Page 80 of Entirely Yours
“Thea Rose?”
A tall, spindly woman is standing at the door to the waiting room eyeing me expectantly over her wire frame glasses. Seeing as I’m the only one currently in the waiting room, she doesn’t bother looking around, instead holding the door open while I drag myself out of the cozy waiting-room chair.
“It’s nice to meet you, Thea. Right this way.” She motions down the hall to another room. This one has a large window with a cornflower-blue sofa underneath and a cream wingback chair directly across from it. There’s a desk in the corner topped with books, notepads, and file folders. Iris’ diplomas are framed and hung on the wall, along with some muted pieces of abstract art.
“Am I supposed to lie down?” I ask, moving toward the couch.
“Whatever makes you most comfortable,” she replies. “But most people sit, if that’s what you’re asking.” Her tone is kind, welcoming me into what she can obviously see is a new experience.
When I do take a seat, she asks, “What brings you in today?”
“Oh. Hmm. That’s a hard question to answer. I… I guess I have a lot going on at the moment and my… well, I’m not really sure what he is to me. My baby daddy?” I laugh awkwardly. “He thought it might be a good idea to come in.”
Iris smiles, taking a few notes on the pad in her lap. “What about you? Do you think it’s a good idea to come in?”
I lean over trying to get a glimpse of what she’s writing but her scrawl is loopy and difficult to read upside down. She notices, of course, and reassures, “Don’t worry, I only keep notes for myself. Helps me remember things in my old age. If there’s anything of significance that I write down, I’ll be sure to tell you.”
“Right…” I pause, thinking about her previous question. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to come in. I feel good now, things are going well. And I’ve handled so much on my own over the course of my life, I guess I’m not sure if I need someone to help.”
“Mmm.” She nods. “Can you tell me a bit more about what you’ve been handling on your own?”
So, I do. I tell her about Chloe and the studio. About this new pregnancy. I tell Iris about moving to Boston from Texas after my grandmother passed away and about how my mom died when I was young so I don’t even remember her. I tell her about how strange it’s been to be enveloped by the Bardot family, so easily embraced by people who hardly know me.
I talk for so long, a little alarm goes off, and yet, I still feel like I have more to say. “Is that all the time we have?” I ask, worry creeping into my tone.
“That’s my five minute warning,” Iris replies. “I’m sorry, I should have told you about it when we started. Helps keep me on track.”
Five minutes? We haven’t even gotten to the therapy part of things yet. “Oh, okay. I…”
Iris looks at me through her glasses. She’s very good at giving wait time, I see.
“I guess I should schedule my next appointment.”
She gives me an approving smile. “I would love that.”
On my drive home, I stop by the apartment. We only lived in it briefly, but it already feels so cramped and sterile in comparison to Jules’ house. I walk into the empty living room, trying to picture moving back in with Dad, Chloe, and a newborn. I poke my head into my old bedroom and realize there’s simply no way I can share with Chloe and the baby. Chloe loves Jules’ house. She loves having a backyard for building fairy houses. She loves exploring with Cat and trying new recipes with Jules.
And then I’m supposed to—what? Bring her back to this tiny apartment with no outdoor space where she has to share a room with her mom and little brother. I remember the newborn stage, no way is she getting a good night’s sleep that way.
Right there in the middle of the empty apartment, I make up my mind.
We’re moving in with Jules.
I get back in my car and drive as quickly as possible back home. As soon as I turn on our street, I see that his car isn’t there. I circle around and head toward the coffee shop instead, feeling a renewed sense of urgency.
What if he’s changed his mind?
What if he doesn’t want this anymore?
I park in front of the shop, waddle-running from the car to the front door as quickly as possible. I spot him as soon as I walk in. He’s behind the bar, making a drink at the espresso machine. “Jules! I want to move in!” I shout from the entrance, not caring that the entire shop turns to look at me like I’ve lost the plot.
Ben appears next to Jules, who looks completely dumbstruck, and says, “Didn’t you already do that?”
Jules’ palm comes up to the side of Ben’s face, pushing him away without ever breaking eye contact with me. He rounds the bar top and prowls toward me. He still hasn’t said a word since my proclamation, and I can’t tell if he’s about to kiss me or steer me out of the shop so he can let me down easy.
When he finally gets within arms reach, one hand comes up to grasp my chin while the other circles around my waist. Hedips me, taking my mouth in a cinema-worthy embrace that has my stomach erupting in butterflies. Vaguely, I hear the crowded coffee shop break in whoops and applause, but all I see is him, all I feel is him.
And nothing has ever felt so right.
