Jane normally keeps her voice calm, inflecting only to show empathy or interest, never judgment. This doesn’t sound like judgment, exactly, but it’s notnotjudgment.
I study my cute pink pedicure displayed by my favorite sandals. “I drove past his jobsite.”
“Which is where?”
“Um, Secaucus,” I mumble.
“You got on a train to New Jersey, got off, and hired a rideshare to drive you past his construction site?”
“It sounds crazy when you say it like that.” It’s a weak joke, and her response is narrowed eyes.
“Is he at the construction site?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“But you wanted to drive past it because…”
Every answer is mortifying. I don’t want to dig into this. “Can you cure me without, you know, dwelling on this stuff?”
“Tabitha.”
I pick at invisible lint on my jeans. “I thought it would make me feel closer to him.”
“But you started coming to me again because you’re trying to get over him. So what would you call this kind of behavior?”
“Self-defeating,” I say defeatedly.
“Or even self-sabotage.”
I flop back on the sofa cushions. “What am I supposed to do, Jane? I’m in here to figure out how to get over Sawyer, but it’s not working yet.”
Jane considers this. “Do you know what therapy is meant to do?”
“Fix people when they’re doing dumb things.”
Jane leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees. “We can keep doing this for several weeks, Tabitha. Or months, if you like. I’m confident you’ll eventually reach the conclusion you need to reach. But I’d like to suggest an alternative, something to move you along faster.”
“Hypnotherapy?” Anything to speed up this miserable process. “EMDR? Ketamine?”
“Close,” she says. “Natalie.”
She and Natalie were classmates in their licensing program. Natalie referred me to her.
“Have you been talking to her?” I ask.
“Of course not. But based on what you’ve explained of your situation, I predict Natalie can tell you exactly what you need to hear, and you can skip thousands in therapy bills if you’re willing to listen to her.”
“Natalie is going to tell me to move to Oak Crest and make babies with Sawyer.”
“Give Natalie more credit,” she says. “She loves you. She’s got your back. She wants the best for you. Trust that.”
“What if I don’t want to talk to Natalie because she’s biased?”
“Then you make an appointment to see me next week, and in the meantime, you think about why you would resist talking to Natalie.”
“I don’t like you,” I say.
She gives me a placid smile. “You don’t have to. You just have to trust me.” She relaxes against her chair.
