Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I beam from the therapist’s praise. I like her praise. I want more of it. I want to make progress. I want to fucking heal. Isn’t it time?
“Me too,” I say, emotions rising up in me as I try to focus on the changes I have made—not the ones I haven’t. “For a while, I felt like I was going through life with blinders on my face and I couldn’t see what was happening to the side. All I could see was what was in front of me, and it just felt like more hurt and more pain. And then the blinders started to come off and I could see there was hope and possibility, and there were other ways for me to approach the world and people.”
Her smile is full of grace. “I’m proud of you. That’s a big step.” Then, she wastes no time. “And what about Carter?”
I tense.
There it is. A simple question. One I knew was coming. One I don’t even know how to address.
I’m not sure I want to face the inevitable scrutiny that would come from a licensed therapist over the reality of our girlfriend lessons, the way they’ve extended to the night, and to mornings waking up in his arms.
“He’s great,” I say and that’s all true. “We’re doing these five dates. These girlfriend lessons. I’m learning so much.” I have to tell some of the truth because what if she’s heard of my Date Night series? I quickly explain the girlfriend lessons bit, leaving off the sex. And the sleepovers. And, well, the bloom of feelings.
Her eyebrows rise. “That’s interesting.”
That’s interesting is the kiss of death from a shrink.
It translates into—holy shit, you’re doing that???
But I pretend to take her comment at face value, even though I know there’s more to it. “It is interesting. I’m learning a lot,” I say again, but my voice sounds so reedy, like I’m covering up the truth.
Well, you are.
She tilts her head thoughtfully. “Rachel, is there something you want to talk about?”
My stomach churns. With guilt. With worry. With a little bit of shame. A real therapist smoothie. Elena would know what to do with all of these feelings but really, what should I even say?
I’m in an unreal real relationship?
I’m in a real unreal one?
I’m pretending to be girlfriend/boyfriend with my best friend?
Except, it’s not like we’re fake dating, but it also kind of is. It’s more like we’re experimenting with dating. But that’s just too personal for me to share, even with the one person who knows the deepest, darkest detail of my marriage. The one person I’ve shared something with that I’ve never told anyone else.
I trust her entirely and yet I still can’t tell her this.
I don’t even know what this thing with Carter is. And probably, if I tried to explain it, she’d question it too much. She’d ask if it was wise. If it was healthy. If I am truly moving on by pretending to be in a relationship that isn’t real at all.
She might even ask if I’m making the same mistakes.
This relationship is not the same, but I’d sound foolish saying that. That blackness I felt when I left Edward darkens my heart again.
Sure, Carter is worlds different than Edward. I’m different than I was when I married Edward.
And yet, I am also the same woman who was fooled.
I am that girl who was hoodwinked for five years. I don’t want to be the woman who’s hoodwinked herself into believing that five dates and hot sex with my best friend could turn into a future.
The reality is this—I don’t trust myself.
At last, I answer Elena. “We’re just having a really good time,” I say.
I tell her about Fable’s eggplant necklaces and how we’re starting to carry them in the store and that fills the rest of the hour.
Later that week, I meet Elodie for a punishing HIIT class. My thighs are on fire afterward, and it’s all her fault. “You did this to me. My thighs are literally burning,” I whimper as we leave the class.
My friend arches a brow. “Literally? They’re literally burning?”
I point at my aching legs. “I see smoke. At least, I feel it,” I say with a pout, but truthfully, this post-exercise burn feels good. Elodie suggested I take the class when I moved here, telling me exercise is a natural endorphin. She’s somewhat religious about her exercise, but that’s better than how she was about it years ago. Her attitude now is so much healthier.
“I’m proud of you for making it through,” she says, patting me on the shoulder.
I raise my chin. “Me too. Because now it means we get to go shopping for costumes,” I say, and I skip once, enthusiasm bouncing through me. “I do love Halloween. And when Carter and I planned our final two dates, we agreed to go with matching Halloween costumes.”