I’m taking too long.
The door closes.
I can see it in his face.
“No…you think it’s too soon,” he says softly. I don’t say anything. “Yeah, no, you’re right…too soon,” he says and stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks away from me. I go to him and link my arms through the crooks of his, pressing myself against him and leaning my head on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m not ready…I’m scared.”
“It’s okay,” he says, kissing my hair, the top of my head. “I’ll ask you again.”
“You promise?”
“Yes,” he says. I’m not sure I believe him, but it’s nice for him to promise just the same. “You still have to move though,” he says, lightly but seriously into my hair.
“Okay,” I say, never taking my head off his shoulder.
•
When I show up at Liz’s office again, Jan is just putting on her coat and headed out the door.
“Hello Lola,” she says coolly.
“Jan,” I nod.
“She’s actually on her way out as well,” Jan begins.
“Why don’t you tell her I’m here…we’ll see what she says,” I challenge, sitting on the couch, leaning back assuredly, one arm slung across the sofa back. Jan drops her head down slightly.
“Yeah. Hold on,” She goes into Liz’s office, after knocking politely twice with her knuckle on the frosted glass part of the door. She comes out in less than a minute.
“She’ll see you now.”
“Great. Thanks,” I say, not meaning any of it. There’s something about Jan that really annoys the hell out of me.
“Have a good night,” she says, grabbing her bag and heading out the door.
“Mmm-hmm.” I walk into Liz’s office. She stands up from her desk to greet me, and we both sit in our designated seats.
“Hello Lola, I wasn’t sure you’d be back.”
“Well, lucky for you, I still don’t have anyone to talk to, so you’re the big winner.” I raise up my hands a little and shake them like she’s won a sarcastic prize of some sort. She laughs a small laugh.
“I do feel a bit like a winner, Lola. You’re a very interesting girl. I thought a lot about our last conversation.”
“Yeah, about that, that was my fault. I gave you like too much information without giving you all of it and then expected you to get the whole picture.”
“Well, that’s very generous of you, I’ll admit I do feel like I’m missing some pretty big pieces to your life. I’d like you to explain them to me so that I can understand…if you don’t mind.”
“Whatever.”
“But first, it would be good if we could come up with a schedule so that I can be sure I have ample time to speak with you. Also, while I don’t require payment for patients that I consider as case studies, I do have to get your permission to use you as a case study.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, in your situation it means that I may use some of what we discuss in here, with your anonymity intact, of course, in my next book.”
“Fine.”
“Really? Well, that’s great, hold on one second.” Liz goes to her computer and within a few clicks and types sends something to a tiny printer under her desk. She brings over two sheets of paper and a pen. She hands them to me and I sign and date both. She takes one back and I shove the other in my pocket. She glances at her copy briefly before putting it down on the desk.
“LeFever?” she says, reading my name on the page. I feel muscles in my arms and abdomen clench unexpectedly.
“Yeah?” There’s an edge in my voice that I haven’t intended.
“That’s a very unusual name.”
“Do you know what it means?”
“No, I don’t. It’s probably of French origin, maybe an English or New England version of the original French.” She says. My back is still stiff like I’m expecting to be shot. She looks at me, “Do you know what it means?” she asks.
“No, I always just assumed.” I trail off.
“Assumed what?”
“I don’t know, that it meant disease, you know, fever. And in French, I knew it was French, I only took one semester, but I learned enough to know that LE is ‘the’, so I thought you know, ‘the fever’, like maybe, ‘the disease’,” I say. Liz laughs carefully, trying not to make me feel stupid, which is not working, but I’m feeling too hot and sweaty for some reason to care much about her laughter right now.
“I’m sure it doesn’t mean that, Lola. It’s a little too literal. I mean, sure there are literal names out there – someone named ‘Weaver’ probably came from a line of actual weavers if you go back far enough – but it’s unlikely that’s what your name means. Here, do you want me to look?” My eyes flick to the computer and she must read ‘yes’ somewhere on my face because she goes to it and taps her little keys and moves her little mouse. She looks up at me.