Egomaniac
: Chapter 11

“Just because you’re physically thousands of miles away doesn’t mean your hearts are. You should each take time to let the other know you’re thinking of them. Let me ask you, Jeff, you mentioned that you thought of Kami today when you went for a run because you passed a lingerie store named Kami-souls. Had you mentioned that to Kami before our therapy session today? Perhaps when she brought up she feels as if you don’t give her any thought?”

The screen on my forty-two-inch monitor was split—a video feed of Jeff Scott on the left and a video feed of Kami Scott on the right. The two had been married less than a year when Jeff was transferred to the west coast. Considering he was their only income, with Kami in her second year of a dental residency, it left him little choice but to relocate until he was able to find a new job closer to their home in Connecticut.

“No. I hadn’t mentioned it to her before today,” Jeff said. “I’m busy. She knows I think about her.” His face froze on my screen for a few seconds, even though his voice kept going. He was mid speaking, and the stilled video had caught him in an odd frame. One eye was fully closed, and I could only see white on the other half-closed eye. His mouth was open, and his tongue looked stained with coffee. I needed to find better video software for my counseling sessions. God knows what I looked like on their screens at the moment.

Our forty-five-minute couples therapy session was almost up. “This week I’d like to do an exercise. At least once a day, when something reminds you of each other, let the other person know at that moment. If you’re out for a jog and see something, maybe snap a picture and text it. Kami, if a patient comes in with a cold and sneezes a lot, reminding you of Jeff’s propensity to sneeze six to eight times in a row, let him know. These little things can go a long way in reminding each other that your heart is never far, even if there are miles between you. Distance is only a test to see how far love travels.”

I heard what sounded like a snicker outside my partially closed door. So after my session ended, I was curious and went to find Drew. He stood in the copy room, which was next to the office I was using, making photocopies.

“Did you just say something to me?” I asked, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“Nope. My father always taught me that if I had nothing nice to say to a woman, I should keep it to myself.”

I hadn’t been imagining it. “You were eavesdropping on my counseling session. You laughed at the advice I gave my clients, didn’t you?”

Drew’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. You had your door open, and you’re loud on the phone. You do know you don’t need to yell for the person on the other end of a video conference to hear you, right?”

“I wasn’t yelling.”

Drew finished making his copies, slipping a pile of papers from the feeder. “Whatever, but you might want to shut your door if you don’t want me overhearing your bad advice.”

My eyes grew to saucers. “Bad advice? What are you talking about? I’m a licensed psychologist who did her dissertation on overcoming barriers in relationships by opening the lines of communication in couples therapy.”

Drew snickered. Again. “You’re the expert then. I’ll leave you to it.” He walked back to his office.

He had no clue what he was talking about. My advice was solid, based on years of studying couples who wanted to work things out. I couldn’t help myself. I followed him, standing at his doorway.

“And what advice would you give a couple forced to endure a long-distance relationship?”

“I’d give them more realistic advice than ‘Distance is only a test to see how far love travels.’ That’s a load of shit. Where’d you read that one? A Hallmark card?”

My eyes bulged. “And what is your idea of realistic advice?”

“Simple. Hire a good divorce attorney. Long-distance relationships Do. Not. Work.”

“I take it you had one and it burned you, so you assume everyone else is going to be burned?”

“Not at all. I’ve never had a long-distance relationship. You know why? They don’t work. And I know this from experience. What experience do you have in long-distance relationships?”

“I’ve studied couples for years. I think I have more experience than you do on the subject. ”

“Is that so?” Drew went to his file cabinet and pulled out a large, rubber-banded expandable file. He slammed it down on his desk. “Morrison. Happily married fourteen years. Divorced two years ago. Three years before the divorce, Dan Morrison took a job as a regional traveling salesman. More money—his wife wouldn’t have to work anymore. Four nights a week on the road, yet Dan never missed date night with his wife on Fridays or driving forty miles on Sundays, his day off, to give his elderly father-in-law a bath. But you know what he missed? Every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday when Mrs. Morrison was fucking her tennis instructor, Laire.”

When I continued to glare at him, he opened another drawer and took out a second file, slapping it down on top of the Morrison file. “Loring. Happily married six years when his office relocated from New York to New Jersey. Eighty miles. Not too far. But Al Loring worked sixteen hours a day a few days a week. His bitch of a wife, Mitsy, was a light sleeper, so he would spend the nights he worked too late on the couch at his office, not wanting to wake his princess bride. Came home one night that he was supposed to crash at the office because he missed Mitsy. Found his wife on all fours in their bed with his neighbor balls deep inside of her. Neighbor has his dog and his wife now, and Al turned into an alcoholic and lost his job in New Jersey.”

He reached into the same drawer and took out yet another file. “McDune. Married six years. Erin went to live in Dublin temporarily to take care of her mother who became depressed after the death of her father. Divorced Liam for a guy who looks like a leprechaun because she found her soul mate back in the motherland. So much for long distance to nurse your mother’s soul.”

Drew reached down to the bottom cabinet and opened it. This time, I stopped him. “Should you even be telling me any of this? Ever hear of attorney-client privilege?”

“I changed the names to protect the not-so-fucking-innocent. Believe it or not, unlike my clients’ spouses, I have some ethics.” He pointed to the cabinet. “Want to hear more? I think you’ll really like Lieutenant O’Connor’s story. It’s a real tearjerker. Wife was screwing his brother while he was off in Iraq and she—”

I cut him off again. “I get your point. But what you’re missing is that maybe these divorces wouldn’t have happened if the couples had sought counseling. You see people when they’re at their worst—people who gave up instead of fighting for their marriage.”

Drew stared at me. “You really believe all marriages can be saved?”

I thought about the question for a minute before answering. “Not all. But I think most can be saved, yes. Opening the lines of communication can fix a lot of things.”

Drew shook his head. “That’s naïve. I also have some real estate on Park Avenue you can rent for two grand a month.”

“Screw you,” I hissed and stormed back to my office.

I kept my office door shut the rest of the afternoon. A knock that came at almost seven p.m. startled me as I worked on transcribing my chicken-scratch notes from today’s counseling sessions. I kept an e-case file for each patient.

“Come in.”

The door opened, but only slightly, just enough to fit an arm through. Which is exactly what appeared. Drew’s arm, waving something white around.

What is he waving? Are those…underwear?

I’d been carrying around a full load of angry all afternoon after our heated argument, and it was starting to weigh me down. His gesture brought some much-needed levity.

“Come in,” I said again.

He pushed the door open a few more inches. This time his head joined his white-flag-waving arm. “You’re not still pissed and planning to use your mad Krav Maga skills on me, are you?”

I laughed. “I should. You deserve a good ass-whipping. But I’ll hold back.”

Drew smiled and opened the door the rest of the way, staying in the doorway. “I guess I owe you an apology for some things I said today?”

I sat back in my chair. “You do.”

He hung his head. The action reminded me of a little boy who’d given his dog a bath—in red paint. It was cute. He was cute. But I was going to make him grovel anyway. His head was still slightly bowed as he looked up at me from beneath his dark lashes. “I’m sorry for today.”

“What exactly are you sorry for?”

He dropped his head back down. “You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Fine. I’m sorry for calling you naïve.”

“Anything else?”

I watched his face as the wheels spun in his head. “For listening to your conversation with your client.”

“Is that it?”

“Is there supposed to be more?” He looked a little nervous for a second.

“There’s more.”

After thirty more seconds of thought, he snapped his fingers as if he was proud of himself. “I’m sorry for looking at your ass.”

My brows drew down. “When did you look at my ass?”

He shrugged. “Every chance I get?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Apology accepted.”

His shoulders dropped a bit and he looked relieved. The man had a tough exterior. But sometimes the ones who’d had it rough wore the thickest armor.

“How about I buy you a burger at Joey’s for dinner to make it up to you?” He winked. “I’ll buy the biggest one they have so you can get real full and take your skirt off for me again.”

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