by Ava Harrison
I lift my fork and take another giant mouthful, this time scooping up extra cream.
As I enjoy and savor the flavor, I hear a round of giggles echoing through the air.
“What?” I lift my eyebrow and from across the table Dr. Montgomery leans forward. Time stands still as his hand reaches up.
“You have a—” His finger wipes my lip and it causes my breath to hitch. Our eyes lock. The intensity of his stare sears me. Every ounce of oxygen leaves my body, but then his blue eyes widen in shock as he realizes what he’s done. His hand jerks back, as though burned.
“You had something . . . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he stammers.
“It’s okay.” I try and shake it off, but I still feel his finger on my skin.
“That was funny. It looked like you had a mustache.” Logan laughs. Then Avery joins in and pretty soon the tension has dissipated as we all begin to laugh. Through our laughter, I notice the waitress deliver the bill and I reach into my purse, but I’m met with Dr. Montgomery shaking his head at me from across the table.
“My treat.”
“Thank you, I had such a great time with you guys today.” Logan grabs my hand. His little fingers are sticky to the touch.
“Do you want to go sledding with us?” he asks and I glance out the window. This morning when I left the apartment, I hadn’t noticed how perfect it was outside. But now sitting here, I see that it’s a beautiful winter day. The streets of Manhattan are blanketed with freshly fallen snow. It’s still clean and glistens into a beautiful crisp white.
“You guys are going sledding?” My right eyebrow rises in question and Dr. Montgomery’s lips spread into a large grin.
“It’s on the list of cool uncle duties.”
“Oh, you’re the cool uncle?”
“You bet.”
“I can totally see that. So, sledding. That sounds like fun.” I can imagine him running with kids in Central Park, sled in tow. What I would do to see that.
“Come. Please, please, please!” Avery chimes in with her own little pleas. Dr. Montgomery is deep in thought, but when our gaze catches, he exhales.
“You could join us if you want?” His lips turn up. It’s a different smile and so unlike all the other smiles I’ve now seen from him today. It’s not the smirk, nor is it the mesmerizing one where his eyes twinkle. It’s not the one that he gives his niece and nephew either. No, this smile says he’s unsure. That he wants me to come, he just doesn’t want to blur the lines anymore then he already has. This smile makes me beam up at him. But then my lips purse because I can’t go. I need to check on my mom.
“I can’t, guys.” Both kids pout. “I already have plans. I wish I could say yes, but unfortunately, I can’t. Maybe next time.” Please, God, let there be a next time.
We all go awkwardly silent for a minute, the kids silently sulking. When the waitress returns with his change, we stand.
“Can we see you again?” Logan says to me.
“Of course. I would love that.”
“It was good seeing you, and thank you for being so good with them,” Dr. Montgomery says. Both kids run up to give me a hug and as I hug them back I give them all a small smile and turn to leave.
I’m off to my mom’s and they’re off to have a perfect day, one I wish I could have with them.
I exit the restaurant and decide to walk the distance to my mother’s apartment. My feet slip into a slow, sluggish rhythm as I make my way down the sidewalk. I’m procrastinating. That much is obvious. There are a million things I would rather be doing than heading uptown to take care of my mother. One of them is sledding. I yearn to be silly and normal and to enjoy myself. But instead, I find myself standing on the corner, waiting for the light to change.
A knot is forming in my stomach from worrying what I will find when I arrive. No, I can’t let my brain go there right now, not after my wonderful morning. In place of the dreary thoughts looming over me, I think of the kids and Dr. Montgomery. Today I saw a different side of him, a playful side. I’m not sure that’s the kind of thing I should know about my doctor. I’m already attracted to him physically, and seeing him like this . . . It’s confusing. He’s not like this in his office. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to act now.
A memory flashes before my eyes. His finger. The feel of his skin on mine as he slides away the cream that collected on my lip.
Shit. This just got a whole lot more complicated.
As I peel the clothes off my body hours later, my cell phone rings. I’m not sure who it could be, but I tense when I see it’s my mother. Panic sets in. I was with her earlier today. This can’t be good.
“Hey, Mom. Are you okay?”
“I’m dying.” Shit.
“You’re not dying, Mom.” Nervously, I pace my room. This can’t be happening right now. I want to scream.
“No, I am. This time for sure.”
“Why do you think that?”
“My head is killing me and I have this weird rash on my arms. I know it’s spreading. I can feel it.”
“Can you, or is it in your mind?”
“I resent that you think that way. Of course it’s not in my mind. I need you to take—”
“Mom, I was there all afternoon and you were fine. I’m not coming back to your apartment to take you to the hospital over a headache.”
“But it could be anything! I could have a tumor. It could be cancer. I could die. You have no idea. I could be dying,” she screams over the phone.
My entire body is tense, as if I’m glass and one wrong word will send me crashing into a million pieces. “Okay, Mom. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
And just like that, I fall to pieces.
Soft kisses fan my skin. They trace my collar to the hollow my neck. My fingers thread in his hair. A soft, desperate moan escapes me. I want him so much. Right here, right now. He trails his hand downward. Tingles spread across my body, lower and lower until he’s teasing my entrance.
“Preston.”
I shoot forward. My breath is uneven and ragged. I try to gain my composure, but it’s virtually impossible as I’m brought back into the first dream I’ve had in weeks. I exhale a shallow breath.
What the hell is going on with me?
First, disturbing nightmares filled with blood, and now, sexual dreams about my therapist. I’m starting to think Preston—Dr. Montgomery—should give me a referral to a doctor who can medicate me. I’m obviously crazy.
Needing an outlet for my pent up frustrations, I pick up my journal and start writing.
Journal Entry
I thought of him all day. I dreamt of him all night. I dreamt of how his hands would feel while he rocked me.
With every minute that passes, I wonder how his lips would taste. For some reason, I want to tell him everything, and I want him to hold me in his arms as I confess the demons that lurk inside.
By the time I calm myself enough to look at the clock next to my bed, the damn thing starts blaring with upbeat tunes. It’s after six in the morning. When I enter the kitchen, I find Sydney already dressed for work.
“Good morning, sunshine. Where were you yesterday?” she asks from her perch on a stool at the kitchen island.
“After breakfast, which you were too hung-over to attend, I went to my mom’s. You were sleeping by the time I got home . . . or were you still sleeping?”
“You know, if you had woken me I would have joined you for breakfast.”
“Um, I did try to wake you. We had a whole conversation, you don’t remember? How drunk were you?” I chide, but secretly I’m happy she was holed up in bed yesterday. My cheeks warm and a flush spreads across my body.
“Why are you turning bright red? Did something happen?”
“Um, no.” It’s no big deal, but I doubt she’d understand my schoolgirl crush. I have it completely under control. Nothing is happening. Nothing will happen. It’s completely innocent. Just because he unnerves me, comforts me and makes me fe
el stronger, doesn’t mean . . .
Fuck.
God, why does he have to be my therapist? Why did I have to see the other side of him? Why does he have to take my breath away?
Fuck. I’m screwed.
Yeah, no way can I tell Sydney anything.
Monday comes before I know it.
Then Tuesday.
By the time Wednesday arrives, I’m ready for the week to be over. The clock on my desk says its only three p.m. Two more days to go.
The phone rings on my desk and the light for my line rings. “The Stone Agency. This is Eve.”
“Eve, it’s Michael.”
“Hi, Michael. How can I help you?”
“When you have a free minute, can you come to my office?”
“Yes, of course. No problem.”
What could he want to talk to me about? Maybe he’s noticed my lack of work, or maybe a client complained. Maybe he’s noticed my attacks? My heart pounds and my hands shake at my sides as I approach his door.
When I walk into his office, he motions for me to close the door and take a seat. If my heart rams against my ribs any harder, it might pop out of my chest. He looks tired as he continues to study me for a few more minutes before he exhales.
“How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
“I’ve been meaning to check on you. Richard would have wanted me to.” I recognize the remorse in his voice.
My lips part slightly. “There is no obligation, Michael. It’s okay.”
“I’m not sure you know this, but Richard and I were really close. I started working for him straight out of college. Your father had just passed.” He bowed his head before looking back up. “He was hurting. He had lost his best friend. I understood his loss. I had lost my older brother to drugs. I guess what I’m trying to tell you is, I know how close you and Richard were. I know how much he loved you. You were for all intents and purposes his daughter, and if there is anything you ever need, I’m here for you. I’ll never be Richard. I wouldn’t try to fill his shoes. But I can be your friend when and if you need one. I would consider it a great honor to be a part of your life.”
“Thank you, Michael. I’d like that.” His lips turn up and his eyes crinkle, aging him.
We sit in silence for a moment and then he coughs, clearing his throat. “Oh, I forgot to mention earlier, but the lawyers are coming at the end of next week to go through the paperwork in regards to the company. Can you mark it on your calendar?”
“Okay. Sure. No problem.”
“Great, well, I’m sure you have much work to catch up on, so I’ll speak to you later.”
If he only knew how much . . .
Pacing back and forth in my room, I’m debating whether I should pour myself a glass of wine. I shouldn’t. My drinking only puts a Band Aid on the issue . . . my damn nightmares. I’m just so goddamn scared to close my eyes without its security.
My anxiety feels like an all-encompassing disease.
It coils inside me like a venomous serpent.
Its bitterness slowly infects me.
Until one day it takes over everything.
My hands start to sweat. My muscles start to tighten. Pure panic fills me fast. It feels as if every last breath has been extracted from my lungs. I grab at my arm, pressing my index finger to the pulse in my wrist. It beats erratically. Pain radiates down my left arm as all the muscles tense, and tears pour down my face. I grab my phone and call the number on Dr. Montgomery’s card.
Ring. Inhale.
Ring. Exhale.
Rin—
“Hello?”
My body stiffens at the sound of his voice. I didn’t expect him to answer, and now that he has I don’t know what to say.
“Hello, is anyone there?”
“Dr. Montgomery?”
“Eve, is that you?”
“Yes,” I squeak.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I didn’t think you would answer.”
“You’re not bothering me.”
I let out a chocked sob.
“Shh, you’re okay. Shh,” he coos in the phone. “Take a deep breath in. Now exhale. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
“I’m scared,” I whimper.
“What are you scared of?”
“Everything.”
“I’ve got you. I’m here, okay? Can you tell me what set you off tonight?”
“I’m afraid to fall asleep.” It sounds so ridiculous, even to my own ears. But the fear is real.
“How long has this been going on?”
“I’m sure you’re busy. I’m okay now.” I evade his question. Calling him was a mistake.
“Eve.” His voice is authoritative. “Please, speak to me.”
I can’t help but concede. “I have nightmares.” Once I purge the words I purposely withheld for so long, it feels as if a small weight that I carry in my heart is lifted.
“What are they about?” I let out an audible sigh.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t remember your nightmares when you wake?”
“Not really.”
“Is there anything at all that sticks out?”
“The smell of blood.”
I hear the steady rhythm of his breathing through the line. “Do you want to meet me?”
“Meet you?” I look at the clock. It’s after nine pm.
“Yes, come to the diner.” He’s not asking me to meet him, he’s telling me, and something inside me stirs. The idea of seeing Dr. Montgomery again outside the office has my pulse racing, jumping out of my bed and searching for clothes.
“Okay, give me thirty minutes,” I reply
“See you then.” He hangs up, leaving me in a ball of nerves.
Shit.
I throw on a cute pair of leggings, an oversized button down, and my boots. Then I stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth, fix my hair and put on a light dusting of makeup. I want to appear as if I just rolled out of bed, not that I’m “trying.” Even though I am. I should probably find a new doctor, one who doesn’t have me running around like a crazy woman trying to look pretty for. But I can’t make myself do that. When I’m with him, I feel normal. I probably shouldn’t since I talk to him about my deep secrets and neuroses, but I do.
Grabbing my pea coat, I make my way to the elevator and then down to the lobby and into the frigid air. It’s a cold blast that has my teeth chattering as I walk to the corner of Thirty-Fifth and Third, but luck is on my side as it only takes me a few minutes to get there. Not seeing him, I step further into the room and go to wait by the wall. After a few seconds, I sense a familiar presence beside me, and my heart hammers in my chest.
“Eve.” Slowly, I turn my face up and I meet shimmering blue eyes.
“Oh, hi. Have you been here long?” I ask.
“No. Just got here. Ready to sit?” I nod and the hostess leads us to an empty table in the corner. After we sit, Dr. Montgomery cocks his head to the side. Surveying.
“You okay?”
“I’ve been better.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were having nightmares?” I was right. Before, he was hurt. Now, sitting across from him, it plays clearly over his features. His brows are knit, his teeth are biting his lower lip, but really it’s the eyes that give him away. They look hollow, sad, and concerned.
“I was embarrassed.” My cheeks grow warm from the admission.
“You never have to be embarrassed in front of me. I won’t judge you.” His statement is true. There isn’t an ounce of judgment in his voice. “Do you want to tell me about them now.”
I shake my head.
“I understand.”
We sit in silence for a few seconds. The waitress comes over and he orders a milkshake and a burger. When she turns to me, I reply that I’ll only have water.
“You have to get something.” Dr. Montgomery says as the waitress walks away.
“I already
ate dinner.”
“So get dessert.” I’ll have you for dessert. Thank God he can’t hear the dirty thoughts playing through my mind.
“It’s too late to eat dessert.”
“It’s never too late for something sweet.” With that he smiles, and a part of me melts, right then and there at the table. His lips turn up a fraction and I blush.
“Why are you eating so late?” I blurt out, trying to right my improper thoughts.
“I went downtown to see a movie right after work.”
“Really? That’s cool that you got to go out after work. I have too much to do this week, but on Friday, Corner Bar here I come.”
“Yeah, normally I don’t go out during the work week, and on the weekends I go to Oak. But whenever a new foreign film comes out, I go to the afternoon or evening show on release day,” he admits and I can’t hold back the giggle that escapes. “Hey, are you making fun of me?” He pretends to pout.
“Sorry, that just slipped out. I totally didn’t expect that. Once again, you caught me off guard. Sledding, foreign films—you’re the most interesting person I know.” Did I just say that out loud? “So. Um. How did you get into watching them?”
“So, I went to NYU. Well, at the time my girlfriend and I were both film majors. She loved foreign films, every time a new movie came out, we had a tradition to see it on opening day during the afternoon to avoid the crowds.”
“And you still keep this tradition?”
“Yeah.”
“And does she?”
“She’s dead.”
My mouth drops open at this information. “Oh.”
“A new film came out today so I went.”
Running my hands through my hair, I try to come up with any response. “Okay, cool.” God, I’m lame. He tells me his ex-girlfriend is dead and all I can say is, “Okay, cool.” I study him for a minute. “Actually, you do seem like the type to watch foreign films.”