by Dow, Candice
She continued, “Once the love hormone starts circulating, you instantly become stupid. Is that correct, Dr. Blue?”
“You make me so sick.”
“I’m just saying, this is shit you’ve told me. I’m only regurgitating it.”
“Well, pick on somebody else. I just need a girlfriend to talk to right now.”
She laughed. “A’ight, I’m listening. So you like this guy?”
“Yeah, I feel like he’s a great guy.”
“OK, give him thirty days.”
Shocked by her words, I said, “You think?”
“No, I don’t think, but that sounds like what you want me to say.”
“I’m really not looking for you to say anything. I just want you to listen. You understand?”
“Yeah.”
As I put my groceries away, I told Aaliyah about the many things Cam and I had in common. How we’d talked for hours when we went to Copeland’s and how I connected with Cam in a way that I hadn’t with other guys. I’d met many successful men on my journey but there was always something missing. People come in my office all the time wondering if connection is something superficial people are looking for in love. My response is that in any relationship, the initial interaction is one of the most important moments. There are many other things to factor in, but if your mind is right, you won’t bond with the wrong people. I was caught in a war between my feelings and my ego. Could it be possible that my mind wasn’t right if Cam was wrong?
Aaliyah listened and resisted offering advice. I appreciated it. After we got off the phone, I did a yoga DVD, hoping to calm my spirit. I reflected and prayed and forgave myself. After I showered, I hopped into bed and within minutes I drifted off to sleep.
As I prepared to go into the office, I got a call from Cam. I assumed my prayer had been answered because my heart beat at a normal pace when I answered. He said, “Good morning, Ms. Blue.”
“Good morning, Cam.”
“Got some good news. The listing agent got the contract and already spoke with the seller.”
“OK, and…”
“Here’s the bad news.”
“What?”
“They want you to settle by the end of this month.”
I looked at the calendar. The end the month was in ten short days. I huffed, “Is that even possible?”
“Yeah, if we finalize the contract this morning, I can speak with your loan officer. He’s my man and I’m sure he can have an appraiser there tomorrow and an inspector out in a couple of days. I’ll need to speak with the settlement company to see if they can fit you in, but I don’t think it will be a problem. The condo association handles your property insurance.”
“I don’t have a problem settling by the end of the month but I’m not sure I can move in right away. I’m so not spontaneous like that.”
“Is that right?”
His question seemed more like a statement and I wondered if he was thinking about my sexual spontaneity. It’s hard to get past having sex on the first night with most men. They don’t get the fact that they were just special. Instead, they think you must do this all the time. I see this often with couples: they have sex on the first night and the man always has a question in the back of his mind. I hoped Cameron didn’t see me that way, but it was too late to fix it.
He continued, “Your first mortgage payment wouldn’t be due until the first of the following month, so you have a little time.”
“OK,” I said hesitantly.
He asked, “Are you comfortable with settling this month? If not, we’ll push it back. But if we do that, keep in mind that it’s possible they may not accept the price then. You never know.”
“I feel you. OK, the end of the month works.”
“He’s faxing me a copy with the amendment. I will fax it to you to get your John Hancock. The settlement date is April twenty-eighth. You’re cool with that, right?”
“Yes.”
I was really happy the seller had accepted the contract, but I felt pressured. After a few deep breaths, my spirit was calmer and Cam explained again what we needed to do. In order to get everything handled, I was forced to reschedule my morning appointments. I see patients Tuesday and Thursday mornings from eight to twelve and Monday and Wednesday evenings from five to nine. Since I’d cleared my schedule the night before, I was really putting myself into a bind, but I had no choice if I wanted to get the place at the right price. I would have to work both morning and evening to make up all the appointments I’d missed. Including the talk show, I was looking at a ten-hour day. Ugh! I was slightly irritated, but oh well. By noon everything was confirmed and I had a settlement appointment for April 28.
Ayana
April showers pounded my car as I pulled into Roswell Oaks, the medical office complex where my practice is located. I’d leased this office space while I was finishing up my first book and studying for my board exam. There was never a question as to whether I would start my own practice. Although I’d done my internship under a very established psychologist, I wanted to build my practice from the ground up. I wasn’t making a lot of money, so the fifteen hundred a month for my one thousand square feet of space was pretty steep, but I didn’t regret it at all. The business started slow but progressed rapidly after the success of my second book. Most often, it’s simply about being prepared when success comes knocking.
I was running five minutes late, because my body had naturally wanted to remain asleep on a Friday morning. Some of my patients depended on me to get through the week so I had to make up those hours. The goal of a psychologist is to help her patients change their way of thinking in response to stressful situations. Sometimes that happens in a few sessions. Often it takes up to ten sessions to notice a change. After six months to a year of seeing any patient, if the original behavior persists, I recommend a treatment program and/or a psychiatrist for medical intervention.
I noticed my first patient, Margo, standing in the rain in front of my office. She was one in particular I sometimes thought about referring to someone else, but then there were times when it seemed we were making strides.
I jumped out of the car quickly and pulled out my office keys. I felt so bad about her being outside that I forgot to grab my umbrella and I didn’t even think about my fresh weave until I felt my bangs sticking to my forehead. As I fumbled with my keys, my only goal was to get the door open so we both could be safe and warm.
The best way to describe Margo is complex. She hated everyone. She had known her father but he had married another woman, leaving her behind. Her mother had been abusive and later left her with her grandmother, who had a big heart and allowed any needy person to live in her house. Margo was sexually abused by various men, all of whom at some point lived in her grandmother’s house. She didn’t discuss her abuse with anyone until it was too late. She absorbed all the hurt and pain, making her heart stone. She had recently applied for disability, because she couldn’t keep a job. I helped her get into a program that offered assistance, because applying for disability was a long process. I knew she was struggling to keep a place and had very little family support. I didn’t want to see her out on the streets.
The program provided transportation to and from office visits for people with disabilities. I planned to give the office a call because the driver should’ve at least made sure the patient got into the office before pulling off. A part of me was irritated, but I guess I was to blame, because I was late.
“Whew,” I said as we finally stepped into the office. I turned and smiled at Margo. “Good morning, how are you doing?”
She smiled wide and bright. “I’m doing great.”
It was already turning out to be a good session. “Fantastic! I’m happy for you.”
She covered her smile and nodded. “Thank you.”
I said, “We’re going to start in just a second. I have to set up the office. I haven’t been in since Tuesday.”
“I know,” she said, almost as if she were o
ffended.
I went in my office and lit the oil burners. I needed the aroma not only to calm the nerves of my patients, but also to calm my own nerves. When I opened the door, Margo was punching her fist into her hand. I thought that was slightly strange, considering she seemed to be in a great mood. I shook the concern and said, “C’mon in.”
She walked into my plant sanctuary of an office where a nature soundscape CD was playing to calm the mood. As she sat, with as much compassion in my voice as I could muster, I said, “Tell me about last week. How was it?”
She leaned back in the chair and stared into the ceiling. “It was the best week I’ve had in a long time.”
“So did you try a new activity like I told you?”
She nodded and smiled. I was glad she’d done the assignment. With good reason, Margo struggled with trusting people. It was hard for her to try new things because she thought people were out to get her. I was impressed with her obvious excitement.
“So what did you do?”
She took off her hat and exposed her platinum blond hair. I didn’t like it on her, but I liked that she had stepped out of her box to do something that would possibly draw attention to her. I said, “Wow. I love it.”
She continued, “After I got my hair dyed, I went skating.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and I had so much fun.”
“Did you go alone?” I asked.
“No, where I got my hair done, they go skating and I went with them.”
“Had you been to the hair salon before this time?”
“Yes, once before.”
“They all seemed welcoming?”
“They were so nice,” she said in a perky tone.
That could be a positive or negative sign. Margo doesn’t trust people easily. When she does, she tries to suffocate them with her presence. If someone slightly pulls away, she takes it as a rejection, which only thrusts her back into her shell so she swears she’ll never deal with people again. I didn’t want her to get hurt so I always warned her to take it slow.
I asked, “When are you getting your hair done again?”
“Tomorrow.”
“So you’re going every week?”
“I think I look pretty.”
“You do, but I don’t want you to become too attached to your hairstylist. OK?”
“You know I don’t trust females anyway.”
“It’s OK to trust, but just don’t get too involved too soon.”
She smiled. “OK. I know what you’re saying.”
It felt like we were making progress. I continued to drill her about pacing herself in relationships and enjoying new things. Margo left feeling happy. She even gave me a hug and I watched her head out to the car waiting for her.
Though it was dreary outside, it felt bright and lively to me. My appointment with Margo had made everything worth it. She was developing beautifully and I wanted to keep her on that page. It had been three consecutive visits of progress. I was a little concerned about the possibility of her growing too attached to me and I didn’t want to be yet another person to hurt her, but thus far there was no need to recommend her to a psychiatrist.
By ten thirty it appeared that my ten fifteen appointment was not going to make it, so I drove to Dunkin’ Donuts to grab a bagel and coffee. I was famished.
Yasmin
I woke up feeling happy that I had been given yet another day to convince a judge that Cameron was fully in love with me and that we belonged together. He didn’t deserve to move on with his life without me. I’d been successful with this going on a year now. Cam wanted to divorce me so bad and I just didn’t get it. Relationships are hard. Why would you want to go out there and find someone else? There’s no guarantee that she’ll be any better than me.
I glued on my false eyelashes and hoped that we’d get another male judge so that I could bat my eyes and explain that Cam and I had been intimate recently. They usually dismissed us and Cam didn’t get what he wanted. It was for his own good and he didn’t even realize that I was protecting him. I just didn’t understand why he thought I was the enemy.
I put on a tight black pencil skirt and a white form-fitted, buttoned top. My push-up bra gave me enough breasts to entice the average stupid man. Even the most educated man, such as a judge, can’t resist the lure of a sexy woman. It’s how we make it in the cold, cold world. You either use sex appeal or settle for what these selfish men want to give you. And trust me, it’s not a whole lot.
Tayshawn had been my witness each time we’d come to court, but the last time he’d really overdone it. His antics had almost caused us to lose, but this time I was bringing Casey. She’d been around both Cam and me and she was in my corner. She could see there was still chemistry. I glossed my lips and urged Casey to do the same.
Cam spoke as he, his attorney, and his mother passed us in the hall. I cringed because that was one of our major issues. Cam is such a damn mama’s boy. What thirty-five-year-old man brings his mama to testify for his divorce? Her old ass rolled her eyes at me when she passed. She is close to eighty, damn near ninety years old and has the audacity to have a slicker tongue than mine. She called me all kinds of bitches through this process. I didn’t even give a damn, I was trying to get my man back. I didn’t care what she thought. It wasn’t as if she’d be around much longer anyway.
They went into the courtroom and just as my attorney approached, I turned to see Ms. Mae, Cameron’s mom, coming out. She hadn’t spoken when she walked in and I wondered if she was coming back to speak. There was a suspicious smirk on her face as she approached. Her voice quivered. “Yasmin, can I speak to you for just a moment?”
Oh lord. This lady is going to make me curse her out in the damn courthouse. I debated how to respond. Then I took the high road and smiled. “Sure, what’s up?”
“How do you sleep at night?”
I knew where she was going. We’d had this conversation in the past. “In my bed and how’s your sleeping?”
“I mean, how do you come in here time after time and just lie? Cameron has done nothing to hurt you. Why would you hurt him and keep hurting him? I just don’t understand how a person could be so evil.”
“I’m fighting for my family, Ms. Mae. Do you know anything about that?” I asked, knowing she’d dealt with infidelity in her own marriage and chosen to stay. She had told me that out of her own mouth many times.
“Honey, running the streets is one thing, but when you leave your home for the streets, you need to stay out there in the gutter with the smut and the trash.”
“I never left home, Ms. Mae.”
“You don’t have to physically move out of your house to be gone. You left my son for another man. Now leave him alone.”
“You’re the problem. Why can’t he speak for himself?”
She lifted her cane almost as if she were going to hit me. Instead she made a quick U-turn. “Hmph. You ol’ selfish, lying whore. I hope this judge sees you for just who you are. A liar.”
I said, “How are you so sure I’m lying? Do you sleep in the bed with him?”
She stopped at the courtroom door and looked at me. Her head shook almost as if she were vibrating. “I know my son. He’s allergic to fleas. He wouldn’t knowingly lie down with a dirty female dog.”
My neck snapped back and before I could retaliate, she swung the door open and went back into the courtroom. Old hag.
My attorney was asking Casey a series of questions to be sure she knew how to respond. When I stepped back over to them, he turned to me with the same ol’ bullshit. “You’re certain that the two of you have been intimate in the last thirty days?”
“Yes. Multiple times.”
Casey smiled at me inquisitively. I ignored her and my attorney continued, “And the two of you have talked about getting back together in the last thirty days? Am I right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Let’s go in.”
When we opened the door to the courtr
oom, Cam’s entire row turned their heads. I decided it was the perfect time to blow Cam a nice, sexy kiss. Muah. He shook his head and smiled. He wanted me, I knew he did. Why did he try to act so shady?
When the judge finally called our case, Cam’s attorney called him to the stand. He claimed he hadn’t touched me in eighteen months. I begged to differ, but he continued. He claimed we hadn’t lived under the same roof in eighteen months. Yada yada yada.
His mother was called to testify and confirm his claims. My attorney cross-examined both Cam and his mother. I didn’t feel like he really nailed it but I didn’t stress it much, because I knew I had my story straight. It was now my turn to explain why I kept disputing the divorce. My attorney asked a series of questions and I explained that Cam and I had conversations about staying together for Caron and that Cam had stayed at my house and in my bed several times.
The female judge shifted uncomfortably in her chair as Cameron’s attorney approached to cross-examine me.
“Mrs. Small, are you really telling the truth? Isn’t this all made up?”
“No. It’s my word against his. He sleeps at my house all the time and we sleep in the same bed together.”
“You understand that by making this claim you prolong divorce proceedings. Right?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I do it.”
“What person in his right mind would continue to appeal and keep sleeping with you?”
“I don’t know. I guess Mr. Small,” I said, rolling my neck.
“Do you have all the dates in question that you’re claiming you and Mr. Small were intimate?”
“Yes,” I said, and began to run them down.
The attorney smiled. “Your Honor, Mr. Small installed a twenty-four-hour surveillance camera at his home, which proves he sleeps in his own bed every night.”
My emotions got the best of me as I blurted out, “He didn’t sleep in his own bed a week ago when he was grinding in the car with his mistress.”
The judge frowned as she slammed her gavel. “Order.”