Page 48 of Notorious

“I met someone. A man.”

“You did?” She sounds delighted. “Who is he?”

“His name is Kurt Delmont, and actually, we got married.”

Her voice gathers strength I didn’t know she had. “John Haskell, y’all did not get married and forget to invite your mama to the wedding.”

I squirm. “I’m sorry, Mama. The wedding wasn’t exactly planned. We were in Las Vegas, and one thing led to another … I do apologize for not inviting y’all. If it makes you feel better, only strangers were there.”

“I don’t think it does make me feel better,” she says haughtily, and her tone makes me smile. It also makes my heart ache.

“I’m sorry for springing this on you. Maybe we’ll come up and visit sometime soon. Would you like that?”

“I’d love that,” she says.

Kurt reappears, tapping his wrist where a watch would be if he wore one.

“Then we’ll arrange it. Sorry, Mama, for the quick call, but we’ve gotta go to an appointment. I’ll talk with you later. Tell May Ella hi. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Johnny, and give that husband of yours my love as well.”

“You haven’t even met him yet.”

“He’s family. End of story.”

Trust Mama to make things so simple.

“Mama sends her love,” I tell Kurt.

“Then I do the same,” Kurt says, his dark brown eyes wrinkling at the corners as he smiles.

My limbs feel light, and my heart expands. My new husband just accepted—more than accepted—my beautiful mama, and it makes me even sweeter on him. If I’m not careful, I could find myself really into this guy.

I pretty sure I’m okay with that, even if he’s a politician. I can overlook a man’s profession. He’s overlooking mine, after all.

After I hang up, Kurt and I head to the therapist’s office, which, it turns out, is up the coast a ways.

When we walk in, I learn from the sign on the door that the therapist is named Christian Gray, which makes me smile. I read those Fifty Shades books to get some ideas for scenes, though it took me a while, because I’m not a great reader. I liked them, though.

“Um, Dr. Gray?” I say.

She’s an elegant Black woman with a kind manner. “That’s me, though I encourage you to call me by my first name, Christian. Are you John Haskell?”

I nod and shake her hand. “Most people call me Johnny. This is my husband, Kurt Delmont. You probably know that, because he’s the one who made the appointment. I’d like him to join us. Is that okay?” I ask. I trip over the word “husband,” but I like the way it feels when I say it.

“If you’d like to have him here, then of course. If at any point there’s a reason I want to talk with you on your own, we’ll agree among ourselves and have him step out,” Christian says. “Welcome. Please make yourself comfortable.” She shows us into a small room with big windows and a view of the coast. It doesn’t have one of those stereotypical chaise lounge couches like you see in cartoons, but there are a few comfortable chairs and a regular couch, along with side tables with boxes of tissues on them. It’s a generic room, and that makes me feel better. Like being here ain’t so weird.

Kurt sits down next to me on the couch, his knee pressed to mine, and it’s amazing how much less alone I feel with that contact. I fill out a few forms, and Christian waits and watches.

When I’m done, she asks, “What have you come to see me about?”

The truth is, I don’t want to talk with her about anything. Even though I’m trying to be positive, I don’t actually believe I can get better.

“Um. Well. I dunno how to start,” I say, wringing my hands and wishing I were anywhere else.

“Then why don’t you just start with how you’re feeling right now.”

“Numb,” I say immediately. “And … shitty.”

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