by Ava Harrison
“It did calm me,” I admit on a sigh. “Not so much when I had the full blown attack in the office, but when I felt another one creeping up, I was able to pull away.”
“So, you found the breathing helped you distance yourself from the fear?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, good.” He leans forward in his chair. “How about you tell me a little about what triggered your last attack?”
“I was at work. A coworker was bombarding me with questions about the company. Most of my attacks happen at work, which, of course, is not ideal. I had one that was terrible this week. I felt like I was dying. Like I was having a heart attack right there in the office bathroom.” My eyes flutter closed as I shudder inwardly at the thought of every attack I’ve had at work. It’s debilitating.
“Okay.” He pauses and I hear the sound of his pencil scribbling against the pad. “Tell me about your job. You said you work in marketing, but what are your daily activities?”
Opening my eyes, I stare up at him. “It depends. I find leads, contact them, and then pitch them. I wine and dine them. If I land a client, I come up with a strategic marketing plan to fit their needs. That’s about it.”
“I’m sure there’s a little bit more to it than that?”
“Yeah, I guess, but I don’t want to bore you with the details.”
“Can you talk to me about how you like working there?”
“I used to love it, but it’s just not the same anymore,” I huff out. Suddenly, talking about work is suffocating.
“How is it not the same?”
It feels as if ice is spreading through my veins as I try to reel in my emotions. He nods to me with encouragement. I exhale and press through.
“Go on, Eve, I’m here for you.” He reassures me.
“I’m there because of Richard. He gave me the job. He trained me. He taught me the ins and outs. He encouraged me. I just can’t be there without him. It feels wrong.” Tears pool in my eyes and I think I might break down, but when I catch Dr. Montgomery’s eyes, there is so much compassion and understanding in them. They hold me together. They make me stronger.
“I know this is difficult for you, but I think we are getting somewhere. Have you noted when this heaviness presents itself?”
“I have.”
“Would you like to share?” He smiles.
“Not particularly.” I laugh. “But if I have to.” He purses his lips and I laugh some more as I reach for my notebook. “Fine.” I scan the pages, one after another. Note after note, until one thing becomes clear. I furrow my brow.
“I see you found something. The common denominator?”
“From the look in your eyes, I believe you already know, doc.”
“I do.” He looks at me with an expression full of understanding and something else, something I can’t put my finger on. I feel as if he wants to close the gap and reach for me, and then just as quickly it’s gone. “Go on.”
I take a deep inhale then let out an audible breath. “Work. It’s almost always at work.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“If I knew the answer to that—”
“I know you don’t, but that’s why we’re here. We’ll figure this out together.”
“Can’t you just tell me?”
“I can tell you my belief, but until you figure it out for yourself, you won’t learn. It’s like a plant. You drop a seed into the dirt, pour a little water, but in the end, the seed needs to learn how to grow by its self. All you can do is give it the tools it needs.”
“Fine. Don’t tell me,” I huff out and he laughs again. It’s a beautiful sound.
“Tell me some of the things Richard did for you in the office and outside the office. You told me he was always there for you in your personal life, and that at work he helped you with your training. What else did he do?”
“He gave me encouragement.”
“Does anyone else give you that?”
“No.” He cast his eyes down and his jaw tightens. My answer seems to sadden and anger him at the same time.
“So, now when you’re working, you no longer have reassurance that you are doing a good job?”
My mouth drops open. Is that it?
“What are you thinking?”
“It’s more than the encouragement. It’s the approval, right? The acknowledgment?” He nods as I work it out. “And it’s because of what?”
“Growing up, who gave you encouragement?”
“No one. Well, no one but Richard.”
“So, your belief in yourself is dependent on him?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“And how do you feel now at work?”
“Unmotivated. I have no idea what I’m doing. I can’t see the correct path for anything. It’s as if I can’t do it anymore. It’s as though I don’t know what I’m doing now without him there. God, I miss him so much.”
“And what do you think Richard would say to that?” I close my eyes and hear his words in my head.
“He would say that notion was ridiculous. That I’m an amazing woman and I can succeed in whatever I put my mind to.”
“So, here’s what I think. Richard was a father figure and a mentor for almost your whole life. I think the reason your panic attacks are mostly triggered at the office is because your need for approval was always fulfilled by him instead of your parents, and now his absence is a giant void that’s manifesting itself into anxiety.”
I consider his words and they make so much sense. How had I not seen it? Was I so blinded by my grief that I couldn’t see what was so blatantly in front of me? He was my father, my mother . . . my mentor.
“So what do I do?” I mumble.
“You do what he would have advised. You take one day at a time. Every time you start to panic, when you start doubting your ability to do your job—when you’re questioning your decisions—you visualize Richard. You think of him and the lessons he implemented all your life. You remember his words. You replay them and you live them. He was your champion. Now you need to learn to be your own champion, Eve.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You can.” His voice is so assertive. So sure.
“How do you know?”
“Because I have faith in you.” Warmth spreads through me at his words. Familiar words Richard once said. They make me believe.
3 Weeks Later . . .
Journal entry
Ever since we figured out why work was a trigger, the panic has lessened. It’s crazy how the techniques he was so adamant about using seem to work.
The only thing that hasn’t gotten better is my nights. I still suffer from anxiety over the idea of sleeping. I’m not sure why I don’t tell him. Okay, that’s a lie. I’m too scared to acknowledge them. Afraid that finding the catalyst of them will break me and swallow me whole. Instead, every week I sit on the couch in front of him and pretend they never happened.
The desire to sneak out of the apartment before Sydney wakes is encompassing. It’s been a long, grueling week, and I need a minute to myself. I want to go grab breakfast alone but I have to do the right thing and at least ask.
“Syd? You want breakfast?” A groan emanates through the door separating us. I pop my head in. “Syd?” She’s still lying in her bed, and she’s submerged under the blanket.
“Too early.”
“It’s actually not.”
“Why did we drink so much last night?” She buries her head under the pillow and I force back a laugh.
“Because you said, and I quote, ‘Guys get cuter when we’re drunk.’ Is that a no to breakfast?” She doesn’t answer, so I assume the answer is no.
“Text me if you want me to bring you back something,” I yell on my way out.
Throwing on my coat and scarf, I head out into the winter air. The wind bites my skin. It causes my eyes to water. Bearing down against the elements, I push the door open to the diner and step inside.
What the hell?
&nbs
p; What is he doing here? Standing in the corner is Dr. Montgomery, and he’s with two small children. I can’t let him see me.
Quickly, I attempt to turn around. Bumping into your therapist over waffles could definitely get awkward.
“Eve?” His face blanches and he straightens his back. A strange look passes over his features. Maybe he’s shocked to see me, too.
He’s dressed casually today. So casual I might not have recognized him if not for the mesmerizing eyes. He’s wearing a tight grey thermal, distressed jeans, and Chucks. It makes him appear younger than usual, but the fine lines along his forehead lead me to believe he’s in his mid-thirties. My eyes follow a path to survey him in his entirety. He’s tall and lean, and towers over my five foot four frame. His chocolate hair has streaks of blonde as if it’s been sun kissed. It looks as though he recently ran his fingers through it because it has that perfectly tousled look to it. And his bone structure is striking.
“Uncle Preston, Uncle Preston.” A little girl tugs on the hem of his shirt and brings me out of my haze.
“Yes, sweetheart?” he coos at her, his lip tipping into the first genuine smile I have ever seen on his face. It’s a beautiful smile. A caring smile. One that says he adores this little girl and would do anything for her. A caring protector who would lay down his life for her happiness. It reminds me of the way Richard used to smile at me. It makes my heart lurch at the thought, but it also makes me want to get to know him better. It makes me want to get to know this side of him.
“Who’s she?” she blurts out in a small voice and he lets out a laugh.
“This is Eve, she’s a . . .” He pauses, his lips pinching together as he considers an appropriate title for me. “A friend.”
“A girlfriend?” she teases and I feel my whole face flush.
“No, Avery. She’s not a girlfriend.”
“You’re really pretty. You should be his girlfriend,” she teases in her little squeaky voice and I wonder how old she is to have so much sass. “You look like Elsa. Are you Elsa?” I can’t help but stifle back a laugh.
“No sweetie, I’m not.”
“Oh.” She lets out a huff and turns around, no longer impressed by me. My lips part in a smile and I catch Dr. Montgomery suppressing his own smile as well. All of a sudden another face pops out from behind him. This time it’s a little boy. He looks to be the same age as the little girl, Avery. Their features are similar. Both have crystal blue eyes and small button noses. Their hair has the same golden brown color with streaks of blonde.
“Hi, and who is this?” I say looking straight at the little boy, still hiding behind his uncle’s leg.
“This is Logan. Logan, can you say hi?” I see Dr. Montgomery gently embrace him, encouraging him, letting him know he’s there for him if he needs him.
“When I was his age I was shy, too. He doesn’t have to say hi.” I turn my attention to the little boy. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable.” Trying to think of something to say to put him at ease, I notice his T-shirt has a familiar cartoon on it. “Do you like Cars?” He gives me a timid nod. “I have seen the movie a million times.” His pupils enlarge at my words. He looks awestruck.
“Hi, Eve,” he whispers out and a part of me melts. This child reminds me so much of me as a child. I want to hug him and tell him there is nothing to be scared of.
From my peripheral vision, I see the doctor staring. His blue eyes pierce the distance separating us. They search my own as if trying to hear my thoughts. At first they are sharp and accessing, but as each second passes between us and Logan moves further into the room, no longer hiding, they soften. They are kind and tender and say thank you.
“Are you going to see the new one in the theater? It just came out,” I ask Logan and by this point he’s no longer hidden at all. Now he stands right beside me. A giant grin lines his face. His eyes are alive and dance with wonder as he turns and bounces with excitement.
“Can we? Can we?” He tugs on his uncle’s coat, and with that Dr. Montgomery lets out a laugh. He looks gorgeous when he laughs.
“Maybe after breakfast.”
“That would be super fun. Do you have all the toys?” I turn my head back to Logan and reach out to have a look at his car.
“I have every single toy. Uncle Preston got me a ton for my last birthday.” He reaches into his little pocket and pulls out car after car.
“It was your birthday? How old are you?” I ask.
“I’m five.” He stands proud.
“You are? Wow. You’re so big.” Avery steps forward with her little hand on her hip.
“I’m older.” Dr. Montgomery’s lip turns up as he shakes his head.
“She’s five minutes older than Logan,” he clarifies.
“I’m still older, Uncle Preston.” He places his arm around her and gives her a little squeeze, all while smirking. This is a totally different side to him, so unlike the stiff professional version I’m met with at my sessions. I like seeing this side. It makes him seem feasible. Like us sitting together at a table with his niece and nephew makes sense. I feel a tug on my shirt and I look down to see Logan standing directly beside me.
“This one is from the first movie and this one is the bad guy.” The tiny features of his face grimace as he holds the mean car up to me.
“I know. He’s really mean.”
“Yeah, like my sister.” He laughs. I glance up and Dr. Montgomery’s watching me intently. His eyes shimmer, silently saying a million things. So many unspoken words behind them, words that I’m desperate to hear. His lips part in a half smile and then he peers back down to his nephew.
At that moment the hostess walks over with three menus.
“It was good seeing you,” Dr. Montgomery says to me as he ushers the kids away from me. But Logan doesn’t move. Instead, he holds steadfast and pouts his lip.
“Can she eat with us?” Logan asks him.
“I don’t think so,” I say, but I wish I could. I’d do anything to be able to stay and spend more time with them.
“Oh, come on, Uncle Preston. Please, please, please,” he whines, and Avery turns back toward us and starts to chime in with her own chant. A strange, faintly eager look flashes across his normally professional facade. An array of emotions plays out on his features, but the one that stands out the most is a plea . . . A plea to make this little boy and girl he obviously cares deeply for happy. I smile down at the tiny faces below me.
“Of course I will.” I lift my gaze and I’m met with mesmerizing blue. He mouths a thank you and I give him a sincere smile in return.
As we start walking toward a big booth, Avery and Logan are lost in an argument about his cars being cooler than her Barbie dolls. I feel a soft touch on my shoulder and turn to find Dr. Montgomery staring back at me.
“Thank you, Eve. I know this isn’t how you planned to spend your day. Having you join us is against the rules—you being a patient and all—but these kids . . . they’re everything to me, and Logan’s going through a tough time right now. So, even though it’s wrong . . . Thank you.” The sadness in his stare is palpable. It breaks my heart into a million pieces.
“What’s going on?”
“He’s just really having a tough time in kindergarten. It’s hard for him to adjust. He’s not fitting in, and getting along with his peers has been a struggle. He’s shy, introverted and some of the kids have been teasing him. So to see him . . .” He pauses to inhale deeply and calm his emotions. “To see him so comfortable with you, it really means a lot.”
“They’re really sweet kids. Having breakfast with you is a pleasure. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Come on, they’re almost at the table.” Dr. Montgomery places his hand on the small of my back to let me lead the way. The contact causes my skin to prick with goose bumps. When the four of us arrive at the booth, I find myself sandwiched between the children and all I can do is laugh.
“So, what’s everyone
having?” I ask as I look from right to left at both kids. In unison they both answer, “Chocolate chip waffles.”
“I see you’ve been here before.” Their little heads bob up and down.
“We come here all the time with Uncle Preston,” Avery declares and I lift my gaze to catch my doctor’s eyes.
“What will you have?” he inquires.
“I’m having the same. What about you?”
“Same. It’s my weekend staple.”
Interesting. “That’s funny. I’ve been coming here for years and I’ve never seen you before.” Small lines etch away at his features and his pupils appear to grow larger, but he quickly masks the change and smiles.
“I’m usually here a bit earlier than this, but with the kids today . . .”
The waitress comes over and he orders the famous chocolate chip waffles with whipped cream for all of us. When she steps away, I turn my attention back to Logan on my right hand side who is racing his cars across the table in front of me.
“Who’s winning?” I ask.
“Lightening McQueen,” he exclaims and the excitement in his little voice fills me with excitement, too.
“Of course he is.”
“So, do you guys live around here?” I’m looking at Logan when I ask this, but the truth is I’m secretly hoping for an answer from his uncle. The desire to know more about this man is all encompassing.
“Not us,” Logan replies as he pushes the car back and forth, the little tires scratching at the wood of the table. “But Uncle Preston does.” I look up.
“Where do you live?” He fidgets in his chair before answering.
“Lexington and Thirty-Fifth.”
“Oh? I’m on Thirty-Third and Third.” He nods but doesn’t reply. Instead, he reaches across the table for the rogue car that Logan has rolled his way and proceeds to enter the race.
I watch him for a moment. I watch sun stream in through the window and blanket him with a glow. I watch the love that pours from him toward the kids. This is a man I want to know. A man I could be friends with. It’s the first time in a long time that I wish time would cease, but instead, it seems to pass faster than normal. There’s never a lull in the conversation between us. The kids tell us stories all about kindergarten and their friends and all the mischief they get themselves into. The waitress returns with our breakfast and the table is filled with sounds of food joy.