Page 101 of None Of Your Business

“Why is my stapler staring at me?”

She looks toward the desk, her mouth twitching. “Name him.”

“I’m not naming the stapler.”

“Stanley.”

“No.”

“Stanley the Stapler. It’s official.” She beams as she tears a cinnamon roll in half and holds one half toward me.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

The session begins, and I do what I’ve done every Tuesday for the past few months. I listen to the group while I try not to watch Rowan.

To her credit, she rarely comments on the group other than, “Howard is being a dick again.”

But every so often, like now, she leans closer to the glass.

“There.”

I glance at her. “What?”

“His knee.”

Marcus is talking about his husband.

“What about it?”

“It stopped bouncing.”

She’s right.

“He does that when he talks about anything that scares him,” Rowan whispers. “But when he talks about his husband, it stops.”

She peers at my page as I write. “Are you stealing that?”

“I’m documenting an observation.”

“My observation.”

I write another line. She immediately leans across me, trying to see past my forearm as I angle the page away.

“I’ve never peeked at your top-secret shrink notes. I just want to see that one line.”

“You are fundamentally incapable of respecting basic professional boundaries.”

“I think boundaries left the building months ago.”

When she realizes I’m not going to give in, she sighs and sits back.

I turn back to the group and spend the next several minutes hearing only half of what Marcus says.

This has been happening a lot lately. I notice her. I notice the exact second she arrives. I notice when she’s quiet. I notice when her hip flares and she tries to hide the pain by shifting her weight. I notice when she laughs so hard she ducks her head toward her knees. I notice when she steals my pen and chews the cap despite my repeated instructions to stop.

I notice the tiny, sharp breath she takes before she argues with me.