Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I sigh. Just someone normal would be nice.
Then again, these days I don’t feel so normal. Maybe abnormal attracts abnormal, and that’s what draws me to Gabriel. Or it could be the shared trauma. Trauma sometimes bonds people, makes them cling to one another.
I arrive at Dr. Alexander’s office ten minutes later, take a seat with a cup of tea his new assistant has prepared for me. It’s herbal, decaffeinated, which is good—my pulse speeds away without any help, my mind still spinning from Gabriel’s appearance. I can’t stop replaying the way he begged me to continue seeing him. How he said I’m the only woman he has connected with since his wife died. I take a settling breath, remind myself that what’s important is that I help him. This can’t be about me.
“Dr. Alexander will be with you soon.” His assistant pops his head in. “Sorry for the delay. He got tied up next door.”
I nod in acknowledgment and reach for my phone, staring at Robert’s text again. But nothing’s changed, I’m still not sure how to respond. I click on his profile pic and stare, waiting for an answer to come to me. It doesn’t, so I close the app and do something I haven’t done in a long time. I go to the Columbia University website and navigate over to the faculty page. Scrolling to the English Department, I click on Professor Gabriel Wright. The moment his face appears, my heart starts to race. And I realize I’ve found my answer. Though not the one I wanted.
“Meredith! Sorry to keep you waiting.”
I slide my phone back in my bag, hands trembling. I feel like I’ve been caught doing something naughty.
“Were you sending a message? You can finish.” He waves a hand as he walks to his desk, opening drawers and searching for the right notebook, I imagine.
“I was, but it’s okay. Sometimes it’s good to make them wait.” I try for a smile.
Dr. Alexander’s eyebrows lift. “Oh. That makes it sound like it’s a man.”
“It is.” This time, a real smile breaks through.
“Very good.” He nods encouragingly, giving me space to go on, but not demanding it.
“I went on a date,” I say. “On Friday.”
“And now you’re smiling at your phone. That’s something. How do you feel about it?”
He’s obviously referring to the man he thinks I was texting—which should’ve been Robert, not Gabriel, whom he almost caught me drooling over.
“I’m…” I search for honesty. I do want to be truthful with him when I can. Though he won’t know our lines are crossed about which man I’m speaking of. “I feel glad. Happy.”
Dr. Alexander nods and scribbles something. “I’m pleased to hear that. Will you be seeing him again?”
Yes. As soon as possible. As soon as Sarah schedules him.
“I hope so,” I say.
“Do you think you’re ready for something physical? It’s okay if you’re not. Lots of people date for a long time before they feel ready.”
I switch the man he’s asking about in my head this time, consider the thought of kissing Robert. Of touching him. I liked him enough, but no, I would not take him home with me. The bigger question is, why not? Why not let myself feel good, even if just for one night?
The answer comes to me easily enough, but it’s not because of you. No, it’s because there’s someone else I’m attracted to, and I’ve always been a one-man kind of woman.
Gabriel.
I think of his mouth, his eyes. His thick hair. I think about a dream I had just last night, our skin on skin, his hands clasped in mine, his lips on my neck—
“I had a dream about that.”
“And?”
My lips part, and for a moment I think he wants details. But of course, he’s only asking how I feel about it. What I thought about being physical in my dream. The same thing I’d ask my own patients, because our dreams often reflect some element of our reality.
“It felt good,” I say. “So maybe. Perhaps with the right person.”
Dr. Alexander nods, satisfied. “And how is work going? You’ve been back a few weeks now, yes?”
“It’s going well.” I bite my lip and consider my words. Dr. Alexander tilts his head, looks at me over his glasses, and I know what he’s waiting for. “I referred Gabriel somewhere else,” I say. Which is true. I did have Sarah refer him out.
“Good job. I’m sure that was difficult. How did he take it?”
“He took it well.” Technically, it’s not a lie. But the pressure builds inside me—the knowledge that I’m doing something that could get me in trouble again. That like my own pathologically lying patient, I’m untruthful to my therapist. But I’m not pathological—these are normal lies. Tiny white ones. And this time, it’s for Gabriel’s benefit, not mine.
He said I was helping him.