by T Gephart
“Yeah, he was feeling guilty and I was trying to tell him that shit wasn’t his fault. He overheard what happened. We didn’t go deep or anything, but he came clean about probably not being the easiest kid to get along with. He thought that had something to do with it.”
“Oh my God, no.” She shook her head and sunk into an armchair. “I can’t have him taking that on. He already has enough.”
I dropped to my knees beside her, there was more to the conversation than what needed to be said. Not that I was a shrink and hell, who knows if I’d made things better or worse, but I’d opened my mouth and I was fessing up.
“Which is what I told him. I don’t know, Megs— I don’t know this kid and maybe I saw something I wanted to see. But he seemed to understand that you were only trying to help him. He even told me that he was looking forward to next time when you guys had a session.”
Her eyes got wide, almost like she hadn’t bought my version of events. “He said that? He actually said he was looking forward to our next session? He hates our sessions.”
“Well not those exact words but we agreed my version was probably what he meant. He even apologized to his mom for making her worry.” The paraphrase was a definite improvement, no way was I ever going to say the kid was a shit.
“You got him to say sorry? Troy, that’s huge. I know you don’t understand but trust me… it’s massive.” She scooted forward in her seat, her excitement earning me some lip action as she pressed her mouth against mine.
“So you’re not mad? I know there is all kinds of gray area there about talking to kids and shit.” Yeah as in, don’t fucking do it.
“Troy, you weren’t impersonating a psychologist, and from what you said he approached you. As long as you weren’t talking about our therapy sessions or giving him prescribed treatment there’s nothing unethical with you having a consensual conversation. Besides, it sounds like talking to you was exactly what he needed. Sometimes, all it takes is one thing to set off a chain reaction of change.”
“Well, I just didn’t want to fuck anything up.” Not for the kid and not for Megs.
“You didn’t fuck anything up.” She gave me one of my favorite smiles. The ones where the corners of her mouth pull up so much it lights up her entire face. The kind of smile you couldn’t fake.
“Awesome.” I leaned in and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Why don’t you return your call and I’ll hit the shower. I can’t do anything about a change of clothes but at least I won’t smell.”
Maybe I had a clean T-shirt lying around somewhere? In any case, our living arrangement needed to be sorted at some point in the very near future, and one of us going to be relocating. Best we could save that dilemma for after we fed our faces.
“Yes and then foooooooood,” Megs added, seeming to read my mind.
I shot her a wink before strolling off into the bathroom, not forgetting the promise I’d made to her. “And coffee.”
Troy had been right about one thing—his parents had been ecstatic when he broke the news to them about our impromptu I-do’s. He had called them after his shower and even put the phone on speaker so I could hear. There weren’t any shocked gasps or tearful accusations— so basically the opposite of my parents— and they were both just so lovingly supportive that it made me teary all over again.
My work emergency had turned out to be just Carrie checking in on me. All my appointments had been postponed with all my high risk patients being re-allocated for care in the interim. It made things a little easier that there was one less thing for me to worry about.
Breakfast for lunch, as Troy had called it, had been sublime. While the pancakes had been delicious, it had been my extra large, extra hot with an extra shot of coffee that had ricocheted me straight off the planet and into outer space. It was like welcoming back an old friend and went a long way in making me feel less zombiefied. I pledged my renewed fealty to the caffeine master and tried not to sound like I was having an orgasm when taking the first sip. Not going to lie— it hadn’t been easy.
“They know about the baby, right?” My palms were sweaty as we loitered outside Dan and Ash’s door. I hadn’t seen or spoken to either of them since it happened and really wasn’t up for detailed run through.
I shouldn’t have had that second coffee; I was so jittery my teeth were rattling.
“Yeah, I had been with Dan when you called me so he knew something was up. I gave him a call and filled him in while I was in the waiting room.” Troy gave me a sideways glance, like he was unsure of what my reaction was going to be. My lack of an emotional explosion prompted him to go on.
“I didn’t know if it was going to leak out or not, and figured it was better they heard it from me. I told the rest of the band too, and Lexi—she made sure that nothing showed up in the press.”
I hadn’t even thought about the press and how much worse it could have been with a camera in my face asking us about our loss.
“I’m glad you told them, they should know. It’s not like we can pretend it didn’t happen.” That would have been so much worse.
“You ready to go in? We can go hang at my place for a while.” Troy jangled his keys temptingly.
It would be easy to run away, but it was only a matter of time before our Vegas jaunt made news. I was surprised TMZ hadn’t been at the airport, no doubt MTV would have the story by the evening. Ironically, Ashlyn’s prediction about me never being featured would be a bust, however it wouldn’t be my recorder prowess that would earn me headlines, but the sparkly new finger wear I was sporting. In truth— I sucked at the recorder.
So my new philosophy was to own being Mrs. Troy Harris, consequences be damned. Besides, I really liked saying his last name.
“No, I’m good.” My head bobbled a little too enthusiastically, the full effect of the caffeine running havoc on my nervous system.
Troy didn’t look convinced as he knocked on the door. His concern evident as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer to him. It was either that or he was expecting me to drop to the floor and have a cardiac arrest— not out of the realm of possibility given how much I’d been buzzing.
“Megs!” Ash screamed, pulling me out of Troy’s arms and into her own as she opened the door. “Oh, crap. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She eased her hold on me as she led me through the doorway, Troy walking in casually behind us.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Well, as fine as I was going to be. Certainly not about to fall apart, which was a plus.
“Troy.” Ash gave him a slightly less emotional hug than the one she’d given me.
“Hey, Ash.” Troy returned her hug before lifting his head to address Dan. “Hey, douchebag.”
“Hey.” Dan tipped his chin hello. It wasn’t just his subdued greeting weirding me out a little, it was the absence of the trailing “numbnuts” which was also odd. He was almost like an anti-Dan, respectfully standing back and observing without insults or innuendo. I hadn’t been the only one who had noticed, his scaled down behavior earning him a raised eyebrow from Troy.
“Soooooooo.” Did I launch into our big announcement or did I let things be awkward a little while longer? I wasn’t sure what the protocol was. “Troy and I got married.” My mouth made the decision for me, with my left hand flying out in front of me. The big rock on my ring finger to serve as exhibit A for submitted evidence.
“You got married?” Ashlyn’s eyes widened as she snatched my hand and examined my ring. “When did you have time to get married?” She continued to talk to my Van Cleef and Arpels diamond rather than address me directly. Not that I blamed her, I had a hard time not breaking into a Gollum impersonation and stroking my precious, my precious myself.
“When did they have time? They’ve been dating like ninjas since God knows when, I’m surprised we’re only celebrating their wedding and not their freaking first year anniversary.” Thankfully the Dan I remembered came back with a vengeance, leaving behind whatever the previous reincarnation had
been. Better the devil you know I say.
“Dan, you promised you wouldn’t be an ass.” Ash gave him a gentle shove in the shoulder. The mystery of anti-Dan solved.
“I didn’t even call Troy an asshole, even though he called me a douchebag. Can’t I get credit for that?” He rubbed his shoulder with his hand indignantly, no doubt annoyed his sacrifice hadn’t been acknowledged.
“Ash, thanks for the sentiment but it feels weirder if he tries to act normal. Just be yourself, Dan.”
“Thank you, Megs.” He shot his wife-to-be a smug grin. “See, I’m a regular freaking delight, babe. Don’t know why you were worried.”
“Anyway,” Ash rolled her eyes ignoring Dan’s now inflated ego. “When did this all happen?”
Troy took over and explained our snap decision to go rogue and elope.
“I’m so fucking disappointed, dude.” Dan paced, his agitation showing as Troy recounted the story.
“I’m sorry, man. No one was there. We didn’t even tell our families.” Troy’s apology attempted to ease Dan’s disappointment. Both of us genuinely touched that Dan had been bummed about missing out on the wedding.
“No, not about not being there. I totally get that. You wanted to get married, you got married. I can respect that.” Dan waved off Troy’s apology.
“So what’s the problem then?” Troy asked, neither of us closer to working out why if it hadn’t been his lack of attendance that had upset him, what he’d got worked up over.
“That fact that you two idiots weren’t married by a fat Elvis wearing a satin jumpsuit. You were in Vegas, dude. That’s like going to the Coliseum and not seeing the Pope. The King is rolling around in his grave right now. I hope you two fuckers are satisfied.” He passionately informed us of our squandered opportunity as he pointing his finger at us accusingly.
“The Pope lives in the Vatican, you moron, not the Coliseum and The King didn’t need our business. It’s fine.” Troy laughed off Dan’s concerns of us ruffling the deceased rock star’s blue suede shoes.
“I’m just sayin’ next time you’re in Memphis you should probably head to Graceland and apologize to the Velvet Elvis just to be sure.”
Velvet Elvis would probably be waiting a while, but I didn’t bother informing Dan.
“Yeah, we’ll get right on that.” Troy rolled his eyes, pretending to humor him.
We stayed and chatted for a while, Ash giving me concerned looks but I remembered to nod enough and give her the I’m-okay smile. It wasn’t a lie; deep down I knew I would be. The laughter certainly helped, but our adventure-filled night had left me tired, so Troy and I wrapped it up and said our goodbyes, talking the walk across the hallway. Our destination—his apartment.
“You want to lie down?” Troy tossed the keys on his kitchen bench; it had been awhile since we’d been in his apartment. The venue for our late night rendezvous had been usually my place.
“Yeah.” I smiled as I pulled him toward me. “I think we should live here.” It was sudden— my snap decision on where we should call home—but it seemed to fit. Everything about our relationship had either been out of sequence or fly-by-the-seat-your-pants, why change it now?
“Megs, we can live anywhere you want. I can move to yours or we can buy something new. It’s just space, it’s what’s in it that counts.” Troy kissed the top of my head.
“I know but it feels right that we move here. Beside, this is where we spent our first night together and our second. It’s where the craziness began.”
Troy shot me a sideways glance. “That a good thing or a bad thing?”
“It’s an us thing.”
****
It had been two weeks and I was back at work, my routine slipping into something resembling normal. Normal if you took into account I was married to Troy Harris— I still wasn’t used to it, the Zsa Zsa diamond on my hand a constant reminder.
My parents had also come around, which was another win. Once the shock of my changed marital status wore off, they not only accepted both the marriage and Troy, but also actively welcomed him into the family. My dad and husband had even scheduled a man-date on the green. Troy had been quoting Caddyshack all week and I had bought a pair of suitable hideous pants I had planned on making him wear, the laugh alone worth every penny I’d spent on them.
“Dr. Harris, your three o’clock is here.” Carrie buzzed through my intercom.
“Thanks, Carrie, send him in.”
Oh and another thing, I totally did the name change. The freedom from the legacy of my father’s last name, liberating. No more having to endure Harry Potter stares when people met me for the first time, or whispers about who my parents were behind my back. Their wonder in me— moving forward —would be on my merit alone. Unless they were Power Station fans and then I was shit out of luck.
I stood as I waited for my patient to arrive, the door opening to reveal my three o’clock appointment.
“Hi, Brad, take a seat.”
He quietly slumped into the chair opposite my desk as I retook mine.
“Look, before we start I just wanted to talk to you about our last session. I know you followed up with Dr. Meyer and spoke about what happened, but I just wanted you to know that I’m okay now.”
It was a fine line in talking about something personal with a. a patient and b. a minor, but as long as I kept the details out of it, ethically I could reassure him that I was okay without crossing any lines. It’s not like we could ignore the elephant in the room either— he knew about Troy and the baby.
“I’m really glad, Dr. Winters…I mean, Dr. Harris.” Brad fidgeted nervously with the drawstring of his hoodie.
“You can call me Dr. Winters if it makes you feel more comfortable. I don’t mind.” Change could sometimes be a trigger, and the last thing I wanted to do was have his progress pushed back on something as trivial as my name change.
He shrugged. “Your name is Dr. Harris now, so if it’s cool with you, that’s what I’d like to call you.”
“Of course. I’d like that. So I read over your notes from the last two weeks. Seems like you and your parents came to an agreement about school?”
“Yeah, it’s no big deal. I promised my mom I would graduate high school even though it’s fucking lame.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hair flicking into his eyes.
“That’s fantastic. I’m so proud of you.” The fact he’d made the commitment, massive progress in itself.
“Like I said, no big deal.” Another shrug.
“Would you like to talk about something else?” I shifted gears, not wanting to push too hard on our first session back.
“I started playing drums.” His eyes met mine.
Drums? It was too strange to be a coincidence and I had to wonder if a particular drummer hadn’t influenced the decision to pick up the sticks.
“Interesting choice of instrument. Was there any particular reason you chose drums?”
“Yeah, a set showed up at my house one day, with a note.”
Drums just showed up on his doorstep? That was even stranger. My gut told me the responsibility of this random act of kindness fell at the feet of someone whose name began with Troy and ended with Harris. Of course it was all purely speculation, but if I’d been hedging a wager, I’d be going all in.
“You wouldn’t happen to have the note would you?”
“Yeah, it’s here.” Brad pulled the folded piece of paper from his pocket and placed it on the desk in front of me. The deep lines and wear on the paper indicating it had been read and refolded numerous times.
Dear Brad,
When I was younger I’d sometimes get mad too, but instead of beating myself up, I’d take it out on the skins. Maybe it’s worth a shot? It doesn’t have to be musical, just make some noise. And don’t be scared to hit them hard — trust me, they can take it.
The note was incredibly sweet and had all the hallmarkings of Troy. I could almost hear him reading it to me himself. It seemed that Brad and
I then embarked on a game of let-me-say-one-thing-but-I-actually-mean-another. I was actually really good at this game, and short of have telepathy; I could read the subtext pretty damn well. This is how the conversation went and what was my interpretation.
“It’s not signed?” Translation— Do you know who sent it?
“Nope, no return address either.” Translation— someone obviously hiding their identity.
“Well it’s a really nice gesture, who ever sent them.” Translation— let’s dance around the fact that it was probably Troy who did it.
“Yeah, he must be pretty cool.” Translation —I know it was your husband.
“Yeah, he must be.” Translation — yeah okay, so we both know it was my husband.
See. It’s a great game and anyone can play. Now let’s get back to therapy so I can find out whether this grand gesture was just a social experiment or if it actually helped the kid.
“Has it helped?” I leaned forward in my seat, already knowing the answer to what I was asking. “Playing the drums?”
“Yeah, I feel less angry.” The evidence of that in his less explosive responses and the massive drop in expletives used when talking. “I’m even taking lessons.”
“That’s really great, Brad.”
We spent the rest of the time we had discussing strategies, but I could tell by the change in him already that he would make it. It wasn’t going to be a cakewalk, and he had a long road ahead, but for the first time since that angry boy had stepped inside my office, he seemed to want the change.
We said our goodbyes and I instructed Brad to make another appointment and he’d barely shut my office door when I reached for my phone.
“Megs.” He answered on the second ring.
“Troy Harris, do you have something you need to tell me?”
He had to have known I’d eventually find out. I mean, Brad’s my patient, talking is what we do.
“Okay, Megs, I’ll come clean. All the people on Lost’s Oceania flight 815 were dead the whole time.” He barked out a laugh.
