Page 26 of Save the Date

“Fair. I guess it’s a combination of being a picky eater and not liking to be surprised. My anxiety makes me have all these weird fears around food and I do better when I know exactly what I am going to eat. Otherwise, I spend the whole meal worried I’m not going to take the right amount of brussels sprouts or whatever is being split. If I order my own thing, I don’t have to go outside my food comfort zoneandI don’t have to worry about portion control.”

Will stared at her with an indiscernible expression. “I take it you’re one of those therapists who also goes to therapy?”

Emma laughed, thrilled that he had poked fun at her instead of clamming up or taking it all too seriously. “Oh, absolutely. Almost since birth.”

“Really? What do babies have to talk about?”

“Not enough milk. Difficulty communicating. Separation anxiety.”

“Touché.”

“Thank you. Although I was actually closer to eight when I started. It’s sort of been on and off ever since.”

Emma knew plenty of dating coaches and women’s magazines would advise against sharing one’s mental health struggles on the second date, but she always encouraged her clients to be open about the things that mattered to them—it was a good test to see how the other person received information. Like the time she told a college hookup she was on antidepressants and he tried to convince her to sell him some. This showed not only a lack of empathy for her psychiatric needs but also afundamental misunderstanding on how antidepressants work. He was clearly thinking of Adderall.

“Why’d you go?” Will asked, looking genuinely curious and not at all judgmental. It made Emma want to tell him her entire mental health history, complete with a full list of medication side effects, but she restrained herself.

“I was having trouble sleeping because all I could think about was death.”

Will nearly choked on his water. “I’m sorry. I just did not expect that to be the reason for an eight-year-old.”

“It’s okay. Itwasn’tnormal for an eight-year-old, which is why I needed help. I’m lucky my parents took it seriously.”

“That’s awesome. I grew up with parents who think therapy is for quacks and drug dealers.”

“Not sure I see the connection there.”

“Neither do I. But Fox News isn’t known for evidence-based theories.” Will saw the look of concern on Emma’s face and quickly clarified, “Idon’t watch Fox News, by the way, which is one of the many reasons my father doesn’t talk to me. Apparently unintentionally raising a progressive son with a liberal arts degree wasn’t on his to-do list.”

“Having different politics than your family is hard. Especially right now.”

“It actually makes it easier. At least for me. I can just tell people my dad is a Trumper and no one questions why we’re estranged.”

“I’m assuming you don’t want me to question it either?”

“Maybe after a few drinks,” Will said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Emma used all her restraint not to push. She felt strangely confident that he would tell her more when he was ready.

“So you’ve never been to therapy? And you live in Los Angeles?”

“I actually went a few times in college. My school offered some free sessions so my parents never found out.”

“Did you like it?” Emma was always curious how other people felt about therapy since her own relationship with it had fluctuated so much over the years. As a kid, it had felt like punishment for being broken in some way. As a teenager, it had often felt like her only lifeline. And as a young adult, it felt like a professional calling that could help save the world. Now that she was usually the licensed expert in the room instead of the client, Emma was more aware of its limitations. Talking about feelings couldn’t solve systemic issues like poverty or racism or completely change a family’s dynamic. But, for some people, it did make a big difference.

“It was helpful. My girlfriend had just broken up with me and I was a wreck. My friends wanted to help me through it but twenty-year-old college radio DJs don’t always give the best advice. So I went to a professional. He helped me realize my entire life wasn’t over just because Cassey Richards didn’t want to sleep with me on my twin bed anymore.” Emma laughed as Will blushed. “I can’t believe I just admitted I went to therapy over my college girlfriend.”

“Hey, breakups are brutal. There’s even a diagnosis in theDSMcalled Adjustment Disorder that’s used when people go through a rough time following something like a breakup or a death and need some help getting back to baseline.”

“That makes me feel better,” Will said with a real smile this time. Emma loved that he was someone who openly wore his feelings on his face, unlike other men who had what she referred to as resting-nothing-face. Those guys always seemed more like moving statues than red-blooded humans. “What about you? Any therapy-inducing breakups in your past?”

Emma was keenly aware that this was the exact opening she’d been looking for. Will had just given her a chance to explain not just her humiliating broken engagement but her reasoning behind Operation: Save My Date. But just as she was bracing herself to potentially ruin everything that was growing betweenthem, the waitress appeared, giving Emma the perfect opportunity to be a total coward.

After they ordered their separate appetizers and entrées, Emma deftly navigated the conversation away from breakups and into embarrassing stories about interactions with customer service people. Emma shared how she had once threatened to never return to a nail salon only to have to awkwardly sit there for another thirty minutes as they finished her manicure. Will confessed he had once spent two hours on the phone with an insurance agent because he seemed like a cool guy.

“How is that embarrassing for you? That seems lovely.”

“At the end of the conversation I invited him to my birthday party.”

“Did he go?” Emma asked, excited at the prospect of being able to make new friends through random phone calls.

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