  “Only because of the baby,” I shouted. “Did you tell them you left your wife pregnant with your child?”

  He sighed. “Who is threatening to bring action against you? Maybe I can talk him out of it.”

  “Oh, right. I’ll give you his name, and he can add breach of confidentiality to his list of complaints. No, thank you. I have access to legal counsel that will probably cost me a fortune.”

  “Send me the bill.”

  “It’s not your concern any longer. Just…please leave me out of your sordid little life with Francisco.” I slammed the phone down.

  The phone rang immediately and I snatched it from the cradle, assuming it was Thomas redialing. “What?”

  “Whoa. I’m unarmed.”

  “I’m sorry, Kat. It’s been a hell of a day.”

  “Want to talk about it over dinner?”

  I glanced at the clock. “I’d like that. Name the place.”

  An hour later, I sat across from Kat and toyed with my water glass while I told her about the day I’d had.

  “Good God. Too bad you can’t have a drink.”

  “That wouldn’t solve anything, either. My life is going to hell. I’d have trouble passing an ethics course about now.”

  She laughed. “You’re being too hard on yourself. I’m sure the board will dismiss any complaint once they hear your reasons for suggesting a referral to that client. And as for introducing clients to your sister, maybe this will teach you a lesson to let Audrey run her own life.”

  “The only good thing going for me right now is this baby. That’s all that matters. Well, that and being able to pay the bills.” I slid my chair back. “I need to use the restroom. Again. I’ll be right back.”

  When I returned, Kat was drawing an olive off a toothpick and popping it into her mouth. “You know, you could have called me the other night.”

  “I wasn’t thinking straight. I was so scared that the baby might be in trouble.” Then I confessed about Thomas staying with me all night.

  “How’d that work for you?”

  I grinned. “Well, Dr. Phil, not so well. Turns out my raging hormones have no gaydar, either.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, Meg. You didn’t.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly. What does that mean?”

  “Let me just say that Thomas’s assessment of himself as not being a handy man is a bit underrated.” I felt a blush creep up my face.

  “Oh, Meg.” Then she grinned. “Well, at least he doesn’t require batteries.”

  I laughed, then bit my lower lip. “I get so lonely.”

  She squeezed my hand. “It’ll get easier. Soon you’ll have the baby, and you’ll be too tired to think about being alone. Well, then you won’t be alone.”

  “If that discrimination complaint holds up, I definitely won’t be alone. I’ll have to close the practice and move myself and the baby in with Audrey. Could this day get any worse?”

  Then I got my answer. Francisco came through the front door of the restaurant. And the man with a hand on Francisco’s shoulder and an affectionate smile on his face was not Thomas.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Later in the week, I gazed at Thomas as he sat across from me cutting his steak. He looked tired. What I’d planned to tell him wasn’t going to help matters. “Are you feeling okay?”

  He glanced up. “Yes, why?”

  “You look pale.”

  “Is that what you invited me here to discuss?”

  “No. It’s…uh… Can I ask a personal question?”

  He set down his knife and fork and stared at me. “Okay.”

  I couldn’t form the question I knew I had to so ask. Instead, I asked, “What’s with Francisco and the Hummer?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “That military monstrosity he traded in his Cayenne for? What’s he compensating for, anyway? He must be short on something.”

  His face flushed. “What does that say about me and the Porsche?” Then he grinned. “I’m glad I traded my Cayenne in for a Highlander.”

  “You don’t need to compensate. But, why did you do that?”

  “I thought with the baby coming, a Highlander would be more practical. Safer, supposedly. I know you did
n’t invite me to dinner to talk about vehicles.”

  I took in a breath and looked into his eyes. “How serious is your relationship with Francisco?”

  Thomas sank back in his chair. “Meg, how is the answer to that question going to help you?”

  “I just need to know. I mean, do you see a future with him, or is this just a…a thing.”

  “A thing?” He glanced around the restaurant. “I’m not sure this is a conversation I want to have here.”

  I picked up my fork. “Fine. Let’s eat dinner and take dessert back to my place. I’m not being nosey, Thomas. There is a reason I asked.”

  “I’m sure there is.” He chewed on his steak, then dropped his fork and tossed his napkin onto the table. “I’m done. You?”

  I gazed down at my chicken alfredo. “I can take this with me.”

  He waved to the waiter and asked for our check and two take-out containers. “What would you like for dessert?”

  Without hesitation, I said, “I’ll have the molten chocolate torte to go. Hold the whipped cream.”

  During the drive back to my place, I composed my speech in my head: Thomas, I think Francisco is cheating on you. I saw him… No, too direct. Thomas, are you and Francisco in an open relationship?

  “Meg?”

  “Hmm?”

  “We’re here. You were far away in thought.”

  “Yeah. Come inside. I’ll make a pot of decaf.”

  In the glaring light of my kitchen, the unhealthy pallor of Thomas’s skin became more evident. He really looked sick. “Thomas, are you sure you’re feeling alright? You look pale.”

  He stretched and settled into a chair at the dinette table while I made the coffee. “I’m tired. I’ll be fine. Now, what is so important for you to know about my relationship with Francisco? I thought that was something you declared off limits and didn’t want to hear about.”

  “I know, but… Are you and Francisco…exclusive?”

  “Where is this going?”

  I poured two cups of the fresh brew and set them on the table, then grabbed a couple of forks and sat down. I flipped open the lid of the container holding my chocolate dessert and offered a fork to Thomas. He declined.