Page 15 of The Soul Never Forgets

It’s the only way I’ve ever ordered my pizza. And it’s the only way Frank and Augustina ever ordered their pizza.

“A lot of things I tell you are going to be surprising. Many of them unexplainable.”

“Like the way you know what I like on my pizza despite never having eaten together?”

“Yes, simple details like that but also extraordinary phenomena that I can’t begin to understand or explain.” And once that conversation happens, nothing between us will ever be the same. I’d like to savor the normalcy for a little while. “Is it okay if we talk about something besides me for a while? Something normal? Because there’s no going back once we delve into the last year of my life.”

“What would you like to talk about?”

One thing. “You. It feels a little unfair that you know so much about me, and I know nothing about you.”

His voice takes on a professional tone. “I’m your therapist, Caroline. I can’t talk to you about my personal life. It would be unprofessional.”

That isn’t going to be conducive to an intimate relationship.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be my therapist.” That came off brusque, not at all the way I meant for it to sound. “What I mean to say is that maybe I shouldn’t see you on a professional level.”

Damn. I’m not sure that sounds much better.

“You’re a self-referred patient who appears to pose no immediate danger to yourself or others. It’s your right to choose if you want to see me again.”

I’m really flubbing this.

“Does the thought of never seeing me again bother you?”

Dr. Wes looks at me for a moment and then breaks the connection between our eyes. “I should call in the pizza.”

I see the answer in his eyes, but he won’t admit it. At least not tonight. And I shouldn’t expect him to. This is only our second session. We’ve spent a total of two hours together. He doesn’t trust what he’s feeling. And he shouldn’t. He needs time to understand and accept what’s happening.

We have the rest of our lives to be together. These first hours are only the beginning. There’s no reason to rush it. It’ll happen in its own time.

He hangs up from calling in our dinner and returns to what I’m going to call his therapist posture––crossed legs, elbow on the armrest, chin in hand, looking intently at me.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Wes. My words came out all wrong. I didn’t mean to imply that I didn’t like having you as my therapist.”

“Then what did you mean to say? You can speak plainly.”

Speaking too plainly could frighten him. “I don’t like that our therapist-patient relationship limits what we’re able to say to one another and how we’re allowed to interact with each other.”

“There is a code of conduct in place for a reason––your protection and mine.”

The code of conduct doesn’t apply to soul mates. “I don’t need protection from you, and you don’t need protection from me.”

“You may not understand why the rule is in place, but I need you to observe it.”

He isn’t going to give in, which I respect, but it’s going to make for a dull conversation. “If we aren’t allowed to talk about you and I want to take a break from talking about me, what topics does that leave?”

“Music. Movies. Television. Books. Video games. Food. Art. Trends. The potential is endless—with the exception of politics. I won’t discuss that.”

We’re in agreement on that one. Politics has never been a favorite topic for me.

“Trends. Tell me a popular trend that you hate but everyone else loves,” I say.

His body shakes with laughter. “I don’thateit but… a mullet. I’m not into it.”

That makes me cackle. “Everybodylovesa mullet?”

“Plenty of people love them. I’ve been seeing a lot of people wear their hair that way… with pride.”

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