I shook my head.
I watched him open a small case that sat on the table beside his chair and sprinkle fragrant tobacco in the pipe. He lit it, sucking long and deep until the leaves smoldered. He leaned back, satisfied.
“Reece isn’t a magician, Bailey,” he said finally.
“I know that,” I snapped. And then I apologized.
“No apologies here. You’re free to say what you want and how you want,” Dr. Gordon replied.
“I know he isn’t a magician, but he felt like that. I was in a dream world. Or magic world. Some kind of other world where things were right and effortless. I forgot I even had OCD!”
“So he was a magic man,” Dr. Gordon observed.
“You gonna sing it for me?” I joked.
“Eh, not one of my favorites,” Dr. Gordon replied. “Now, ‘These Dreams’ is something else entirely.”
I chuckled. “And yes, it did seem like that—that he was a magic man. Too good to be true, really,” I grumbled.
“Quite the pressure you’re putting on that young man,” Dr. Gordon said.
I thought about that.
“He’s just a man, Bailey,” Dr. Gordon said. “He’s not your savior from all your problems. He didn’t cast a spell or come into your life and blight out all the bad with some magic sword. I can see why you think that. Especially since things got so much better for you when he showed up.”
I nodded.
“Perhaps you need to take responsibility,” Dr. Gordon said. It was barely above a whisper, but I heard. And I knew what he was getting at. “Perhaps instead of thinking he can fix your hurt, you should focus on trusting him to help you mend it.”
Good point.
“Your father’s death should not undo all of your progress, Bailey. It’s right to grieve. That’s the right, natural thing to do. There’d be something very wrong with you if you didn’t immerse yourself in that pain. But you shouldn’t grieve the way you are. You’re pushing away the people who love you. You’re running.”
“I know.” And that was the most shameful part about it.
“So I tell you all of this, and what will you do with it?” he asked.
He stood up and walked to his stereo. He pressed PLAY and turned up the volume. I listened to Ann Wilson’s voice float out of the speakers, communicating the message my doctor intended. It wasn’t the song I thought he’d play. It was “Never,” and Ann was telling me I was strong enough to be realistic—to stop aching for a dream world that didn’t exist, but rather, take control of my actual life. To grieve properly without coming completely undone.
I hesitated before joining Ann in the chorus. Dr. Gordon followed my lead. We sang the rest of the song together, and I could only imagine what his patients in the waiting room must have thought. But then therapy comes in all sorts of forms, and today what I needed was some Heart. I was dealing with a heart matter, after all.
***
Dr. Gordon’s words slipped right out of my brain the second I left his office. I believed I could get better while I was in the safety of his warm, tobacco-rich, leather-bound world. I even made some tentative plans. But once I stepped outside into the real world, the only way I knew to cope was to count. And arrange. And tic. Tic tic tic.
Two months after my father died, Reece and I attempted to go out to eat with Noah and Erica. I’d seen little of her since the funeral, even though she called incessantly and tried repeatedly to set up lunch dates and girl time. She said she missed me. I missed her, too, but I was an emotional mess, and I didn’t want to put that on her. I already felt like a burden to Reece, and there was nothing much I could do about it. We lived together. He had to be in the mess. But Erica didn’t, and I wanted to protect her from it. So I avoided her calls until she pestered Reece and demanded we set up a dinner date.
We met at Circa 1922 Friday night. I wasn’t in the mood to be pleasant, to chat pleasantly and joke pleasantly and drink wine pleasantly. I knew I was getting worse, my spirits only buoyed when I saw Dr. Gordon. I lied to him about my progress; I didn’t want to be the patient who wasn’t getting better. That’s a lot of wasted money, after all, and more importantly, I didn’t want him to be disappointed in me. But Dr. Gordon is no fool. He knew I was struggling, sinking deeper into a dark place.
Reece laughed at the end of Erica’s story. I heard none of it, but I chuckled anyway. Like Dr. Gordon, Erica was no fool, and she knew I was only pretending.
“How’s life with your new mom, sweetie?” she asked, changing topics.
I swirled my wine glass. “It’s good. It’s . . . different. That was a lot to absorb in one night.”
Erica nodded.
“But things are actually pretty decent. I just had lunch with her the other day. Now that the walls are down, I’m seeing her for the first time.” I paused then snorted. “Only took thirty-two years.”
“Well, better late than never,” Noah said.
I chuckled.
“And how are wedding plans coming along?” Erica asked, grinning.
Reece turned to me. “Yeah, how are they coming along? I haven’t heard anything.”
I nudged him playfully. “You know I can’t start right now,” I said softly.
“I know,” he replied, and I could hear a pang of hurt underlying his words.
It’s times like these where Erica’s personality grates on my nerves. Anyone else would have dropped it, but she saw the need to press me because she was worried about me. I guess she thought I was going to drive Reece away, and she knew he was the best thing that ever happened to me. I commend her for the worry, but I did not appreciate the prying.
“Why can’t you start? I started, like, the day Noah proposed,” she said.
I dipped my sushi in soy sauce and tried to ignore her.
“Well?”
“I’m working on my dad’s boat,” I said with my mouth full.
“That model boat?” she asked.
I nodded.
“You can’t do that and plan simultaneously?” she asked.