13
Alison
“Hello, Alison.” Brooke Slater was standing behind her favorite wing chair as I entered her office. “Come on in and sit down. How are you today?”
Usually, I chose to sit opposite my therapist in the chair that was a mate to hers, but today, I sank down into the loveseat, leaning into the corner.
“I’m . . . I’m a mess. That’s why I’m here, obviously.” I dropped my handbag onto the floor and kicked off my shoes. Brooke Slater and I had discovered early in our professional relationship—therapist to client—that we both talked better when our shoes were off. It was probably representative of shedding the need for cover and defense, Brooke posited. I didn’t care; I was just grateful that I’d found a doctor who didn’t mind that I liked to get comfortable when I was spilling my guts.
“Well, you cancelled two appointments earlier this month, and then when you called for this one, you said it was urgent. That leads me to believe that you’re struggling with something.”
I gave a humorless huff of laughter. “Yeah, you might say that. Did you miss the part where I said I was a mess?”
“No, I was just clarifying what you meant. Where would you like to begin?” Brooke smiled.
I took a deep breath. “I guess the beginning would be . . . Emma and Deacon’s wedding. The last time I saw you, I was getting ready to go.”
“Right. How was it? You had some anxiety about being there on your own.”
“I did, but as it turned out, I wasn’t alone. I met someone . . . or rather, I ended up seeing an old friend, and we spent the day together. The wedding day, I mean, you know, we sat together at the ceremony and the reception. We danced. And after the wedding, we had a couple of drinks.” I bit my lip. “And the night of the wedding, after we got back to the hotel and had those drinks, we slept together. And then again next morning, too.”
Brooke’s eyes were wide. I knew as my therapist, she wasn’t supposed to be surprised by anything I said, but I had a feeling I’d truly shocked her this time.
“Wow.” She sucked in an audible breath. “So this was someone you’d known? You said an old friend?”
I winced slightly. “Remember last time we talked about Noah?”
“The football player? Oh, yeah, I remember—no way! It was him?” Her mouth fell open, and then she closed it with a snap. “I mean, um, how did you feel about that? Was this a one-time deal? For a long time, you’ve maintained that you didn’t want to pursue any kind of serious relationship.”
“I know, I know.” I shook my head. “But I was having a great time with Noah. We just really hit it off. Like I told you last time, we’d known each other before, just not that well, and then I ran into him at the hospital a couple of months back, so we’d caught up quite a bit that day. And at the wedding . . . I don’t know, one thing led to another. We’re both single, and we had such a wonderful time talking—he’s such a good listener—and I was attracted to him, and I guess he was to me, too . . . so yeah.” I remembered belatedly to answer her question. “That weekend, I felt very good about it. I felt like a new woman. It was amazing. Kind of liberating, I guess.”
“How did you feel later? Did that good feeling continue?”
I nodded. “We saw each other again the week after the wedding, and it was amazing. Again. We talked about my past, and his past—I think I told you that Noah’s wife died a few years ago, and he hasn’t had a relationship since—so we have some things in common. It’s very easy to be open with him.”
“Uh-huh. Are you still seeing him now? Have you defined your relationship, or . . .” She flipped one hand over. “Are you taking things slowly?”
I covered my face with my hands. “This is where everything gets complicated.”
“One step at a time, Alison. Did you make plans to see Noah?”
“Sort of. He was having follow-up surgery on his knee the week after our second date, but he was supposed to call me after he was home. When the procedure was done.”
“Oh, I’d heard something about that—the team said that his return for the rest of the season was still uncertain, depending on the outcome of the operation. But I never heard anything after that.”
“Right.” I nodded. “They were hoping to repair some of the damage that couldn’t be taken care of immediately after the injury. But when he never called me afterwards, I started to freak out, imagining all the reasons why he might not call.”
“Did you try to get in touch with him?”
“Sure. Of course. But it turned out that something went wrong during the procedure, and he’s in a coma. They don’t know why, or when he’s going to wake up, or—” I swallowed. “Or if he ever will. I went to go see him, and that was good.” I wrinkled my nose. “But it was hard, too, because no one knows about us. Not our mutual friends, not his mother, who I met at the hospital—actually, this is weird. For some reason, his mother seems to think he’s involved with another woman altogether. Someone who works for his team.”
Brook blinked. “Soishe involved with this other woman?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, but I don’t think so. He’d mentioned her to me before as a co-worker. And not the way you would talk about a co-worker you were interested in. He said she was a little bit of a pest.” I remembered that now, and it was somewhat comforting.
“All right.” My therapist nodded slowly. “This is a very complex situation, Alison. I’m not sure I’m getting the full picture. So you just began a relationship with the football player—Noah—who was, up until recently, more an acquaintance than a friend. And shortly after you began seeing him, he suffered some kind of complication during surgery, and now he’s . . . comatose? And possibly has a girlfriend you weren’t aware of?”
I was quiet for a moment. “Yes, that’s it, more or less. In a nutshell. Although I don’t really believe he has a girlfriend. That’s some kind of bizarre mix-up. I’m almost positive.”
