Five Years

by Brooklyn Knight

  I heard her shift.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m… fine,” I lied. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “Just thinking about me?”

  I laughed. I loved how sassy and assertive she was becoming. All of the work I was putting in was paying off.

  “Just thinking about you again,” I clarified. “I think about you all the time, but of course you know that.”

  “That’s what you tell me,” she flirted.

  “How was your day?”

  “Standard,” she answered. I could feel her smile through the phone. She’d never admit it, but she loved when I asked her about mundane shit.

  “I saw a few couples, did some individual sessions, and a mediation.”

  “I didn’t know you did those,” I said referring to her last task.

  “When people are at odds, sometimes they need a neutral third party to step in and facilitate a discussion.” She paused. “You’ve never had a mediation?”

  “Why do you sound surprised?” I asked.

  She grunted. “Don’t think I don’t notice how agitated you’ve been lately.” Concern threaded her tone, and anxiety made me stiffen.

  “Anytime I ask you about your day, you say it was fine, but if I wait long enough, you start griping about your colleagues and your staff.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “How was your day?”

  I drew a sharp breath. Now that she’d literally psychoanalyzed my behavior, I was reluctant to tell her the truth. Or lie.

  Amaris hummed. “Where are you?” She didn’t give me a second to answer. “Don’t tell me you’re still at the office, Maverick.”

  “Okay, I won’t,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, but it didn’t work. In fact, I felt her grimace of displeasure through the phone, and my own annoyance increased.

  “Maverick…” she sighed. “You’ve been at the office late almost every night for the past month. That’s not healthy. There’s no way you’ll be able to perform optimally if you’re burning the candle at both ends like this.” She huffed. “And of course, you won’t take my advice, though I have no idea why.”

  “I told you why,” I reminded her. “I don’t need you worrying about me, Amaris. That’s not your role!”

  “Not my role?”

  “No,” I confirmed. “And that’s why I don’t feel comfortable telling you the truth. I don’t need you mothering me. I already have a mother. I don’t want another.”

  Amaris gasped and an intense silence followed.

  I cursed and dragged my hand over my face. “Baby, I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

  “No, you don’t have to apologize,” she insisted, but even though her tone was low, it was equally as sharp.

  My jaw jerked and I leaned forward. “I do need to apologize. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

  “From the abundance of the heart, does the mouth speak, Maverick. You meant it exactly the way it sounded,” she countered. “You don’t need another mother, and the truth is, based on what I know about her, she’s the last person I’d want to be anyway.”

  My mouth pinched.

  “So what is my role?” she whispered, “Because clearly, there’s some confusion, which is exactly why this entire wait-five-years idea is a load of bullshit.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but she still had the podium.

  “You know what? It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

  “Mary, wait,” I begged. My heart was clamping down in my chest. “You’re right. I had a long day, it was stressful, and I didn’t handle it well. I’m not eating, I’m not sleeping…” I sighed. “I haven’t been honest with you because I didn’t want you to put on your therapist hat and fix me.”

  “So… you’ve been keeping things from me?”

  My mouth pinched. I didn’t like the sound of that. “I haven’t been keeping things from you, Mary. I just haven’t been telling you everything.”

  “And what else don’t I know?”

  “What?”

  Amaris chuckled, as if someone had cracked a joke only she could hear. “You know what? Good night, Maverick. I’m tired and I should go back to sleep.”

  “Amaris, wait,” I demanded, but she didn’t. Three beeps, and the phone clicked into silence. I looked at it, flabbergasted.

  I called back.

  She didn’t answer.

  I typed: What, exactly, are we talking about right now?!

  She responded immediately: How we obviously don’t trust one another. How this – whatever it is – isn’t going to work!

  My fingers slammed onto the phone’s face. It won’t work if you choose not to trust me. I’m not the only one with issues here, Amaris. We all have them, and your controlling, sheltered upbringing is the source of yours!

  A moment passed and I stared at the phone, waiting for her to type something. She started to type a couple of times, but then she’d stop.

  Finally, her message came through: Fuck you, Maverick!