Page 12 of Before We're More Than Friends
“It’s a counseling session.” I scoffed, folding my legs on her brown couch. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Yeah, I’d have to kick you out if you didn’t cooperate with me. And that would be sad—I really love making money off you.”
We shared a laugh. I’d been through several psychologists and therapists, but they were either boring, rude, or unhelpful in every way. But then Susanna Rossi, who was both a licensed psychologist and therapist, came into my life three years ago. She was a perfect match, from her love of stationery to her sarcastic sense of humor that rivaled mine. It also helped that she’d been fresh out of her Ph.D. program before I became her patient, making her one of the youngest people in the office. On top of that, she did both talk therapy for my anxiety and cognitive therapy for my compulsions. I’d be a mess without her.
Well, I was still a mess. But she helped to some degree.
Susanna cleared her throat. “We need to talk about your week if you want to play UNO.”
I frowned. “Why can’t we switch it up?”
“We switched it up last time, and we almost ran out of time to do the actual therapy.”
It wasn’t the worst thing. I stared at my wedged heels. “Can we do cognitive therapy first?” We always did talk therapy first, but for once, I’d much rather focus on my compulsions than my pathetic family life.
The beginning of the year rolled in with Dad, a real estatedeveloper, getting accused of committing tax evasion. If he was proven guilty, he’d be thrown into federal prison. Deep down, I believed he hadn’t done anything wrong, but you could never be sure.
I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
It didn’t help that my dad wasn’t just some random real estate developer in town. He was Manuel Vermont, one of the most well-known people in real estate in all of Nevada. I couldn’t get through the school day without the whispers around the halls or the anxious questions from people I barely knew. I’d never been the most popular girl—my sister was a better candidate for that—but the past few months had revealed that more people knew about my family than I’d thought they had.
Yeah, I’d love to go back to living in anonymity.
Susanna sighed, not fighting me on this one. “Okay. But we’re still going to talk right after.”
I cracked a small smile. I’d won this time.
I told her about my most recent impulses, and we went through a few rounds of cognitive therapy. My mind wasn’t used to doing this without the talk therapy first, and it showed in my performance.
“Okay, now that we have that covered,” Susanna said, opening her notebook, “is there anything specific you want to talk about?”
“Not really.” I wanted to do anything but talk about the specifics. “But I can’t stop thinking about my family.”
She nodded, sympathy in her eyes. “Tell me about it.”
Something about her caring nature made me start rambling about my family. I mostly focused on my parents and how they were slipping away from each other. Dad was home all the time now—obviously—but the strain of the house arrest sent Mom into a darker spiral.
Around three years ago, Mom started having mental health issues when her parents filed for divorce after being married for four decades in their home in Venice, California. She’d suffered from drinking issues before she met Dad, who helped her on her journey to becoming sober. With her family in shambles, she started going out to the gazebo every night with a drink. Now her drinking was an addiction she tried to keep under control but couldn’t.
I just wanted my family back.
When Susanna finished taking notes, she sat beside me. “You’re okay if I sit here, right?”
“You’re my therapist, not a creepy guy from a bar. And I much prefer you to one, too.”
She snorted. “Even in crisis, you’re still Raina Vermont.”
I giggled before giving her a hug. It was usually unprofessional for therapists to hug their patients, but right now, I needed Susanna more than ever. I needed someone I could vent to without being embarrassed, someone who knew my brain so well.
She broke out of the hug after a few moments, brushing her curls back. “Anything else you want to get out?”
I shook my head, inching away from her. “I think I got out everything I want for now. Any chance we can play UNO?”
“We still have twenty minutes left of the session.”
I sighed before giving her my best puppy eyes. “We can make up for the time next session. I promise.”
“You’re begging me like I’m your mom.”
