by Portia Moore
“I’m so proud of you. You’re a real therapist!”
She sighs throwing her head back into the couch. “I think I’m going to get my doctorate.” She grins at me and I laugh.
“Really Ang?”
“I don’t know. I mean I can practice as a therapist now, but my parents are hinting that they’d be thrilled if I became a psychologist and it’s their money paying for school,” she sighs.
“If you decide to, will I have to call you Dr. Angela,” I tease her.
“Of course not, honey. Dr. Fabulous would be just fine,” she says dramatically, and we both laugh and take in the moment.
“You know… that means if you ever want to talk to me about anything, I can listen and give unbiased advice. It’s sort of a requirement now.”
“You’ve heard enough from me for an entire decade I’m sure.”
“Seriously Lauren. I can’t imagine you holding everything that you’re dealing with inside. Not knowing who to tell what to. I’ve always listened as a friend, but now things are different.”
I lean back on the couch and rub my hands against my thighs. “I’m happy,” I tell her quietly.
“That’s great…” She trails off waiting for me to expand.
“I just feel so bad about it.”
“You feel guilty? Because it’s with Collin,” she guesses.
I have to give Angie credit at how casual she took me telling her about Collin, but she is a licensed professional counselor now, it could just go with the territory.
“I’m worried about Chris and Cal…. things have just been so easy since Collin has been here. He’s wonderful, but I know it’s not real. I know that the clock is ticking until a disaster happens, until…” I pause to collect my thoughts. “On the surface things are great… but beneath, I know they’re not, and it’s like, how dare I just pretend that everything is ok? I feel like I should be doing something to help them fix things,” I feel a tear fall from my eye.
“Do you think that they’d want you to be unhappy?” Angela asks and I laugh.
“You know Cal. Do you think he’d be fine with me playing happily ever after with Collin?” I chuckle bitterly.
“Lauren, you have to stop thinking of them as individuals. That’s what’s making this so hard for you,” she squeezes my hand. I stand up and walk to the other side of the room.
“But Angie you don’t understand. I know they’re one person. I get it, but when you have these personalities that look at you in different ways, who speak differently, who make you feel things the others don’t, it’s hard to feel like that. I feel like I’ve abandoned Cal and Chris.”
“Lauren, they are not all different men. They are one. They are all different facets of your husband. You are not cheating on Cal or Chris.”
“They’re not integrated yet though and until they are….” I cover my face in my hands. “His doctor said I shouldn’t have slept with them, and I’ve slept with all three of them,” I admit, feeling my cheeks heat up.
“How do you feel about the doctor?”
I swallow hard and my cheeks heat up even more. “It’s Helen,” I squeak out, and her eyes squint at me.
“Dexter’s wife? You’re still seeing her, getting advice from her after everything that’s happened?” Angela gawks at me.
“It just seems easier to talk to her since she won’t think I’m crazy and because she knows the history.”
“I understand that you feel like you’re alone in dealing with this. I can’t imagine what it is like to be so close to someone with Cal’s condition, but when you talk to a mental health professional, you don’t have to worry about anyone thinking that you’re crazy. We’re here to be your partner.” She says convincingly.
“Be honest though, if you didn’t know me and I came to see you, you’d think I was insane or an idiot to believe this?”
She frowns. “No, maybe years ago but after everything I’ve learned, the human mind is a miraculous thing, Lauren. When you grasp the things that it’s capable of, not much would surprise me now. What I will say though, I don’t think you should be seeing Helen, not primarily at least. It’s such a conflict of interest,” she frowns. I rub the back of my neck, the hairs sticking up on it.
“When we last talked you were vehemently opposed to it, even Chris didn’t want to see her. What changed?” she asked sincerely.
“Everything happened so fast, problem after problem…” I tell her even though I leave out Mr. Crestfield’s threat. “And… I just wanted to talk to someone who understands, and even though Helen has kept so much from me, I know at least that she gets it,” I say honestly.
“Have you thought about attending a support group?”
I push my hands through my hair, my stomach tilting at the mention of it. It’s not as if I haven’t thought about it. It’s just in some part of my mind when I cross into that world, it seems like there will be no going back. What if I hear things I’m not prepared for, and to be honest I’m terrified of hearing from other people. What if this never ends?
“I’m scared,” I feel my lip quiver. She looks at me, empathy radiating off of her. “I peeked in on a message board once…” I take a deep breath. “It wasn’t exactly a hopeful forum.” I tell her the few stories I skimmed through, traces of familiar things in my life and what’s even scarier, the unfamiliar that could eventually be the inevitable.
“It’s for support, not for you to compare. Everyone deals with things differently, but don’t you think having someone to talk to who has a similar circumstance would help you?”
I try to imagine it, talking to another woman who doesn’t only understand but who knows what it’s like.
“I really hope you consider seeing someone else. What about the doctor Chris was going to originally see?” I think back to Dr. Clemons, and how when Chris called to see her she was magically booked.
“Chris did say that he felt comfortable with her, well the one time he did see her.” I don’t tell her about Mr. Crestfield’s threat. With so much that’s happened, it was one of the last things I’ve had a chance to think about.
“I’m always here to listen, but if she has expertise in that field, I think that she’d be more helpful than I would. You have to have your own understanding of what’s going on,” she stresses. I promise her that I will give Dr. Clemons a call, and quickly change the subject. Angie being intuitive as she is doesn’t push me anymore. We talk about Caylen, her parents, and patient sessions. She doesn’t give me any juicy details of course, but explains how nervous and excited she is. We go to lunch and even stop by her favorite boutique, and I relish the time, time where I get to feel normal, where I’m just a woman who’s out with her friend trying to find a cute blouse and jeans and I hug her for that.
“Red and blue,” I tell Caylen as she squishes her hands in the paint. She giggles after she mixes the colors together. “Already a little artist,” I kiss her on the cheek.
“Mama,” she squeals hitting the paper before swirling her fingers around in it. I let her busy herself with her own artistic masterpiece and put more paint on my fingers and spread them across the large board. She douses her hand in orange paint now and makes little dots then pushes away the little bowl and pours out all the blue onto the board.
“Beautiful! You really like blue, huh?” I laugh as she smiles and it’s the best feeling in the world. Her grey eyes lighting up look just like her father’s, and a slither of sadness goes through me because I think of Cal. I think of all the time he’s missed out on with her, but I tell myself that they’re all the same, he is still with her as Collin, but I can’t shake the feeling.
“Boo,” Caylen says in between giggles and I smile widely at her.
“Blue. Good job sweetie.” I hear the door open and see Collin, his eyes lighting up the moment he lays eyes on her.
“Look at my little Picasso,” he says excitedly. Caylen pushes herself up and hobbles over to him.
“No you’re going to get pain
t all over daddy, Cay,” I tell her but he picks her up and kisses her cheek as if he’s not wearing a thousand dollar suit.
“That’s the most amazing picture I’ve ever seen!” he says enthusiastically and she grips his face leaving a blue handprint on it and giggles.
“How was your day?” I ask after he puts his briefcase down and sits in the spot Caylen was just in.
“Interesting.” He takes off his suit jacket and folds it even though I’ll have to send it to the cleaners.
“Sparse on details, huh?” I chuckle, and he grins.
“Let’s see what I can come up with,” he says his attention on Caylen. I feel my brow arch. Collin is never short on details; he often gives too much information if anything.
“Did you eat?”
He shakes his head.
“How long have you both been at this?”
“Maybe a half hour. I’m going to give her a bath.” I stand and stretch.
“I have a bag of stir-fry I can whip up if you want to read to her after her bath while I make it,” I say while he hands Caylen to me. His eyes are grey like Cal’s but there are no swirls of green around the iris. They seem dull today, and he yawns. He’s tired, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him tired before. He follows me up the stairs, him heading into our bedroom to shower and me into our guest bath to clean up Caylen. Today’s Thursday which means he’s met with Helen. He never really talks about his sessions with her, only saying that they’re making progress and I never ask about much because I’ve become accustomed to not getting answers or because I’m afraid to hear them. Today I think I’ll put his words to the test. He says we’re on the same side, that he won’t hide anything from me, so I think it’s time I know more of what’s going on whether I like the answer or not. I sing to Caylen while bathing her as she splashes water and bubbles all over me and I think of Chris. When I wrap her in a towel and change her clothing I think of my approach. Collin is so different from Chris and Cal. He appears transparent, but I don’t know if it’s because he knows that’s what I crave or if he is really like that. By the time I’m done bathing her, he’s out of the shower, wearing a pair of white pajamas that look silk with an East Asian design. I swear he has more clothes than me, and he smells delicious and fresh. His hair is pulled into a man bun, and I have to conceal a giggle because it’s so different from anything Cal or Chris would wear, but he looks good. We swap off Caylen and I take a really quick shower, throw my hair in a bun, and whip up the stir-fry I’ve perfected.
“Perfect timing,” I grin as he makes his way into the kitchen. He pulls out a bottle of wine and opens it as I plate the food.
“Wine tonight?” I ask curiously. He doesn’t really drink, he’s only drunk three times around me and it’s always been cognac.
“It’s for you,” he retorts teasingly while pouring me a glass and sitting it next to my plate.
“Are you trying to get lucky?” I tease him playfully.
“We both know I don’t need to give you wine for that,” he says biting his lower lip, and I fight the thought that comes to mind when he says that because tonight I want to talk, and I can’t do that being so easily distracted. With Collin it is so easy to become distracted, he offers a world of answers but there always seems to be a trade-off with him, each piece of information he gives me seems to come with a hidden condition. As time passes the difference between the three of them becomes more apparent. Initially he reminded me of Cal but now even that comparison has narrowed. We both sit down and he turns on some smooth jazz, which has grown on me since he’s started playing it. My eyes take him in, and it doesn’t matter how long I’ve been with this man, I can stare at him forever. I think of how many days I spent alone here before I found out the truth, how much I missed Cal, how I dreamed we’d be whenever he came back, how I still held on to hope despite how things looked, how clueless I was then about what my reality would truly be.
“You’re quiet?” he says, and my eyes lock on his. They’re not dull how they were earlier but now full of the usual contemplativeness. I take a spoonful of the stir-fry, and it could be more seasoned. Chris’s food is so much better than mine.
“I’ve been thinking,” I tell him hesitantly. He swallows a bite of his food, and his head slightly tilts to the side as his eyes gleam at me.
“Always a good sign,” he counters and I fold my hands together.
“What’s going on with your treatment?” I let it out quickly, and I expect him to become defensive, but he doesn’t. He takes a spoonful of his food and drinks a glass of his water before responding, allowing the nervousness in my stomach to double.
“I know your sessions are private but it’s just been on my mind a lot,” I admit.
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask. I don’t know why you still think you can’t talk to me because I told you, we can talk about anything,” he replies easily looking me directly in the eye with a warm smile.
I clear my throat and try to calm my nerves. “I know I just…”
“I’m not like them, Lauren. I don’t know how else to show you that so you can trust me. The things I do are in the best interest of all of us, not just me. You can talk to me about anything,” he says directly. I look down guiltily.
“Come here.” His tone is warm but authoritative. I stand up and walk over to him. He takes my hand and pulls me down on his lap, and turns my face toward his so he’s looking me directly in the eye. I stare into them, wondering if I look hard enough will I see all the men behind them, if I can see Collin’s actual motives.
“Helen is trying to reach Cal.” He says this easily but my breath hitches. “She needs him to be stable before we can think about integration.” My heart speeds up at how casually he says this. He grins at me seeing how surprised I am.
“Was that hard?” He slips his hand underneath my T-shirt and rubs the small of my back, but it’s not the signature pattern that Cal used to trace.
“No. How will she make him stable?”
“Therapy, but he has to be open to it. He thinks he knows everything and that he can fix himself.” While he says this, his other hand trails up my thigh. I fight the stinging in my chest, thinking how distraught he last was.
“He’s going to be okay.” Collin promises and cups my chin.
“Can he hear me? Can he see me now?” I am almost afraid to hear the answer, but I want him to know I’m here and that I miss him. Though I am nervous for him to know what’s going on, he has to know if there is any chance for them to become one. I’m starting to get a headache.
“He’s in good hands. Helen’s the best in her field, and if he’s broken that makes me broken. Do I look like something’s wrong?” He has a playful glint in his eye. I stand from his lap and grab the wine bottle and pour myself a glass. I feel antsy and jittery.
“I’m sorry, I’m just not used to you talking so casually about them.” I think back to the night when Cal came back and took me to the Venetian, how he shared bits and pieces of history but it was like pulling teeth. Chris hated to hear Cal’s name, but Collin acts like he’s not bothered at all as if it’s routine. He knows so much more than both of them and it’s intimidating. He has answers, but I wonder why he’s so willing to share with me and not them if integration is really what he wants. I swallow several gulps and let out a deep sigh.
“One glass will be enough,” he says his tone low, and I roll my eyes.
“You’re not my father Collin.” I retort a little annoyed.
“Don’t do that talk to me,” he says his brows furrowed.
“Don’t do what?”
“Start a fight. You say you want the truth, that you want honesty and transparency but I don’t think that’s what you want at all,” he says smugly. I laugh at him. “You’ve gotten used to being kept in the dark.” He continues. And I scoff at him.
“You of all people should know I never chose to be in the dark. I’ve always only wanted the truth. I just want a glass of wine; I don’t want you to
tell me what to do. You may be used to all of this, but I’m still adjusting okay!”
“Fine, drink the whole bottle then,” he says sharply standing from his seat, his jaw jutted forward. I’m a little shocked, and surprisingly at a loss for words. This is unlike Collin. He doesn’t really show his emotions so easily, and I can’t believe he’s this annoyed even when I do something I know bothers him. He usually will still appear indifferent, but right now his eyes are wide, his skin tinged red. He was perfectly calm before and though I wouldn’t say he’s full-on angry, his mood has swung from left to right.
“I know you and Cal had this sick pattern of fighting and screwing to avoid problems, but I’m not an angry teenager. When you want to actually talk to me, when you’re ready to be an adult, I’ll be upstairs.” He leaves the room, and my mouth hangs open.
Is that what I do? Am I still a coward after all of this, afraid to hear the truth? I’m afraid to even read too much into a message forum. I sigh and sit down at the table and stare at the glass of wine. I should talk to someone. It only makes sense that I end up screwed up in all of this. I pick up my glass and frown at it then shrug.
There’s no sense in wasting good wine. I pick up the bottle and try to finish it.
Something’s not right.
I overreacted.
I don’t overreact.
Of course she’s not used to honesty, she’s never had it. Cal likes his secrets, and Chris is too clueless to tell her anything. She’s so afraid of hearing the truth; she may not even trust what I say as the truth. She’s been in the dark so long; her eyes have to adjust to the light. I should have been calmer, but I wasn’t. I’m off-balanced. It’s more difficult than I thought trying to block him out.
Cal and I always had a deal. I help him, I let him know when Christopher will come out, and I’m on his team. I’m never biased or choose sides, but Chris of course couldn’t handle knowing about us. He can’t handle life when it gets difficult, so Calvin and I worked together. We have never considered each other friends, but amicable. In the past, our agendas have aligned more than Christopher’s and mine.
