Page 56 of Letters From A Stalker

“Because he’s a partner?”

“Mostly.”

Mostly. I don’t like that word.

I write something on the page, although I’m not entirely sure what I’ve written because I’m more interested in what she’ll say next. “What’s the other part?”

Julia gives a small shrug and shifts one shoulder against the chair. “I do like him. Not in some dramatic, secretly-in-love-with-my-boss kind of way. He’s just... attractive. Smart. Easy to talk to. If I met him somewhere else and he asked me out, I probably wouldn’t have said no.”

Something inside me tightens before I have the opportunity to prevent it.

Nothing changes in my expression or posture.

“Michael has always been respectful,” Julia continues. “He’s flirted with me for a while, but never in a way that made me uncomfortable. When he finally asked me to dinner, I told him I don’t mix business with pleasure, especially when the business happens to pay my mortgage. He accepted it and moved on.”

Of course he fucking did. An asshole would have been easier. A good-looking, intelligent man who accepts her boundaries without arguing or attempting to wear her down is considerably more difficult to hate on principle. I manage anyway. Clinically, however, the example is useful.

“So the reason you said no wasn’t because you were afraid of disappointing him.”

“No.”

“And you were attracted to him, which meant saying yes would have been easier in some ways, but you still chose what protected something important to you.”

“My job.” She says with a small nod.

“Your job, your reputation, the environment where you feel competent and secure. You decided those things mattered more than whatever might happen over dinner.”

She nods again.

I set the pen against the notepad. “That’s a boundary, Julia. A fairly healthy one.”

“Well, look at me.” Something almost proud slips into her expression before she adds, “Maybe I’m not completely fucked up after all.”

“No one said you were.”

“You’re a psychiatrist. You probably have professional rules about agreeing when patients say things like that.”

“I have several.” All of which I am obviously choosing to ignore because of you.

Her laugh is quiet, but real, and some of the irritation currently attached to a man I have never met eases simply because I made her do it.

The rest of the session is considerably quieter than the one before it. We talk about the difference between being useful because she genuinely wants to help and becoming useful because she doesn’t know what else to offer, along with the strange inconsistency in how easily she protects her boundaries in places where affection isn’t part of the equation. Nothing cracks open this time.

When the hour ends, Julia stands with both feet firmly in this room, gathers her bag and looks back at me from the door.

“Same time next week?”

“Yes.”

“And for the record, I still think the premium appointments should include snacks.”

“I’ll bring it up with management.” I say, feeling my mouth pull into a smirk usually not reserved for my patients but she’s making it damn difficult not to.

“You are management.”

“Then I’ll give it serious consideration.”

“That’s all I ask.” She leaves smiling.