Beauty and the Billionaire
They say it’s what you do that matters, but if I learned anything from the string of low-rent Freudians I was sent to again and again growing up, it’s that if you can’t change the way you think you’re never going to change the way you act.
The longer I blame Chris or my parents or the people who tried to help me turn things around or the therapists that failed in their task, the more I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I’m not a victim.
“I’ll give it a try,” I tell her. “Therapy, that is. I’ve got to tell you that I’m not sure it’s really going to do anything, but I know something needs to give. I don’t know where I went last night or even all of why I went there. What I do know is that it’s not someplace I ever want to go again.”
“I hope you’re not just saying that for my benefit,” she says, her arms slowly unfolding, eventually resting at her sides.
“I’m not,” I tell her. I’m not sure if it’s the truth or not, but I actually feel good saying it. “You’re right, maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t, but whether you and I end up together or not, that’s not the person I want to be the rest of my life.”
“Yeah,” she says.
As much as I don’t want to lose her, I’m more worried about losing myself. All I’m really hanging onto, though, is the belief that I can’t do any better than I’m already doing. I think I’m willing to challenge that particular thought.
The problem is that’s what a therapist would tell me. Maybe I’d get lucky and find one with some insight, but if I can’t get someone who can tell me what I don’t already know, what’s the point?
The point is that it’s something. The alternative is the possibility of another night like that one, and I don’t want that sick feeling to become a more permanent fixture in my life.
I don’t want even a flash of it.
“Chris is probably never really going to change,” I say, just as much to myself as to Ash. “Even if he comes out of jail saying he’s seen the light—which I can guarantee you he will—I’m probably not going to believe him. He’s done this too many times. Jail’s new, but it’s hardly unexpected. I guess what’s got me willing to even consider going back to a therapist is that I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to be the guy who’s always promising he’s going to stop screwing up, I’d rather be the guy who doesn’t have to apologize. I’d rather just not screw things up.”
It sounds stupid the way I’m saying it, but Ash’s expression softens a little. “You’re always going to screw things up,” she says.
I wasn’t expecting that.
“That’s not just you,” she says. “Everyone screws things up and we’re all destined to continue to screw things up as long as we’re alive. Learning how to not screw things up the same way, though…” she says. “I don’t know, maybe it’s objectively better that way, maybe not. You’ve got to think it’s more interesting, though, right?”
I smile. “That’s true. It sounds pretty boring the other way,” I tell her.
“Don’t promise me perfection,” she says. “I think you’ve heard enough of those kinds of promises to know why I say that.”
I should probably be more resentful, but I can’t really argue with anything she’s saying. “You’re not perfect, either,” I tell her.
She chuckles a bit and smiles, saying, “I’m aware.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Return of May Weese
Ash
“How are you feeling?” I ask Mason as he looks out the window of the car. “Are you still up for this?”
“Yeah,” he says blankly.
Things have been good since we talked, but I’m not convinced he’s quite ready for this. It’s not my call, though.
Over the years, it seems, Mason’s brother had cultivated quite the professional relationship with his lawyer. As a result of this, Chris can have visitors, at least until he’s arraigned next week.
I didn’t ask how he’d gotten anyone to agree to that.
“What do you think he’s going to say?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Why?” Mason answers.
I shrug. “It just seems like it might be good to be prepared, you know.”
“I guess,” he says.