Forgetting August(81)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Everly



My leg twitched up and down nervously as I sat alone in the snug little waiting room. It was late in the afternoon and I knew I must be her last appointment of the day. She usually didn’t take patients after four, and it was just past that when I saw the door to her office crack open as she ushered out her last client.

She’d made a special appointment for me. She’d extended her day because she knew I’d probably chicken out and avoid coming if I didn’t get in today.

She was right.

Damn woman was always right.

That was a classic avoidance technique I’d mastered.

What I called running or my tendency to flee, Tabitha called avoidance. When conflict entered my life, I solved it by avoiding the situation altogether.

Ryan and I argued about my future job prospects? I needed to go on a walk, or take a long drive.

August went into a long-term coma? I avoided the entire situation for years and acted like nothing had happened until it all blew up in my face like a giant atomic bomb.

Yeah.

Avoidance sounded like a good term.

She said her good-byes, waiting until the door settled back into place before greeting me. Tabitha worked solo—no assistant or receptionist. Every appointment was made and handled through her, which was why she kept her patient list so small. Even the waiting area was nothing more than a few chairs and a scattering of magazines.

“Are you ready?” she asked, turning to me, ready to give me her complete attention for the next hour.

“As I’ll ever be,” I answered, taking a deep breath.

“After you,” she said, giving me the lead. I entered the small office, taking in the familiar surroundings as I found my favorite spot—an old red velvet sofa with mismatched flowery pillows that I always held in my lap. Tabitha never said anything about this little nuance of mine but I’m sure plenty of therapist-related stuff had been written down in her notes about me.

I snuggled down in the couch, grabbed the lumpy pillow I favored and crossed my legs beneath me, ready to talk. I’d gone too long—spent too much time avoiding this place. Being here always felt right, even when I didn’t want to admit it. Tabitha helped center me. She brought out the emotions and feelings buried below that surface that I was always unwilling to face.

Admitting to myself that I needed to be here was sometimes difficult. No one ever likes to admit they need help, but I was thankful I’d stumbled upon someone as patient and understanding as she was. I’m not sure every therapist and counselor out there would have stuck by me through everything.

I was kind of a pain–in-the-ass patient.

Hence the reason she was seeing me after hours.

And staring at me as if I was in trouble.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” she commented, looking through her notes as if she needed them to confirm exactly how long it had been. We both knew, without having to check dates, that it had been too long. I’d chickened out, calling to cancel my appointments during the daytime when I knew she’d be with patients just to avoid having to explain why I couldn’t make it. Her voicemail was always very understanding.

The reason I’d been avoiding this sacred space? If I came here, suddenly everything that had happened over the last few weeks would become very real. And up until this afternoon, I’d been happily living in my bubble world, ready to live out my existence there for the rest of eternity.

“My life is a mess,” I stated with a heavy sigh.

She gave me a warm smile. “Every life is a mess, Everly. It’s what we do with that great big mess that truly matters.”

“Ryan and I broke up,” I said, squeezing the pillow between my arms.

“I know,” she answered, nodding.

“How?” But then I realized before the word had barely left my lips. “Sarah?” I asked.

She shrugged, and pointed to my left hand. “You’re not wearing your engagement ring. First time in months I haven’t seen it on your finger.”

I shook my head, refusing to believe she’d figured it out so easily. “How is Sarah?” I pushed.

“You know I can’t answer that,” she said, unwilling to break her patient confidentiality clause.

“I know. I just miss her,” I replied.

“Then you know what to do.”

I nodded. “But that means telling her about August. What if she doesn’t ever want to talk to me again?”

“Why don’t you start by telling me about August, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay,” I agreed.

Over the next thirty minutes, I told her the story of August and me. I relived the pain of Ryan leaving me and the anger I’d felt, blaming it all on August. How my anger had turned into something entirely different and somehow in the midst of all those unresolved feelings, I’d realized I still wanted him.