Page 83 of I Almost Do

He sets the book on his lap. "I know why you left. I understand," he says. "I was fucked-up. I still am. But I took your advice. I'm talking to someone about… everything. I'm not where I need to be. I can't talk about it yet. But I'm working on it. I wanted you to know that."

My voice is barely a whisper, but I manage to say, "I'm glad."

I hear the cat yowl in the background and the sound of something crashing to the floor. The tense moment between us is broken as James looks off-camera. "He's awake and losing his mind over the catnip again," he says.

"It sounds like you need to go take care of whatever he broke," I say.

He nods. "Yes."

I hold up my USB. "Thank you for this. I'll be listening as soon as we hang up."

He holds up my book. "No office for me today after all. I can't wait to read it."

"Merry Christmas, James."

"Merry Christmas, sweet girl."

32

I Will Be

James

Previously in September

Themiddle-agedwomanwiththe blonde, feathery hair and practical shoes ushers me into her office and indicates the sofa and chairs placed comfortably in the corner.

"Have a seat anywhere you like."

I choose a chair, and she makes herself comfortable in another one, set a comfortable distance away, with the length of a small coffee table between us. She's close enough for conversation but not so close as to encroach on my personal bubble. Right now, my bubble is huge.

Dr. Carlson gives me a small smile and says, "I'm pleased to meet you, James. What brings you to my office today?"

I'm leaning forward in the armchair, both feet planted firmly on the floor, hands on my thighs. I probably look ready to bolt. So I take a few breaths in through my nose, blow them out through my mouth. I straighten my spine and let my hands rest on the arms of the chair.

I use my boardroom voice and say, "I want to remind you that our conversation is confidential. None of what I say here leaves this room."

She doesn't look intimidated by me or the tone of my voice at all. She just nods and continues with her reassuring smile, some new lines crinkling around her eyes behind the clear plastic frames of her glasses.

"You have my word. It's my professional responsibility, but also something I believe in implicitly."

I grunt and nod, then say, "I'm here because my wife thinks I need a therapist."

"What do you think?"

"I think I hate therapists, but she's not coming home until I work myissuesout. So here I am."

She looks down at the reMarkable tablet in her hand, makes a brief notation. "What do you believe you need to work out?"

"I can't have sex with her without feeling guilty about it."

"I see. That must be difficult for you."

I give a sarcastic bark of laughter. "You could say that."

"Have you always felt guilty about sex, or is it a new development?"

I laugh, but I don't find a damn thing funny. "Always. There were a few women before my wife, though not... relationships. But Clarissa is different."

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