“Please begin by counting your breaths.” He made a very loud inhaling noise that lasted forever, then slowly released it.
Lorna took a deep breath too.I hate this. Why empty your mind when there is so much to think about? I don’t have time to be here. Deb didn’t have to make me do this. Man, my pants are tight. My leg is falling asleep. Did I give Agnes her biscuit this morning?
“Breathe in, breathe out slowly,” the man said.
Lorna followed instructions to let the breath reach her toes. Amazingly, she felt herself begin to relax.This is how they get you. They relax you to the point you don’t know what you’re signing up for and then—whammo—you’re literally drinking the Kool-Aid. How am I going to fill that damn hole in the backyard? That kid will probablyhurt himself if I don’t. Why do I feel so angry? I’m literally just sitting here.
It felt like the stillness went on forever. Lorna never did empty her mind of all the thoughts. A gong sounded, and it was over. As people picked up their mats, Montreal came to find her.
“Micah is ready for your assessment now.”
He led her down a marble-tiled hall, the sounds of more classical guitar and the sweet scent of incense trailing after them, to a room that was, surprisingly, painted blue. Inside was a glass-top desk and two white beanbags. Another water feature was running in the corner. The windows were big and the leaves of a tree outside scraped against the glass in a sort of soothing rhythm. On the walls were paintings of elephants and symbols Lorna assumed were mystic in some way.
“Have a seat,” Montreal said, gesturing toward the beanbags. “Micah will join you shortly.” He smiled and backed out of the room.
Lorna glared at the beanbag he’d pointed to. This assessment business seemed designed to intentionally make her feel out of place. First the meditation, and now she was in a room meant for either a princess or a hippie. It was clearly not meant for King Kong. But King Kong lowered herself in her tight pants onto a beanbag anyway.
The door suddenly swung open and a man with a long tail of salt-and-pepper hair down his back swept in. He was wearing silk joggers, a short kimono jacket over a Grateful Dead shirt, and thick, black-rimmed glasses. He looked like he’d just come from a tai chi class.
A pink manila folder was tucked under his left arm.
“Welcome, Lorna,” he said, as if they’d met dozens of times before. He walked straight to a hot plate and the teapot there. “Ilike to have a little herbal tea during these sessions. May I offer you some?”
Lorna eyed him suspiciously. “What sort of herbs?”
“I’ve got them all. What’s your pleasure?”
There was no pleasure in this, but she did like a cup of lavender tea. “Lavender?”
“An excellent choice.” He turned a dial to heat the hot plate. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Micah Turnbull, a licensed clinical social worker and an avid coach of life.”
Lorna was momentarily confused by his wording. “A life coach?”
“Personally, I think that phrasing is limiting, but yes, I am. Now it’s your turn. Tell me about yourself.”
She hated this. He could probably look at her and know everything he needed to know. Classic spinster story, thank you. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not really an avid anything.”
“Fortunately, that is not required. Just tell me a little something so I can get to know you.”
“Umm...” There was a weird rumbling deep inside her. She was pretty good at not letting anyone see her. Especially herself. “Not much to say, really. I just work a lot and that’s about it. I like dogs.”
He poured water into two mugs. “What kinds of dogs?”
“All dogs. But I have a corgi.”
“Great breed. What about a partner? Do you have one of those?”
She shook her head. Her stomach was beginning a slow churn. It always made her feel strangely guilty that she was in her forties and did not have a partner. She’d had them. Two, to be exact. And a smattering of dates in between. But neither significant other had lasted long, and the more time went on, the more isolated she’d allowed herself to be.
“Friends?”
She thought of Agnes and Deb. While she considered them friends, she imagined Micah might not. “Not really.”
“Family?”
Okay, this was getting awfully personal, and she could feel her anger meter kicking into gear. She didn’t like to talk about her family. “I don’t see what that has to do with... this.”
Micah poured the tea, handed her a mug, and, holding the other one, sank effortlessly onto the beanbag facing hers. He wrapped long, tapered fingers around his mug. “So, if I’ve heard you correctly, you’re single, you don’t have many friends, maybe fewer family, and you work a lot.”
