“Like what?” I asked.
She thought about it for a few seconds. “Oh . . . I hate it when they’re rude to waiters if the food isn’t cooked or presented exactly how they want it. And then they leave without tipping. Sometimes I’m ashamed to be a part of this world when so many people are struggling.”
I sat with my arm along the back of the bench, my body turned slightly toward hers, and she rested her head on my shoulder.
“Is that what Gabriel was like?” I asked, tentatively. “Is that why you broke up with him?”
“No, actually,” she replied, lifting her head. “He was a good guy. He came from money, but his parents were very conscious of social injustice. His father was a human rights lawyer.”
“How long were you with him?”
“Two years.” She looked up at me and smiled. “But why are we talking about this?”
I paused, then ran my finger down a long tendril of her hair. “I just want to know everything about you. And maybe I’m a little jealous that he’s known you longer than I have.”
“A little jealous” was an understatement. I hated to think of her with anyone else, especially a talented saxophone player who was clearly still in love with her.
“Was he your first love?” I asked.
She looked down at our joined hands and took a moment to form her reply. “No.”
I inclined my head. “Your pause makes me curious. If he wasn’t your first love, who was?”
“A bad boy from high school,” she explained with a sheepish sigh. “He smoked cigarettes and hosted wild parties when his parents were out of town. My father tried to forbid me from seeing him, which only made me want him more. I used to sneak out and lie about where I was. Normal teenage stuff, I guess. We dated for about six months until he cheated on me, which I simply could not forgive. That’s when I realized he was a jerk and I kicked him hard and fast to the curb.” She leaned close again and nuzzled my cheek with her nose. “What about you? You must have had a first love.”
I told her about a girl named Robin from high school. “It was all very dull and run of the mill,” I explained. “She was nice, but we grew apart when we went to separate colleges.”
Olivia and I talked more about how those early relationships had taught us things about ourselves and what we wanted out of future relationships. Most importantly, they taught us that we could survive and move on when those relationships ended, despite the fact that we once believed we could never live without that person.
It turned out that we could. And we were better off too.
When it was time to return to the yacht, we stood and walked hand in hand to the gangplank, just in time for the departure. Soon, we were cruising away from the marina, and hot hors d’oeuvres were served on the top deck while the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon. Seabirds soared above us and called out to one another.
From a distance on the open deck, I watched Olivia speak intimately and affectionately with her mother. Almost instantly, I was caught up in a powerful undercurrent, a longing that I feared would carry me away and drown me if I weren’t careful. But there was no stopping it, I realized. Not while I was lost in the magic of the setting sun and the sweet perfume of the evening on the river. I was certain that something monumental was happening here. For better or worse, I was falling in love.
When we finally reached the city, it was past dark, and I was overcome by a perilous desire to be with a woman who was beyond my reach for so many reasons. As we made our way toward the gangplank, I was trying to convince myself that I should back away from this when Olivia asked me a question.
“Are you doing anything for dinner tonight?”
I should have told her I had plans. I should have said that I was meeting a friend or I had work to do. But my passionate desire knew no bounds. I wanted to spend more time with her. The feeling was unshakable, no matter how hard I tried to break free of it.
“Not really,” I replied.
“Would you like to come over to my place?” she asked. “My roommates are probably there, but they won’t mind. I could cook us some spaghetti.”
“Spaghetti sounds delicious,” I replied, feeling happy and wretched all at once and horribly conflicted as we said goodbye to the others.
It was obvious to both of us how we felt about each other. Even while Olivia and I cooked together, we burned to be closer. We ate across from each other at the small kitchen table, and there were silences that had nothing to do with awkwardness or a shortage of conversation and everything to do with our racing hearts and heated blood. I couldn’t look at Olivia without wanting to touch her and hold her and confess that I was falling head over heels in love with her, after only a few days.
Later, as we stood side by side at the sink washing dishes, I glanced at my watch and realized it was almost 10:00 p.m. As was so often the case, Melanie drove into my thoughts like a battering ram.
I shuddered with dread, and I hated myself for what I had done—for surrendering to my grief and loneliness, and for betraying my integrity as a therapist and as a decent human being.
At the same time, I resented Melanie for pushing so hard, for not taking no for an answer, and for continuing to lay all her emotional issues on me, as if it were my job—not professionally but personally—to prop her up and cure all her woes.
I was trapped, like a prisoner in a locked room where Melanie held the only key. I was completely at her mercy, but it was my own fault because I had wanted her, in the wrong way.
And here I was again, desiring a woman who was forbidden to me.
“Is something wrong?” Olivia gently asked, putting away the last of the dishes we had washed together. “I feel like you’re somewhere else.”
I shook my head to try and wake myself up from a nightmare. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I realized.”
She studied my expression with a look of concern, then reached out, took my hand, and led me to the sofa in the living room. “Come and sit down with me.”
I sank onto the soft sofa cushion beside her and wanted overwhelmingly to tell her everything—that there was a woman named Melanie who was in love with me and I had made a terrible mistake by becoming involved with her because she was a patient. As a result, she had the power to destroy me. She was waiting for me at that very moment. It was an impossible situation. I didn’t love Melanie. I don’t think I ever had, but I didn’t know how to get out of it.
But no . . . I couldn’t tell Olivia that. She would be disappointed. Possibly disgusted. She had been cheated on once before, by her first love. Naturally, she would be wary of a man who had done what I had done. Of course she would. And then she would turn away from me. She would leave. I would never see her again, and I would be left alone. Alone with more regret.
There was a sudden ringing in my ears, and I felt light headed. There was no one I could turn to, no one who could fix this.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You can tell me.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. I want to know. Please . . .”
I was too ashamed to look at her. “You shouldn’t be with me. You’re too good for me.”
“Please don’t say that. I’m not so special. I’m just lucky to have been born into a rich family. I don’t deserve all the blessings in my life. I didn’t earn them. But you’ve worked hard for what you have. You fought your way out of a rough life. You’re strong, Dean. I’m not half the person you are.”