“Yes.” I lean my head against the back of the couch, automatically closing my eyes.
“I know you don’t always like the dark.” She switches on the brass lamp that’s next to me.
“It’s good right now. I have the start of a headache.”
“How’re your meds?”
“Depends on the day. With my list of phobias, it’s amazing I function at all.” I keep my eyes shut and hear the rustle of her notepad as she moves to the overstuffed chair and matching ottoman across from me.
“Do you feel they are helping you to function at a less-heightened state?”
“I think so.”
“Well, you’ve had a lot of upheaval in your personal life,” she muses. “I’m proud of you for continuing to come to therapy and engage with me, so thank you.”
“I should be thanking you,” I say. “I think Noah and I are making strides, or at least we were until today.”
Her pen floats over the page. “Do you have something to share?”
“I think Noah and I are pregnant.”
“What? That’s wonderful news.” Her voice rises an octave as she tries not to sound too over the top. I can tell she’s not the type to let emotions get the best of her, which is part of why I respect her. She’s reserved yet forthcoming. “Since you started coming to see me a couple months ago, you’ve shared your desire to someday have children.”
“It’s a bit premature.” I try not to sound as giddy as I feel inside. “But all the signs are there.”
“Did you tell Noah yet?”
“He said whatever happens, happens.”
“How does that make you feel?” she presses. “Excited? Vulnerable? Hopeful?”
Suddenly I feel shy and rest my hand against my face. “A combination of all three. Noah travels a lot, and I’m hoping he might cut back if we have a little one on the way, so I don’t feel so emotionally detached, like last time.”
“But that was a different relationship, was it not?” she gently probes, consulting her notes.
I nod but don’t elaborate. I’m not in the mood to dismiss my happy news for something that was gut wrenching. For once, they don’t need to share the same space, the emotions of both on opposite ends of the spectrum.
“We can discuss your meds at the end of our session, in terms of what can interfere with your pregnancy and what you can take. It’s imperative you keep attending our sessions, especially since your hormones will be jumping all over, and you’ll be dealing with fears from the past and phobias that will continue to manifest, based on your history.”
“Of course.”
“So back to why you were late?”
“I found myself in a predicament.”
“In terms of?”
“It brought to my attention how untrusting I am of others. And how others are the same of me.” I pause, gathering my thoughts. “I prematurely accused Noah of cheating . . .” I stop briefly. “At least, this time.”
“And?” she intones.
“This woman is still a permanent itch that can’t be scratched.”
“Is this,” Dr. Everett asks, scanning her notes, “Lauren you are referencing?”
I sigh. “Yes.”
“What makes you bring her up today, and how does she hinder your trust issues with your husband?”
“I thought she might’ve been at our house.”
“Inside?”
“Yes.” Overwrought at the thought of her rifling through my drawers or being privy to my most personal effects and Noah’s, I feel a sharp stab of anger that shifts me in my seat. “I felt this sinking feeling, like we were starting over at the beginning, and I wondered if I’d be able to go down that dark path again.” I shrug. “I felt helpless.”
She motions to my ring finger and points out, “But he’s your husband.” As I gaze at my wedding band, the light from the lamp next to me dances off the diamond baguettes.
“But . . .”
Dr. Everett gently chastises me. “Why is there always a but?”
“She took him from me when I needed him the most.”
“And that’s how you see it?”
“No, it’s not how I see it. It’s the truth, based on facts, not my opinion.”
I watch as she peruses her notes. “And you blame Lauren more for the encounter than Noah?”
“Yes.” I pick at an imaginary piece of lint. “She was the aggressor.”
“Okay, so let’s discuss this transgression. How is Lauren the only one at fault here?” Dr. Everett peers at me, her blue depths searching mine. “How does Noah not have a part in this? I don’t want to sound insensitive, since he’s your spouse, but I’m trying to piece this together.”
“It’s a valid question.” I give her a small smile. “We were drunk, Noah and I. We had been out on the town, and since Lauren was staying with us, I didn’t think it was an issue to tell them to go back to the house while I made sure a friend got home safely. I’ve known them both since college, and I trusted them together until I walked in on them in bed together.”
It’s clear by the tears how much this still affects me. I can picture my horrified expression as I walked in the dark bedroom, greeted by a moan I knew belonged to Noah, followed by a strange guttural sound that was out of place and didn’t belong in my bed.
Startled, I told myself I was imagining it, that Lauren must’ve brought another guy back to the house—my refusal to comprehend that either could have violated my trust and loyalty, not to mention the emotional damage they had inflicted on me.
Dr. Everett leans over and hands me a tissue. Déjà vu from earlier, when I passed Elle a tissue. “You still feel Lauren has it out for you?”
“Yes.” Blotting my wet cheeks, I continue. “Back then, she pined for Noah, and I ignored all the signs.” My fingers dab impatiently at my nose. “Friends told me she wanted him and to watch out, but I assumed she’d never act on any feelings, even if she did have them. Christ, we used to be roommates.”
“And now you are afraid history’s going to repeat itself, and she’s somehow going to end up back in your house and in your bed and lay claim to your husband?”
“Honestly, yes. I don’t want her intruding in my life or our lives.”
“But why is this manifesting itself now, Charlotte?” She muses, “Is it because you see a potential pregnancy as something that would bring her back into your lives?”
“I know how much having kids means to her.”
“And she doesn’t have any?”
“As far as I know, she can’t. Something with her ovaries.”
“Okay, so back to my original question.” Her pen clicks against the pad. “What does this have to do with you?”
“I’m scared she hasn’t let go of him.”
Gently she asks, “Or maybe that he hasn’t let go of her?”
I recoil, the truth of her words stinging with authenticity.
“What will it take for you to trust your husband again?” Dr. Everett leans forward to drive her point home. “I want to hear you say it out loud, connect the dots, Charlotte.”