Show Me Something

by Aubrey Bondurant

  While watching all of the happy couples tonight, I felt refreshed to see such bliss was possible. But if I was being honest, it was also a little depressing. Not that I’d ever let on, but even when Rob and I had first been married, he hadn’t watched me across the room as though I was the best thing to ever happen to him. But the men here tonight looking at their significant others that way was a sight to behold. Gah, maybe I did need to talk to a professional.

  I took a deep breath, surveying the view the rooftop afforded me of the quaint college town. Upon turning, I caught movement as a man with dark hair and glasses stood up in the corner.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Mark. You must be Juliette.”

  Oh, wow. The good Dr. Mac was much more attractive and younger than I’d envisioned, with dark brown hair that was slightly wavy, a strong jawline, and great eyes framed with sexy black glasses. “Yes, I am. Nice to meet you.” After a pause, I just decided to get it out there. “I take it Haylee spoke with you about me.”

  He looked at me curiously. “Uh, yeah, a little bit. You’re up from Charlotte and have a young son, right?”

  If he was trying to put me at ease by mentioning my pride and joy, it was working. “Yes. His name is Tristan, and he’s two years and four months old.”

  He gave me a warm smile. “Isn’t this the point where you whip out your phone to show me a picture?”

  “Oops. I guess I’m not in mommy mode, what with the vodka. Do you mind if I sit? I’m not used to being in heels for this long.”

  “No, not at all. Here, take this seat over here by the heater.”

  I grinned appreciatively and took the spot he vacated. When he looked at me expectantly, I cocked my head to the side.

  “The, uh, pictures,” he reminded.

  “Oh, shit—” I sighed at yet another slipped curse word and another dollar for the swear jar. “Sorry, I had a bit to drink, which appears to affect my profanity filter and short-term memory.” I fished out my phone and scrolled to a recent photo of Tristan. He was smiling at me with his big brown eyes and blondish hair.

  He chuckled. “You don’t need to apologize. And he’s a handsome fellow. He definitely looks like you.”

  “Thank you. You know you’re easier to talk to than I thought you’d be.”

  A furrowed brow conveyed his confusion. “Why would you say that?”

  “Before I say more, you’re bound by a privilege thingy, right?” Would I be able to spill my deep, dark stuff to such a handsome stranger? God, he kind of looked like Clark Kent. Nerdy hot.

  “Well, yes, but you’d have to become a client first. Do you need help with something?”

  Uh-huh, like an orgasm.

  Wow. Where did that thought come from? And damn if the thought didn’t lead to me make the mistake of glancing at his hands. Strong hands with long fingers. Was I really so pathetic that studying a man’s hands was turning me on?

  Yes, yes I was.

  Because his amazingly capable-of-giving-a great-two-fingered-orgasm-looking hands were inspiring all sorts of sexual fantasies. And clearly, being inebriated had given me a one-track mind.

  “Juliette?” he prompted, taking a seat across from me.

  Jesus, I needed a cold shower, stat. Refocusing, I put out a disclaimer. “See, the thing is I’m not sure if I’d be comfortable with a professional or not. I mean, you’re the expert, but I don’t know if this is my thing. I hope you understand. It’s nothing personal towards you.”

  “Uh, okay. Maybe if you told me the problem, I could decide whether or not you should talk to someone. It doesn’t need to be me. It depends on the type of issue you’re having. We all specialize in different fields.”

  “Right. That makes sense.” Just because the guy was a therapist didn’t mean he specialized in my brand of crazy. “Haylee seems to think you’d be good for me to talk to. She credits you with ensuring she and Josh made it to where they are now.”

  His handsome face turned pink under the twinkling lights, but he appeared genuinely pleased to hear the compliment. “That’s nice to hear. They are both great people, and I’m lucky to call them friends.”

  “Yes, they are. So here’s the thing.” I took a deep breath and dove straight into the deep end.

  “My soon-to-be ex-husband is a piece of shit. Maybe I should feel bad saying those words out loud because he’s Tristan’s father, but this is a man who chose drugs over both me and, even worse, his baby son. One, I can get over; the other, not so much. Haylee said you specialize in grief counseling and depression, but those aren’t my issues. I’m kind of known as being upbeat and not letting anything affect me—ya know. So I’m not sure if you’re the correct person to speak with since this might not be your specialty, but it kind of feels good to get this off my chest, so maybe your field doesn’t matter as much as my being comfortable enough to talk to you.”

  “I think you have me confused—”

  I held up a hand, not actually listening to him. I was on a roll, convinced that drinking and therapy really went hand in hand. “Turns out that, in addition to Rob becoming a shitty husband over the last few years and, if possible, becoming an even shittier father, he’s also a shitty cop. One who is about to be arrested on a slew of charges.”

  Damn. And there went two, nope, now three more dollars into the swear jar.

  “And once he’s charged, all those people he put in jail, even the real criminals, could appeal their cases. Both my private investigator and divorce attorney—cuz I have one of each now—worry that Tristan and I could be in danger once they release his name. And the thing is that, although I hate him being a drug addict and soon-to-be felon, those facts help me in the long run to keep full custody of my son.” I took another sip of my water. Despite his stunned expression, I was not even close to being finished.

  “Anyhow, I realize being an only parent isn’t easy, but I pretty much have been a single mother all along. And I can’t regret being married because I wouldn’t have Tristan. Obviously, once upon a time I loved his father, but then he changed, almost overnight, which I presume can be attributed to the drugs. At least that’s what I tell myself.”

  “Juliette, I’m not—”

  “No, let me finish. Haylee is convinced we’d click. Although I thought at first she was trying to set me up with you on a date.”

  “What?”

  I laughed. “Don’t worry. She meant to set me up with you to talk. I don’t think I’m ready for the other. Hell, after this experience, I don’t have a clue how I could ever trust someone again. Sometimes I just feel broken. Too broken to ever have a relationship with anyone normal, someone who wouldn’t run the other way upon hearing my baggage.”

  I was off on a tangent, but I couldn’t seem to stop voicing all of my insecurities.

  “I’ve only ever been with Rob, you know, sexually. And if I’m being honest, it wasn’t all that great. Not that I have anything to compare to, but he should at least be better than my vibrator, right? I can’t believe I said that out loud, but who better to talk to about this kind of stuff, I guess. Although if you think about a vibrator, maybe it’s not fair. I mean a man’s fingers can’t buzz like something battery operated. But can you imagine if they could?”

  I barely took a breath, the words erupting now with unstoppable momentum, random, drunken thoughts mixing with real insecurities which had been building for years.

  “Anyhow, the thought of being with another man physically is paralyzing. But I’d love more kids. Someday down the road. And I think I’m a pretty good mom, despite what my ex might say. Hell, I’m even happy to waive child support if it means he’ll stay out of the picture permanently.”

  “You’d let him off the hook for paying child support for his own kid? That shouldn’t happen.”

  His indignant response made me smile.

  “It’s the only reason he may not fight me for joint custody, so he wouldn’t have to pay. And although doing it alone sucks, the thought of h
aving another man in my life or in Tristan’s petrifies me completely. What if I pick another loser? Honestly, I should probably stop thinking about a relationship and maybe date casually at first. Don’t you think? Maybe eventually I’d meet someone, but what if I’m not any good at sex, either? What if I simply want a guy to skip the foreplay and fuck me in the dark, then leave the next morning before I wake up? Or does that idea mean I’m completely cuckoo for cocoa puffs? Which incidentally is such a great cereal. Instant chocolate milk to drink after you’re done eating it. What’s not to love, really?”

  I studied him for a moment and realized he was even cuter when he was blushing slightly.

  I took a sip of my water. “Haylee didn’t mention: are you single?”

  “Uh, I—”

  Holy inappropriateness Juliette. “Oh, fuck me. I mean, not literally. In case you were thinking that ‘cause it was on the heels of asking you about your status— I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit on you. And I wasn’t propositioning you, either. And after talking about the vibrator and sex, what you must think of me.”

  I wasn’t aware how I’d gotten onto the subject. And did I blurt out that I wanted to be fucked in the dark without foreplay? Oh. My. God. Even for me, knowing my propensity for TMI, that was over the line.

  “Um, I’m hoping that because you’re a therapist you’ve heard more embarrassing stories? I blame it on the martinis and the shots Sasha had me do, or maybe it’s my sex-starved brain cuz it’s been way too long.” Oops, I was talking about sex again.

  “Actually, you know what, since I should be honest, especially with you of all people, I blame it on the fact that there a lot of truly happy couples in love here tonight. And when you’re not, well—I realize that sounds completely pathetic, but witnessing it makes me a combination of envious, hopeful, and sad. If that makes any sense.”

  “More than you realize,” he said with sincerity. “But look, as I was saying before, I’m not—”

  “No, no, I know what you’re going to say. I’m all over the place, and my issues aren’t the kind you deal with. I’m trying to work on myself. I have a 2.0 plan. I want to start a new chapter of my life with my son. Because although I may appear confident, even to my friends, the truth is—” I lowered my voice to a whisper, leaning into him.

  He appeared as though he was waiting on my words, while I once again suffered from drunk brain interruptus.

  “Sorry I forgot what my train of thought was. So if you’re not my kind of therapist, maybe you can recommend another one? One who maybe isn’t as good looking as you? No offense, but I kind of pictured an older guy without the sex appeal.” Based on his shocked expression, I realized I’d reached capacity for information overload. Verbal diarrhea strikes again.

  “Uh—”

  “I’m sorry. When I drink, I get a tad bit loose—loose lipped, that is, not loose like slutty. Sweet baby Jesus, I’m making it worse. Just—stop—talking—Juliette.” I gave him a wan smile and stood up unsteadily. “I think I’ve probably done enough damage here and ironically ensured that now you need a therapist.”

  “Mark. Hey, I’m glad you finally got to meet Juliette.” Brian’s voice and footsteps approached.

  I looked over at him, unaware that my boss also knew the good doctor.

  “Uh, yeah, we just met,” Mark said, standing up and putting his hands in his pockets awkwardly.

  “It’s weird that after all these years you two haven’t crossed paths before,” Brian commented, sipping on his beer and glancing between the two of us.

  My face scrunched up in confusion. “Why would we have met before?”

  “Because Mark and I went to college together, along with Josh. That was back in the day at Harvard. Been friends forever, so I know I’ve talked about him a ton over the years. You’ve probably patched through his calls at the office. He works for Gamble Enterprises as Josh’s attorney.”

  The color drained from my face and my head swiveled as if in slow motion. I met Mark’s uncomfortable gaze and felt an out-of-body experience of the worst kind of humiliation.

  The tiny—starting-to-sober-up—part of my brain registered all of the times he’d kept trying to interrupt me.

  Right on cue and driving the humiliation home, Haylee came over with an older man and smiled at all of us. “Juliette, this is Mark MacNally, or Dr. Mac as we all call him. Dr. Mac, this is Juliette.”

  Holy fuck. I’d completely spilled my drunken guts to the wrong Mark.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The next morning I awoke slowly, wishing I’d gotten drunk enough to have forgotten everything from the prior night. After the revelation of my slip-up with Mark the lawyer, not Mark the psychologist, I’d excused myself to have a proper freak-out in the bathroom. Then I put on my big-girl panties and faced everyone for a few more minutes before saying goodnight. I hadn’t dared make eye contact with the handsomer of the Marks, nor did I bother to do more than say hi to Mark the therapist—who happened to be twenty years older than hot Mark, with a graying beard and non-orgasm-fantasy-inspiring fingers.

  I groaned, just thinking about all of the personal stuff I’d vomited up all over the first Mark. He probably thought I was the biggest sex-starved whack-a-doo on the planet, someone who needed a therapist now more than ever.

  Sighing with regret, I shoved the whole situation to the side when I heard Tristan’s laughter coming from the other room. Because here’s the thing I was quickly learning about a hangover and little ones: they don’t mix. Yet even with a pounding head, I couldn’t wait to spend time with my son.

  Of course, the closeness I felt with him had caused a lot of the tension in my marriage. I worked full time; therefore, my weekends were a chance to catch up on all of the wonders I’d missed during the week with my baby. But Rob had never shared that view. Instead, he’d try to guilt me about not paying enough attention to him. When that didn’t work out, he’d leave the house completely. Funny how I’d be relieved when he would. Maybe I could have spent more time on my marriage, but I doubt it would have helped. From the moment I’d gotten pregnant, Rob had started to withdraw and developed a mean streak. It was as if he’d had a midlife crisis and decided to wake up one day and resent me and the ball and chain I’d supposedly put on him.

  I found a travel sized pack of Ibuprofen and brushed my teeth before heading into the living room. There my pride and joy was drinking milk and cuddling with his grandma.

  His eyes lit up when he saw me, and he smooshed a kiss against my face when I leaned in for a kiss. “Hi, Mama,” he said in that cute little toddler way, making me melt.

  “Hi, baby. Did you have fun with Grandma last night?”

  He nodded and then pointed towards his train while making choo-choo noises.

  “Did you enjoy the party?” my mom asked as I sat on the sofa with my bottle of water I’d grabbed from the refrigerator.

  “A little too much, by way of martinis and a couple shots of something. My drinking tolerance is for shi—uh, shizzles.” I quickly amended the last word, still working on my potty mouth. I probably owed a good twenty dollars towards the curse jar from last night.

  “Are you all packed?” Reality was starting to settle in that this afternoon my mother was flying back to North Carolina, and I’d be on my own.

  “Yep. After your sister has the baby in a couple of weeks, I’ll come back up here over a long weekend. Maybe Halloween.”

  Although I was aware of the likelihood I’d have to be up here for at least a couple months, hearing my mother confirm it was tough. “Yeah. That sounds great.”

  Three hours later Tristan and I dropped Grandma off at the airport. We then headed to the local grocery store, a place Haylee had been nice enough to show me a couple days ago. While I was perusing the aisles, a thought occurred to me. Since Brian and Sasha were still in town, I’d cook a big dinner tonight. They were all at a charity luncheon today but had said they’d come by later and we’d all order dinner. How better to both convey
my thanks and do something I enjoyed than to cook a big meal instead. Matter of fact, I’d invite Haylee and Josh as well.

  The challenge became apparent, however, when I pulled into the parking lot and had seven bags to carry up three flights of stairs—along with my toddler. Suddenly I missed pulling my Explorer into my warm garage with only eight feet separating the car from the kitchen. Tristan wasn’t at an age to leave by himself, so I piled all of the bags on my left arm and took him by the hand.

  I made it two flights before the pain of the plastic handles cut off circulation. Meanwhile, Tristan decided sloth speed was in order for climbing steps. After setting half the bags down on the first-floor landing, I scooped him up and walked the remaining steps to my apartment. Desperate for some sort of ‘kid-friendly cage,’ I quickly popped open his Pack ‘n Play and set him inside of it with a few of his trains.

  “Give me two minutes, Tristan. Please. Only two.”

  As I rushed down the stairs like a mad woman, my brain filled with absurd visions of my baby falling out of his temporary prison while I selfishly tried to rescue the ingredients for enchiladas, I turned the final corner and ran smack into Mark. That is, the way-too-hot-to-be-a-lawyer-and-definitely-not-a-therapist Mark.

  “Shit. I’m sorry. I just—I’m in a hurry ‘cause Tristan is upstairs.”

  I’m sure it only came out a jumble of words as he merely steadied me and then bent down to pick up the bags.

  “You go, then. I got these.”

  I hesitated only a moment before racing back up the stairs while throwing a “thank you” over my shoulder. Of course, when I went inside, I found that Tristan had barely moved a muscle. He was intent on his trains rather than teetering precariously on the edge of danger.

  Meanwhile, I was completely out of breath, my little sprint calling attention to how out of shape I was. At the sound of footsteps, I turned.

  “Where would you like these?” Mark asked, stepping over the couple of bags I’d already dumped on the floor.