We must have dozed off for an hour or so, judging by the fact that when I woke up, Julia Roberts was on the piano, refusing to kiss Richard Gere on the lips. I shook Cali awake gently; she rubbed her eyes, smiling, and stretching all at once. “I missed nights like this. I’m glad you are starting to come back to me!” Her sleepy voice was soft and slow as she wrapped me in a hug, making me feel all the loving warmth in her embrace. I truly am so lucky that I have such amazing people in my life.

“You know what we need? Ice cream!” Cali jumped off the couch, excited by her epiphany. She trotted into the kitchen, her blonde bun bouncing with every step, and came back with a tub of mint chocolate chip that had been in my freezer for way too long. I couldn’t help but smile, pouring the remainder of our bottles of wine into the glasses. She grinned, taking her seat next to me. “Now we’re doing this right.”

We giggled, stuffed ice cream into our mouths and finished our wine. Scooping the last bit of green deliciousness from the bottom of the carton, the clock on the end table caught my eye. “Wow, it’s almost three in the morning, Cal. I think it’s time to call it a night. We both have to work in the morning, and I have my first therapy appointment in the afternoon. I don’t want to fall asleep on my shrink’s couch the first session. That might not make the best of impressions. You want to crash here?”

Cali leaned over, seeing the ten missed calls from her husband and sighed. “Yeah, I shouldn’t drive right now. Damn, he’s going to be pissed.”

Cali got up, going into the kitchen to call Kyle back. I could hear her yelling at him to grow up and remember her best friend was going through a rough time and, if she didn’t answer the first time to just leave it alone. She hung up in a huff of anger and climbed back onto the couch, snuggling up in her blanket. I grabbed a pillow for her from the hall closet. By the time I got back into the living room, Cali was already snoring. Even her snoring was adorable. I climbed the stairs to my room, smiling, silently thanking Cali for never giving up on me and making me feel almost normal for a change.

I crawled into bed, turned out my light, and checked my phone. I had three missed calls, one voice mail and five text messages. The voicemail I was determined to not listen to because it was from my mom and the sound of her voice may ruin my better mood. I scrolled over my mother’s three “I’m sorry” texts to get to the ones from Walker:

Hey Mags, I saw your mom leave in kind of a huff. Hope everything’s OK.


Just wanted to tell you I had a great time last night, Mags. Let’s make it a point to have more fun from now on. We both deserve it. Good night, darling.


I smiled, sighed and wiggled into a comfortable position on my side of the bed, rattling off a quick text back before falling into a dreamless sleep for the night:

Everything is fine, Cali came over and we had one of our famous wine-night-bitchfests … and yeah, last night was great, you have yourself a deal. Let’s have more fun. Good night, love.

5

Around six in the morning, my eyes groggily opened to the heinous screeching of my alarm clock. Great. Another hangover. I yawned, stretched, and splatted back on my pillow, unable to move from the piercing pain in my head. The sound of Cali thudding up the stairs a few seconds later helped me wake up a little bit more.

Without knocking, she came into my room and climbed into bed with me, snuggling up close to share my pillow. “Man, your bed is fantastic! Why the fuck did you make me sleep on the couch? This thing is meant to be shared!” She grabbed the other pillow off the bed and smacked my blushing face with it, too quickly for my aching eyes to register.

I sat up, giggling at her half-assed pouting expression. “You could have. Now you know for next time.” I grinned again and blushed deeper, thinking about all the times Walker had commented on how comfortable my bed was. Suddenly, a huge pain of guilt rushed into my lunges and heart, making me choke a little as tears started to form. Cali’s playful expression turned concerned quickly as she questioned my sudden, odd reaction, “Everything okay, Mags?”

I tried to pull on the bravest, half-grin I could muster, “Yeah, Cal. I’m good. Just miss Randy from time to time. Mornings are not that great for me.” I grimaced and rested my head back down next to my best friend as she stroked my hair, trying to console me. The fact that I just lied to her, or at least told a half-truth, made me feel even worse; I hated lying to her.

She shot me a sympathetic smile and wrapped her arms around me, pulling my whole body tightly to her., “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through,” she whispered softly, and then kissed the top of my head.

We cuddled for a few minutes and Cali insisted on borrowing clothes of mine, getting ready with me and driving the both of us to work. I figured she was worried about me, so I didn’t protest her offer. Luckily, we worked close enough to each other downtown, and dropping me off would only be five minutes out of her way.

I hopped off my bed and slowly made my way into the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, waiting for my shower to get hot, I let myself cry. I wasn’t sure why I was crying this time. Was it that I missed Randy, felt guilty for having random, borderline romantic feelings for Walker, or was it just loneliness? The whole grieving process I had been going through was odd, onerous to deal with, and, frankly, freaking me out. I guess there isn’t a guidebook on being a widow in your twenties, other than stupid pamphlets that make my stomach tangle into knots, so I just have to wing it.

Cali and I got ready for work together, just like in the old days when we would get ready for class. We rocked out to ‘Summer Hits of the 90s’, danced around, joked and acted like total fools. It was great to be so light-hearted for a little while with my best friend, and, again, I silently thanked her for being simply amazing.

Once I got to work, I remembered I had my first therapy session that afternoon, and wished I had driven myself. I was pretty fortunate Walker was still on leave, and virtually had nothing to do with himself all day until the Army called him again. He agreed to drive me to and from my doctor’s office, claiming to have some reading to catch up on anyway.

My workday rushed by while I dreaded my first session with Dr. Candice Davenport. I found myself restless in the waiting room, wishing I was there alone. Walker smiled at me, assuring me this was for the best, and that he should do the same thing. Realizing I really didn’t feel like talking, he dove back into some zombie book with a big “Z” on the cover, shoving me with his elbow and muttering softly, “Like I said before, as long as you’re taking care of yourself, I’m happy.  I’m here to support you, Mags.”

I bit my lip and glanced away. “Thanks, Walker.  It means a lot to me that you’re here.”  He looked up, smiled and patted my shoulder, without another word.

Trying to read the random editions of US Weekly and People were futile, and I just stared at the ocean scene paintings lining the walls. I could not understand why I was so nervous. She’s just a therapist, someone who solely wants to help me cope. In every sense, this was the best decision I had made for myself since Randy’s death, I just had trouble convincing myself wholeheartedly of that fact.

After waiting for about fifteen minutes, a hunched over, middle-aged man with sunken, black eyes opened the door, followed by a very petite woman in a navy business suit. Her smile seemed a little eerie after the depressing sight of her last patient. Dr. Davenport quickly made eye contact with me, never breaking her cheery grin and walked across the room, hand fully extended. “Margret McManus?”

I took her hand, meeting her beaming eyes with a sheepish smirk and a quick nod. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor.”

Walker looked up from his book, gave me a quick, supportive wink and then went back to reading; a sly, sexy, half-grin lingering on his lips just long enough to make my cheeks turn an obnoxious shade of red.

Dr. Davenport ushered me into her office and closed the door quietly. The room had a massive mahogany desk, overly tidy, and polished so much so that there was a glare coming off the top of it. The walls were painted a light, depressing gray, complimenting the dark blue couch and recliner. The only piece of artwork was a nice beach sunset, which reminded me of my honeymoon in Bimini.

A flashback to Randy sitting in the captain’s chair with a tumbler full of rum, laughing about how terrible I was at baiting hooks with live shrimp, brought me back to one of my happiest memories of us. That was how we spent our honeymoon; fishing and basking in our love, and the sun. I always loved how many things we had in common, and I loved the simplicity of fishing. Suddenly, a fake cough from the doctor made me remember where I was, and I forced myself to come back down to reality.

Candice Davenport was not what I was expecting at all. By the look of her, she couldn’t have been much older than me, with mousey blonde hair, kind, rounded blue eyes, and the biggest smile I’d even seen. I couldn’t help but question her qualifications for helping me. How could someone my age or younger know how to fix someone with a broken heart like mine; someone this damaged? I figured I had to remember that you never knew someone’s past, and she could be forty, for all I knew, with fantastic skin; she was a doctor for crying out loud.