“Did you know he still hasn’t divorced his wife?” she said to the therapist, ignoring me.
“That isn’t true.” Leaning back into the couch, I waved a finger at her. “The divorce was finalized this week.” I was sure Lenny was looking at me, but I refused to match her gaze. I kept my own out the window, wondering if we were paying for the therapist or the view.
“Well why did it take so long?” Lenny asked. I nearly groaned at her question. She knew why it had taken so long, knew Alice had refused to sign the papers. I could have told her the lengths to which Alice was willing to go, but that would open up doors I would rather keep closed.
“You’re deflecting, Lenny.” I pulled out my own mirror, shining the sun back at her. “You’ve been off your meds for months and you’re looking for anything else to talk about besides that.” It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, if you’re into metaphors and shit. When I discovered that Lenny was off her meds, I all but forced her into therapy. She said she wouldn’t go, not unless I went. So there we were, sitting on a too-plush couch, paying out of our nose for some parasite in a pantsuit to give us her opinion.
“I hear a lot of anger and resentment,” the therapist finally said.
“No fucking shit,” I spat. It was no secret I hated our therapist. I thought she was an overpaid, glorified listener. I didn’t think that about all therapists, just ours. She didn’t do anything save sit in her comfy chair, adjust her glasses, and occasionally hum and haw.
That wasn’t therapy; that was laziness. It took everything but a bulldozer to get Lenny here, though, so we were stuck with Dr. Doodles-On-Her-Notepad.
“And what is that?” Lenny asked. “You said you’d come to couple’s counseling and you don’t even try.” She turned to me, glowering.
“Oh, I’m trying Lenny.” I turned to her, teeth gritted. When our eyes locked, the tension was palpable. Her blue eyes, dark like the ocean at night, refused to capitulate. She’d been angry with me even before Grace. She resented me for hiding Alice. She resented me for my job. She resented damn near everything about me.
But we couldn’t talk about those things. Not just because I couldn’t talk about my line of work in therapy, but because our goddamn therapist said talking about the past was bad. So, we had to pretend the pile of regrets that had mounted like a heap of garbage in our life didn’t stink. We had to pretend our resentments didn’t exist when in fact, they were so large it was nearly smothering.
“I have homework for you both.” The therapist spoke again and Lenny broke her eye contact.
“What homework?” we asked at the same time.
“Have dinner together.” I nearly clapped my hands together in sarcasm. Bravo, doc. Dinner? We did that every night. “But don’t mention your problems. Don’t talk about Lennox’s mental illness, and don’t talk about Vic’s past transgressions. Eat dinner, talk about the weather or what book you’re reading. Just enjoy each other’s presence.”
I frowned. Lenny shifted uncomfortably. We let the weight of her homework settle, but neither of us said a word. When the time was up, she reminded us that our sessions were going to be postponed because she had to visit her family.
“It will be a month or two. I won’t know how much help they need until I get there. You have the number of the therapist I recommended?” We both nodded. We had the number, but we both knew we wouldn’t be meeting with her recommendation. We would let our relationship slip through the cracks, just as we had before.
On the drive home, Lenny kept her gaze outside. Dusk had settled a tawny burnt color across the sky and black night was seeping down from the heavens. It was winter, which didn’t mean much in California except the days were shorter.
“It’s difficult to talk to a therapist when 99% of our issues can’t be discussed, you know that Lenny,” I said, trying to spark a conversation between us. Lenny scoffed, keeping her eyes trained on the moving picture outside.
“You’re upset with my job, and we can’t discuss that with a therapist,” I pressed. The therapist said not to press things. She said when Lenny wasn’t in the mood to talk, I had to let her be silent.
We’ve already established I couldn’t give a fuck about our therapist, right?
“The world doesn’t stop and spin around you, Vic,” Lenny spat. I looked up at the darkening horizon, trying to settle the fire Lenny’s attitude stoked.
“I can’t keep doing this, Lennox,” I said. “Either get on meds or I’m done.”
“Okay, bye.” Before I could think, Lennox opened the car door and started to climb out. Wind whipped inside, pulling at my clothes and tugging at my hair. The gale was like an ear against a seashell. I swerved on the road, reaching out to grab her and pull her back in.
“What the fuck was that?” I yelled, pulling the car over.
“You said you were done.” Lennox shot daggers with her eyes. “I’m done too!”
“What is wrong with you?” I yelled. In response, Lenny ripped open the car door and slammed it in my face. I followed furiously after her. She jumped over the guard-rail and started descending the hillside.
“Nothing a little lithium can’t fix, right?” Lennox called out, her voice mixing with the whooshing of the highway. “Or Lamictal, or Depakote, or Neurontin, or Topamax, or why don’t we just skip the middleman and lobotomize me?”
“Lennox stop!” She was going to fall if she kept up at this pace. My feet slipped in the sand as I tried to catch her. She kept going, not even bothering to turn around. Wind caught her auburn hair, thrashing it up and swirling it around.
“It’s so easy for you to say ‘go on meds!’” Lennox jumped over a rock and started to run. “Do you know what the side effects of those drugs are? Tremors. Memory loss. Nausea. Vomiting. Diarrhea. Fatigue. Pain. Fever. Oh, here’s a fun one: death!” By the time I caught up to Lenny she’d already reached the ocean. She stopped short of the water, the tide nipping at our toes.
“And that’s not even…” Lenny bent over, catching her breath before standing up and facing me. “You know, some days, I would prefer death.”
“I know.” I reached out to touch her shoulder.