Once the guys were gone I figured since I had refused the maid and my mother’s help, I should clean and do some grocery shopping. I made my list and then got to scrubbing my bathroom until it was sparkling. I worked my way through the entire house, dusting, vacuuming, mopping. I even did all of my mounds of laundry. Once all of my clothes were hung and shoved in drawers, I poured myself a glass of wine and relaxed in my lemony-fresh kitchen. The table was even polished enough that I could see my reflection in it. A wonderful sigh of relief came over me when the brick-red beverage hit the back of my throat. I hadn’t done anything that productive for just myself in as long as I could remember. It was amazing to be able to relish in a job well done.

I finished my victory wine and headed for the grocery story. On my way there, I got a phone call from Walker, letting me know that he had Buck and Mitch in the truck and they were heading for the Katz' home to ‘kick the bitch out’. I told him that I was proud of all three of them and that they needed to keep me posted on how it all went.

By the time I had half of my list crossed off, Mitch had texted me with relief. Apparently, he had scared Eva so bad by catching her, that all of her stuff was gone and a note was left for Buck on the counter. The note went into a long bullshit story about how their marriage had been crumbling for years, and that she didn’t love the business partner, and was leaving him too. Eva took a train for Las Vegas where her brother was a dancer in some drag show, to start over and follow her dreams. I wasn’t sure what dreams she had, but the slutty reputation of Vegas seemed to be perfectly fitting for the whore she had become.

9

Sitting in my therapist’s waiting room for my second session was just as nerve-racking as the first. Waiting was one of the most uncomfortable and annoying things possible, making my nerves build with every ticking minute. Being punctual by nature, I felt as if the rest of the world should follow suit.

Trying to pass the time, I flipped through the various magazines from the table in front of me and slurped coffee I bought from the coffee shop right next door. The aroma of caramel hazelnut dark-roast filled the small, boring waiting room, and brought me into a happy relaxed state. I read through a lengthy article of a scandalous love triangle one young starlet had found herself in with two men old enough to be her father. Reading through it, I could understand why housewives across the country enjoyed these juicy gossip articles, it was quite intriguing.

The door to Candice Davenport’s office swung open. The sound of shuffling feet broke my concentration, right as the story was getting good. I watched the same melancholy fellow exit her office, with the same awful look plastered on his face, his expression shallow, almost evil. Nevertheless, Candice was smiling when our eyes met.

I took my position opposite my therapist’s light leather chair, realizing how adorable her outfit was as she rummaged on her desk for a pen. Dr. Davenport was adorned in cute teal kitten heels, a dark blue blazer with a canary yellow camisole, and an off white pencil skirt. Tying it all together was her clunky necklace and bracelet that were the same teal and yellow from her ensemble. I was glad she dressed in such cheery clothes, and wondered if she did it on purpose to try to bring bright, happy colors in to the dreary minds of the depressed that flooded in every day.

Dr. Davenport finally settled down into her enormous chair, pen and paper at the ready. “So how was your week, Margret?”

I let out a little sigh, not really knowing where to start. “You can call me Mags. Everyone does.”

Through her thick framed glasses, I could see her gaze soften. “Mags, it is then. And call me Candice. Dr. Davenport is very stuffy.” She snubbed her nose at her own name, making both of us giggle.

Finding myself lost for words, I looked around the room, a little uneasy, trying to rack my brain on what to say, where to start, what to bring up. “I’m really new to all this, what are we supposed to talk about?” I felt like I needed a little bit of handholding.

Warmly, Candice told me we could talk about anything I’d like. “Anywhere from what is angering you, making you happy. Love, hate, the weather. Use me as your outlet, if you will. I am an unbiased audience at your disposal.”

Mitch’s situation was really weighing on me, and that was something I needed to get off my chest. I told her the entire adulterous tale, realizing how horrible Mitch must have felt. This led right into why it hit so close to home for me, and into my mother and how our relationship was. I happily divulged the fact that my mom and I were not speaking and how that came about. I told her how it was really all my father’s fault for breaking her down into such a weak woman, and I resented the fact that she was never strong for me.

I paused at my own realization. I had never let myself talk like that about my parents’ divorce before. For that matter, I had never realized I felt abandoned by not just my father, but my mother as well, for all those years she was “emotionally unavailable,” as Candice had put it.

Candice paused from her furious writing for a moment. Her words came out almost hushed. “Do you think this might be why it’s been so difficult for you to let go of Randy? Maybe it’s too distressing to think that the abandoning is a vicious cycle?”

My back grew rigid and I broke eye contact with her, almost shocked by my therapist’s idea. I had always thought I was well-adjusted, stronger than my mother, able to cope with life. It was uncomfortable to think I might not be; that I might just be too scared to be hurt again. I stared at my feet, nervously thumbing the seam of my maroon button down. “I’d never thought about it like that, I guess. It might be that way. I don’t really know.”

Looking up at me with a sympathetic gaze, Candice shifted a little in her chair. “Are you lonely at home?”

Her words sounded foreign to me. Am I lonely? I have no idea. I don’t think so, but who can tell? My house is empty now, but that is to be expected when the other occupant dies suddenly. I had been prepared for it to be empty for a while, during Randy’s deployment, but I always assumed the void would be filled again. It wasn’t that I was lonely, I was just wading in the realization of him never filling our home with love again.

For the most part, I had been numb, just fumbling through the motions, not letting myself be anything other than sad or mad for months. But lonely was not something I had considered. “No, I guess not. I miss having Randy around all the time, but Cali, Mitch, and Walker do a good job at distracting me.” I shrugged a little and tried to calm my rigid body. I hadn’t noticed how uncomfortably I had been sitting; but then I could feel my ass was falling asleep.

Thinking back on the last couple of days, and how brilliant it had been to have Walker so close, maybe it was loneliness or emptiness bringing me closer to him. The notion settled me down a little, making me feel less guilty for the misguided feelings of longing I had in those stolen moments with Walker on the couch and in my bed.

Candice leaned over, putting her elbows on her knees, clasping her hands together. She looked deeply into my eyes. “Mags, I do not feel that living alone is in your best interest right now. Would you consider moving in with someone or having someone live with you?”

“I’d never thought about something like that before. I don’t have to worry about paying my bills. I make plenty of money, so I never needed a roommate. Do you really think it would help?” My face twisted with confusion, making my brow crease. I didn’t like the idea of having to share my space with someone else.

I finally agreed that I should, at least, consider having someone move in with me. I had made it quite clear there was no way I was going to move out of my home. I had become too attached, and there was frankly no way I could stomach selling my home now.

We shifted gears one more time before the end of the session, talking about a happy memory that shot through my mind, begging to spill out.  It was one night that always warmed my heart, and I loved telling the story to anyone who would listen. After Randy’s death, it barely crossed my mind, but right when the words dripped from my tongue, warmth and love spread over my body, relaxing me as I melted into the memories.

Being in a sorority during college, Cali and I attended what was called chapter. Every Sunday evening, we had a meeting to discuss different things going on at school, with our philanthropy, and within our chapter. This particular night was pretty boring, all the way up until the end. Cali and I kept nodding off through droning minutes and various motions about how our grades needed to start improving, and how nationals was closing down a chapter at some college in the Midwest none of us had ever heard of.

At the end of the meeting, our president, a skinny, tall redhead named Mackie Gerhardt, announced there was going to be a circle that evening. Instantly the buzz of whispers bounced off the walls in the chapter room. Everyone was wondering who it could be for. Cali and I looked at each other with puzzled grins, trying to figure it out ourselves.

A circle was held at the end of the chapter to honor a sister that had just been given a promise ring, gotten engaged, or was given her fraternity boyfriend’s letters on a necklace called a lavaliere. There was a candle lit and we would pass it around the circle of sisters, singing. When the song was over, the girl who it was for would blow out the candle. The best part about all of it was the president and the woman of honor were the only ones who knew, so it was always a big surprise. After the sister revealed herself, she would get into the middle of the circle and tell us how her beau gave the new shiny piece of jewelry to her. It was always heart warming and a great chance for girls to try to one-up each other.