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“What do you want to do?”
I cock my head. “You know that’s a cliche, right? Psychiatrists turning everything back into a question?”
She smiles. “Why do you think they’re cliches?”
I fight the urge to stick out my tongue. “Fine. I guess I go with my gut. But I’m more comfortable actually being affectionate with Tom than with thinking about kissing Blake.”
“You trust Tom,” she points out.
“So I need to work on building trust with Blake.” I sigh. “You know, life would be a lot easier if I were like everyone else. Normal, I mean. Without all these issues.”
Linda studies me before walking to her bookcase. “I bought this on my trip to Japan last year,” she says, picking up a black saucer and crossing the room to me. “Have you ever heard of kintsugi?”
I shake my head, and she hands the saucer to me. It’s stunning – a rich, glossy black with veins of gold running through it. I trace the smooth surface with my fingertips, mesmerized.
“Kintsugi means ‘mended with gold’. When a piece of pottery breaks, rather than discard it, they clean the pieces and glue them back together. Once it’s repaired, they trace the repair lines with gold and apply several coats of lacquer. They accentuate the cracks, rather than hide them.”
I glance up at her, seeing the parallels, but wanting her to continue.
“A flawless black saucer lacks the character of this repaired piece. The beauty comes from the fact that it was broken and repaired with intent and care. Only by being broken first can its true beauty be seen.”
“It’s a beautiful piece,” I agree, reluctantly handing it back to her, “but I’m not even close to being repaired.”
“Not true,” she counters. “We were just discussing your progress.”
“Progress isn’t perfection.”
“No one’s perfect, Charlie, so get that notion out of your head.”
“I have no illusions about being perfect. I’d just like to be able to extend trust to the guy I’ve been seeing.”
“Have you two discussed your trauma?”
I hesitate. “No. He just knows something bad happened.”
“Shouldn’t you at least give him a general idea?”
I sigh again. “I don’t want him to see me differently.”
She tilts her head. “If he’s going to see you differently, shouldn’t you know sooner rather than later?”
I frown. “It’s very difficult for me to cling to my iron-clad reasoning when you constantly use logic to destroy it,” I mutter.
She grins. “That’s one of the perks of my job.”
I’m Linda’s last appointment of the day, and when we finish, it’s five-thirty. I text Tom from my car. “Do you have ice cream?”
“Probably. Hang on.” There’s a thirty-second pause before he answers. “Yes. Butter pecan, chocolate, and birthday cake with weird sprinkly things.”
I laugh out loud and send several laughing emojis. “Sprinkles? LOL. Wait till I tell Lila. AND TUCKER.”
He sends back a frowny emoji. “Maya’s, NOT mine.”
I chuckle again. “Stopping to pick up dessert. Need anything?”
“Not unless you want wine.”
I send a thumbs up, followed by, “See you shortly.”
