Five Years

by Brooklyn Knight

  I couldn’t finish. By now the paper was a crumpled mess in my shaking hands. Several involuntary tears slid onto my cheeks and I dropped the letter to the ground, reaching for the box of tissues. I pressed one against my burning eyes, trying to regain control, and the entire time, Amaris sat there.

  She didn’t say a word, but I felt her.

  I felt the… unconditional positive regard. I felt the safety.

  It took me a few minutes, but I pulled myself together. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, reaching for another tissue. “I can assure you, this has never happened. I’m normally more in control.” I laughed, trying to dispel my distress.

  “You’re still in full control,” she affirmed me in a whisper. “In fact, I’d venture to say you’ve never had more control in your entire life.”

  I swallowed.

  “Well done,” she said.

  “T-thanks,” I muttered.

  We smiled together and the seconds danced by until both of us began to twist in our seats.

  I cleared my throat, trying to manage the overwhelm. “Listen, Amaris… I know this is your job and I know it’s what you do every day, but I want you to know that I appreciate you. It’s been three sessions, and I never would have imagined them to go anything like the way they have.”

  “You don’t have to thank me, Mr. Dangerfield,” she denied shaking her head.

  “No, I really do,” I interrupted. I scratched my cheek, trying to ease the burning. “If it wasn’t for you, I never would have found the courage to do this. I knew I was holding shit inside, but I thought I was managing it.”

  “Shit has a way of stinking, no matter how much air freshener we spray over it,” she said. “You would have realized that soon enough. I’m glad you did sooner than later.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed. “I’m grateful and… I admire you – for the work you do with your clients. For what you’ve done with me.”

  We stared at one another and her eyes fluttered away.

  She turned around and pulled up her calendar.

  I looked at my watch. “The session is over already?”

  “Time flies when you’re having fun. That’s what they say anyway.”

  We laughed, but hers had a nervous edge.

  I leaned in. “So we’ve talked about my mother. What’s next? Are we going to talk about relationships?”

  “I believe that was the other thing you highlighted,” she remembered, but her body seemed tense. She tapped a few keys on her keyboard and turned to face me again.

  Our eyes locked.

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

  “Between… now and when we meet again, I want you to make yourself vulnerable.”

  I bristled.

  “I want you to approach a woman, someone you’ve had your eye on, or maybe a woman from your past; and I want you to be open and honest with her, just like you were with your mother.”

  An undefined silence crept into the room.

  “Are you currently in a relationship?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Maybe there’s a woman you’re interested in…”

  “Maybe.”

  Amaris nodded and smiled.

  I sat back, puzzled by the nature of the homework. “What’s the purpose of this assignment?”

  “To get you comfortable with expressing emotions in a controlled and healthy way,” she explained.

  I peered at her.

  “Will that be difficult for you?”

  “Not more difficult than what you made me do with my old lady,” I said through a chuckle, and then I shrugged. “I don’t make a habit of getting emotional with women,” I admitted.

  “Tell me more about that.”

  “Vulnerability and I don’t set well, in general. I imagine I’ve let a few good girls slip through my fingers because of it.”

  “Then maybe you can you use one of them as the subject of your assignment.”

  I observed her, the way her mouth was pressed tightly. “I’ll do it,” I agreed.

  “Good,” she replied. “And you know what? Because you’ve made so much progress in such a short span of time, I think we should reduce your reporting schedule. Up until now, you’ve been coming weekly – sometimes even more frequently, thanks to your habitual rescheduling…”

  “I didn’t reschedule this time,” I reminded her, smiling. “My homework was brutal. I needed every minute I could get to complete it.”

  She laughed again, and the last drops of my anxiety faded into nothing.

  “So… I’m coming every other week now?”

  “I was actually thinking of a monthly schedule,” she said pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Immediately, the anxiety was back, but it had nothing to do with my mother, my anger, or the new homework assignment. “That seems like a huge jump,” I said, trying to disguise my angst. “Do you think I’m ready to go off into the wide cold emotional world on my own?”

  “You just slayed the hell out of the wide cold emotional world,” she said laughing, “but I think you are. Like I said, you worked hard and I kinda want you to sit with where you are, see if anything else comes up.”

  Silence.

  “And of course you can always reschedule if you need to.”

  We laughed together and she proceeded to schedule me into her professional life, but deep inside, I was uneasy.

  A month? This woman had opened me up so that now, I was a walking Pandora’s Box. Now, she was taking off my training wheels and sending me onto an Xtreme Sports racetrack.

  I wouldn’t argue though; even though the counters for why she shouldn’t increase my schedule were on the tip of my tongue.

  I left Amaris’s office thinking about the session and my mother. Amaris was right: I’d slayed that shit, even though before then, I hadn’t even been able to look at the letter without feeling like I’d blow up. I was thinking about that, but I was also preoccupied with thoughts of her and the homework.

  She wanted me to approach a woman and become vulnerable. Yes, there were tons of women on my historical list, but none of them intrigued me enough to become the subject of this experiment.

  Amaris Flowers had captured my attention for the past three weeks, but after what we’d done today – after the way she’d coached me, listened to me, encouraged me through my most feeble moment, the only woman I wanted to be honest with was her.

  I could’ve completed the assignment right there and then. I could have closed the maddening gap between my seat and hers and told her that I thought she was remarkable, that I wanted to take her to dinner, that I wanted to…

  But now was not the time. A conversation like that couldn’t happen in her office. I needed her alone, maybe amidst the glow of candlelight. I needed to have the conversation when she wasn’t in clinical mode.

  A month.

  Amaris was right. I’d need that much time to do my homework because now, there were other things I needed to process: like how I was going to let her know that I was completely intrigued by her. Shit, that conversation would be worse than the one she’d encouraged me to have with my fucking mother.

  I’d figure out a way, though. I always did.

  7

  Amaris

  ~Two Weeks Later~

  Okay, so Linkie had officially upgraded us. The restaurant he’d chosen for this anxiety-provoking meet-and-greet was echelons above any place that Nic or I had ever considered. I could tell that much from the caliber of car parked in the lot, as well as the swanky attire of the valet, who rushed to attend to my vehicle.

  There were no thugs standing outside of the entrance, and for that, I was grateful, but the reality that I was about to meet a potential suitor quickly replaced my relief with trepidation.

  What the hell was I nervous about? I should have been elated. Linkie was a high-caliber catch, and if he’d specifically selected a man for me to meet, the odds that my physical and emotional standards would be satisfied were pretty
high.

  But something just didn’t feel right….

  ‘

  A good girl is very choosy about the kind of man she wants to entertain and never lowers her standards. Eve was hand-crafted for Adam by God, Himself. Remember that!’

  Ugh…

  Maybe it was what Nic had said about me not dealing with my own issues. I hadn’t lied when I said I’d dealt with my own shit in therapy. Going to therapy was a requirement for completion of my degree. It didn’t mean that I was perfect – who is, right? – but it did mean that I was aware of the ways in which my past affected my present.

  Now, I was thinking about Maverick and the session we’d had last week. I’d increased his reporting schedule, but not for the reasons I’d told him. In fact, the reasons were barely clinical, and I should have been ashamed.

  He’d worked so hard and exposed himself, confronted skeletons he hadn’t even known were hanging in his closet.

  And me? I’d had to pull on every thread of my clinical training not to reach out to him, to hold him. I never disturbed a client who was going through their process, but to see him sitting in front of me, overcome with emotions which were totally unfamiliar to him, it almost undid me.

  And then when he’d thanked me…

  It wasn’t that he’d thanked me, per se; it was the look in his eyes and the steadiness of his jaw when he did it. The way his chest moved up and down with slow, even rises; the way his pectorals strained against his shirt…

  Lord Jesus!

  I’d decreased his reporting schedule for both our sakes. He needed time to exist in his new reality.

  I just needed time.

  And clinical supervision.

  I entered the upscale restaurant, trying to ignore my angst, praying to God that I’d arrived before the mystery man.

  Music from a live jazz band floated into the air, cementing the elaborate ambiance, and the aesthetics were mind-blowing. A vaulted ceiling, illuminated with recessed lighting concaved above my head, and a dripping chandelier suspended from the center.

  The attendant offered me a smile and greeted me before I even hit the restaurant’s threshold, and I allowed myself to relish in the hope that whoever I was meeting was a match, even if the very thought went against everything my mama stood for.

  A girl could definitely get used to something like this.

  “Good evening, madame,” the attendant said with a snooty nod. “Your party is this way.”

  I followed, the heels of my stilettos sinking into the crimson carpet, and it wasn’t long before I spotted Nic and Linkie seated at a table in the corner of the room. Two empty seats were positioned across from them. My heart skipped a few beats.

  Finally, the attendant delivered me, and Nichola and Linkie gave me a once over.

  I hesitated. “Am I overdressed?”

  “Overdressed?” Nichola parroted.

  Linkie laughed. “Not hardly,” he said, offering a more constructive comment. “In fact, you look so good, I have a feeling you’re gonna send my partner into cardiac arrest when he arrives. That black dress is killing!”

  We burst into laughter, but mine was not nearly as robust as theirs.

  “Maybe you’re right. I think I underdid it,” I muttered, more self-conscious than ever. “This guy is gonna think I’m a slut! Of course I don’t have to tell you who picked out the attire…” I glared in Nichola’s direction.

  “So ungrateful,” Nic muttered sipping her drink.

  “Trust me, he won’t think that,” Linkie assured me with a lift of his eyebrows.

  “Well at least he’s not here yet,” I said dropping into my seat. “My fear was that I was gonna walk in to him sitting here, waiting.”

  “What’s so scary about that?” Linkie asked.

  Nichola responded on my behalf. “Don’t worry about her. It’s only her unblemished tendencies presenting themselves.”

  “For your information, I’m very proud of the fact that I’m unblemished,” I said lifting my chin. “It’s the twentieth century and women are out here throwing their valuables around like it’s a treasure hunt.”

  “Did you hear her? She said valuables. If that ain’t unblemished, I don’t know what the hell is. Say ‘pussy’, Mary. Puss-E…”

  Linkie hushed Nichola and offered me a pitiful smile.

  I tugged on the material, trying to force it over my breasts.

  Nichola shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Either way, you’re here because you agreed to give Linkie’s friend a chance. That means you’re gonna put your Mother Theresa on the shelf and enjoy yourself. Live a little. Have some fun. Who knows? Tonight might be the night of your first kiss.”

  My belly roiled.

  With excitement.

  Nichola was worldly, something my mama had constantly griped about, especially when we were teenagers, but she had my best interests at heart.

  She was also right; I was thirty-one years old and didn’t know the first thing about being intimate with a man.

  Again, I had my mama to thank for that.

  Really, I was grateful, though. Who knows how I would have turned out had I been exposed to the lusts of the flesh as a girl, the way others in my neighborhood had been? I might’ve been a total whore.

  But if this blind date was attractive, I might consider a kiss.

  “Fine,” I agreed with a shrug. “I promise to be open and give tonight a chance – provided the guy is right for me.”

  Everyone nodded in satisfaction as the server returned with a two-thousand-dollar bottle of wine.

  Yeah, Linkie was definitely taking us to another level.

  “So my boy is on his way,” Linkie said, taking a sip of his beverage. He glanced at his phone. “He has a habit of spending late nights at the office, but he just messaged me to say he’s five minutes out.”

  “Was he excited?” Nichola asked.

  Linkie shrugged. “A little,” he admitted frowning, and my shoulders folded.

  So he didn’t even want to come?

  “I think there’s a woman on his radar, but he needs a good woman, not a gold-digging bitch, who’s only after his stacks.”

  My shoulders sagged.

  Linkie must’ve noticed, because he said, “but don’t worry. I have a feeling the minute he sees you, any woman he might have been considering will be a non-factor.”

  “Well, I can’t lie and say this is a little awkward,” I muttered. “If he’s interested in another woman, why would he want to meet me? And if he’s as handsome as you say he is, maybe I’m not on his level.”

  Nichola sighed and rubbed my bare arm, reminding me, yet again, of how little clothing I was actually wearing.

  “If Linkie thinks he’ll like you, he will,” she assured me. “Be confident, Mary. That’s what men like: a confident woman.”

  My mouth pinched. I was confident… when I was in my office shedding light and insight onto other peoples’ problems. Outside of that…

  We continued in general conversation, when suddenly all attention was drawn to the entrance.

  Nichola’s body turned into stone.

  The energy in the entire restaurant tilted on its axis. I wanted to think it was because of the music. An upright bass was pushing out a sensual bassline, and the drummer was gliding brushes over the surface of his drum. A few couples had taken to the floor and were swaying to the infectious beat.

  But it wasn’t that.

  I looked at Nichola, trying to analyze her facial expressions and posture and make sense out of what was happening.

  Linkie rose from his seat and headed for the entrance. “He’s here,” he announced. “I’ll be right back.” He walked away.

  “Well…” I glared at Nichola. “What does he look like?”

  Her eyes were still pinned on the entrance. “Mary…” her voice was a throaty whisper and she shook her head. “Oh my God, Mary, he’s here, and he’s…”

  It was like she couldn’t finish the thought, but when she fi
nally turned to look at me, her eyes were glittering like the chandelier hanging above our heads.

  “He’s what?” I pressed her, running my hand over my hair.

  “He’s hot, Mary!”

  “What?”

  “Let’s just say, you’re gonna be in trouble tonight, bitch.”

  Her riddles were infuriating. I hadn’t wanted to turn around to look because I didn’t want to seem desperate, but with the way Nic was grinning, there was no way I could resist the urge.

  Shoving aside apprehension, I jerked my eyes in the direction of the door, and just like that, my throat dried up.

  Maverick Dangerfield?

  The one and freaking only.

  He was standing next to Linkie, looking like God’s finest creation; looking like something out of the original GQ magazine; looking sexier than sin herself. It was his after-work look, yet it seemed far more chic on him than it would on anyone else. It was just slacks and a button-up, but he was making it look like so much more.

  And heavens, I could smell him, even though we were miles apart. He smelled like bergamot, oranges, and vanilla.

  And that red pompadour… the entire place would light up in flames any second.

  Nichola was right. A bitch was gonna be in trouble tonight for damn sure, and the bitch was me.

  8

  Maverick

  “Look at her,” Blaine commanded, delivering a quick jab to my ribs with his elbow. But he didn’t need to issue any directives.

  I was fucking looking; had been from the moment my shoe hit the carpet; wouldn’t have been able to stop if my entire existence depended on it.

  Amaris? This was the woman Blaine had wanted me to meet?

  Amaris? My fucking therapist?

  And what the hell was she wearing? In her office, it had been modest pants and skirt suits – entirely professional, entirely appropriate, if not bordering nun-ish. But now, it was a form-fitting black dress, designed with minimal material that conveniently exposed the smooth, brown skin of her shoulders, arms, and thighs.