by Britney King
“I think it would be a good idea for the two of you to tell each other the story of your coming together—in writing,” he says, looking from you to me and back, and I can’t be mad at him for staring at your tits when he has such good ideas. “I find writing helps clients come to terms with the dissolution of their marriage in a way that merely talking doesn’t…” he continues, pausing for added effect, and you cross your arms. “Writing can be reflective. I find it helps my clients to move on, and more importantly, it lends to healthier relationships in the future.”
“I don’t write,” you tell him, as you shift in your seat—you little liar, you. You write all the time.
“You wrote the text you sent me about this very appointment,” I say because he needs to know those tits he’s staring at are my tits and that we still talk. You give me that look, the one I know so well, and perhaps you are onto me.
“Just give it a try,” the fake doctor insists, adjusting his glasses on his nose, and I’d pay money to prove they aren’t even prescription. “Trust me,” he says, and I don’t. I hope you don’t either. “It’ll save the two of you time talking to me,” he adds. It’s a small offer of condolence, and thankfully, he says something I like. Only this guy doesn’t know you like I do. He may have me convinced, but he hasn’t convinced you, and you are not soothed. I can tell by the way you check your phone every two and a half seconds. You’re distracted, and you don’t trust him. You don’t want to talk to him, and I hate that phone for getting more of you than you give to us.
“What happens if I just don’t come back?” you ask, and this isn’t a threat—you genuinely want to know. You, always the stubborn one, always the one to test the limits, until suddenly, you just don’t.
“Well—” he says, and I can tell you’ve tested him. He’s intrigued by your defiance, and I will squash him if he gets any ideas…just like I will squash that phone of yours if you don’t stop staring at it. “It’s mandatory if you want to wrap up your divorce,” he tells you, and I like the direction he’s going. I like that he plays hardball, so I don’t have to. “Furthermore, you’d be violating a court order, and of course, that’s not something I’d advise.”
You look over at me, and I smile, and you are so clever. You’re not the kind of girl who enjoys being backed against the wall—until you are, and that’s exactly what I’m imagining doing right now. I think he is too, and perhaps I’ll let it slide, but only because I can tell by your expression you understand he’s forcing you to come back here, back to me.
“Fine,” you say, and it’s too bad you’re not a mind reader.
“I’ll give it a try,” you tell him, and you sigh. You check your phone again, and this is a new one, but then, you’ve always surprised me with your intelligence. You look up, only this time not at me, and I get that familiar pain in my chest I know all to well. “Now, can I go?” you ask, raising your brow, and you’re ready to pounce if the answer that comes isn’t the one you want.
“Yes,” he says, and you stand. You’re about to bolt when he stops you with the flick of a wrist, and I remember when I could do that. “That is—if you agree, Jude. I need a commitment here that you’ll both come prepared with something in hand by our next appointment,” he adds, and there’s authority in his voice when he speaks. You wait, and you listen, and this isn’t the girl I know. He’s looking at me now as though he and I are on the same team. We aren’t, and he can’t know how much you both love and hate authority, and maybe this is the answer to his question about where it all went wrong.
“Sure,” I tell him, offering my best smile. “I’ll come up with something for you, Doc,” I offer as though I’m his star student, when in fact, I’m full of shit. But he buys it, and you are antsy because you know I’ve won. “I’ll write you a whole book, if that’s what it takes,” I add for good measure. He smiles. “I’ll call it Water Under the Bridge,” I say, fucking with you. You shake your head at me. Then you roll your eyes and start for the door. I’m pretty sure you know he’s checking out your ass, and he’d better watch himself. There was a time when this wouldn’t have bothered me, a time when I believed in you… when I believed in us.
Now is not that time.
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