Page 46 of Catching Kyle
“Gimme a week,” I say to him, just like I told Michael. “In a week I’ll get you that picture.”
“Alright,” he says. “And no longer. You hear me?”“Loud and clear.”
“Wait, one more thing,” he says, when I’m about to hangup.
“Yes?” My stomach is already bubbling. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
“You’ll be hearing from a reporter soon,” he says. “Gave her your contact info. Wants to interview a bunch of Tigers players.”
I grunt. “Is she legit?”
“She’s from ESB,” he says. “And I wouldn’t complain. She wants to interview you about your relationship with your dad and how that led you to where you are now. Might help distract the narrative from your sex life.”
Doesn’t seem horrible. Talking about him actually might help clear up some of this confusion. “Fine,” I say.
“Anything else I’m forgetting?” he asks.
I watch as Ezekiel spots one of the linemen at the bench press. He’s told me about how he sees a therapist and how good it’s been for him. I think Michael has one too. Maybe that’s why he talks so eloquently about himself. And I bet talking to somebody more qualified than a reporter might actually be just what I’m looking for. In fact, this might be exactly what I need.
“Yeah,” I say. “Would you mind helping me get a therapist?”
I can picture him balking. “A therapist?”
“I got shit to work through,” I say. “With my dad and all.” Which isn’t a lie.
“I can get you set up with one,” he says. “But this better not stop you from getting me that picture.”
I sigh. “Don’t worry. It won’t.”
* * *
I show up to this pristine office building downtown. Timmy’s email tells me she’s up on one of the top floors. Wearing a hoodie and sunglasses so no one notices, I make my way inside the building and into the elevator. By the time I reach the designated floor, I’m already sweating, and it’s not just ‘cause it’s a balmy day and I’m in a hoodie.
Timmy was able to find me an appointment with a therapist a day later, but I don’t know how I feel about this now. I was able to say I was gay to myself, and I could say it to Michael, but that’s only because it felt weirder not to. But to say it to a stranger? Who likely only knows me as being the one of the best linebackers the NFO has ever seen? This is a bad idea.
I check in with the receptionist and sit down in a beige armchair. The room is filled with old looking pictures of mountains, lakes and rivers. There’s a sign that says ‘Serenity’ with the serenity prayer underneath it in purple cursive.
My heart starts to race. I could leave now. Could say to Timmy that this would distract me from my dating. Then Iwouldn’t have to—
“Kyle?”
A young, Indian woman has her head poked out of the door next to the receptionist’s desk. Unable to run away now, I stand up and follow her. She leads me down a hallway, a full window at the end giving a stunning view of downtown.
“Right here,” she says, gesturing to an open door.
I nod to her, then step inside.
The room is a reddish orange, and there’s a long, expensive-looking beige couch. At one end of the room, there’s an even bigger window than the one in the hallway, giving a clear view of the Delaware river. On the other end sits a small Indian woman in a swivel chair wearing all red with an orange scarf. Next to her, there’s some incense burning. Jasmine—I recognize it. My mom used it around the house growing up. It reminds me of heading out to hot summer practices with my dad.
“Go ahead and shut the door if you please,” she says in a crisp Indian accent. “And feel free to sit down on the couch.”
I close the door and plop down, air blowing out of the cushion in both directions. She turns around. She’s pretty, probably in her sixties. She’s got gray streaks in her hair, and she looks like she’s got wrinkles around her eyes from smiling too much.
The wrinkles crease, and she extends her hand. “Nice to meet you, Kyle. I’m Neeti.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking hers. I retract it, all embarrassed—my palms are sweaty. But she doesn’t notice.
She glances down at her clipboard and writes something down.
