Fat Chance (24 page)

"And what do I do with that, considering that I feel he will walk away from me anyway?" I ask. It saddens me more, when my sisters don't have answers to offer me.

"Give him a shot, Cass," Chelsea says. "We just talked about this in the beginning of the whole thing, remember? You never know if you don't try?"

"We need to do something about Rick, though, too," Renee says. "How can we expect her to move on beyond the issues with Rick if he's still keeping it all going?"

"You guys want to confront him with me? Because I'm coming back at him, but I'm getting nowhere, and he's just worse and worse every time I see him," I whisper.

"We need to do something, Cass, this is moving into full on harassment," Renee says. "Let me talk to mom, and I can set something up, okay?"

"Okay," I sigh. I really don't want to do the whole family intervention thing, but somehow, I need to stop the attacks from Rick. He's ruining my life, and I can't take it anymore. "But let me talk to Dr. Caswell first, okay?"

"Okay," Renee agrees, and I curl up in the bed, dreading what's to come.

"But you need to think about Drew, too," Chelsea says. "It isn't right to punish him over Rick, and it sounds like he misses you. Maybe you should talk to him."

"I don't know," I mutter. "I just don't know."

"Boy, have I got a lot to tell you," I say, plopping down on the couch with a sigh. Dr. Caswell's eyes widen in surprise; until just now, I've always let him guide our therapy sessions wherever he felt they needed to go. But I've only got a short time with him, and I really do have a lot to tell him.

"Alright then," he says, pressing the button on his recorder. "Go on." He smiles encouragingly, and his dimples flicker into place in his cheeks.

"I don't even know where to start. I told you I've been going to yoga, you know about the promotion at my job, and of course, you know all about the confrontation between Jackson and me, and the one between me and Claire and Kayla. So I guess I'll start with Rick."

"Still have the issues under control?" Dr. Caswell asks.

"Um, not quite," I mutter. "Things between Drew and I were getting really great, and he asked me home to meet his family. I was really insecure about the whole thing because of the issues with Rick and how things happened between us, so I told Drew I needed time to think."

"And how did he take that?"

"Actually, he took it well," I say, smiling to myself. "He was very patient about it, because I'd told him everything, all the history between Rick and me. Or at least, the major points, you know?"

"Of course." He leans forward in his chair, propping his chin in his hands, his most adorable gesture of attentiveness. "So, how does Rick play into all of this?"

"I saw him, the other day. At the mall. And ever since I've been dating Drew, Rick has been extra horrible to me. Drew says he is lashing out because he's angry, what do you think of that?"

"Well, I think Drew is a bright guy, Cass. A good guy. I don't know Rick, but what I hear sounds like maybe Drew is onto something. But what is all this leading to?"

"Well ... I kind of broke up with Drew."

"Why?"

"Because of Rick," I mutter, sheepishly. Catching the look he gives me, I correct myself. "Because of my stupid insecurity. Some of the things Rick said to me had a really strong effect on me, and I just broke down."

"And?" he asks. He leans back and crosses his arms, waiting curiously for me to answer.

Sighing, I give the answer he's taught me to think of on my own. "I let someone else get the best of me."

"And?" he asks again. I roll my eyes; it makes him laugh when I'm exasperated with myself.

"And I gave up my personal power. Again. And I let it affect my decision-making skills."

"Because?" he asks. When he first used this line of questioning with me, I remember being so furious, because I'd thought he was mocking me. It took me a good long argument to get to the bottom of why he does this; he wants me to realize my behaviors on my own, without needing him to point them out to me.

"Because I reacted emotionally, immediately, without thinking it through first," I sigh.

"When did you break up with Drew?"

"Right after I saw Rick. I don't even think it had been twenty minutes, and I was just a mess over the things Rick said to me."

"Do you want to tell me what he said?" Dr. Caswell asks.

In my memory, Ricks twisted face rises up, crimson and furious, the red lace negligee clutched in his hands.

"Not really," I mutter, shrinking into the couch, wishing I could shrink into myself.

"That's okay," Dr. Caswell says gently. "How do you feel now? About the break-up with Drew?"

"Honestly?" I ask, laughing when Dr. Caswell spreads his hands, raising his eyebrows at me with a grin.

"Well, this is a psychotherapy office," he laughs. "Generally, you receive the best therapy by being fully honest with both of us, but I'll settle for you being fully honest with yourself."

"I feel like an idiot," I whisper. "And I miss him."

"What was his reaction to you, after the break-up?" he asks, propping one ankle on the opposite knee, his hands casually in his lap. He's watching me, waiting for me to realize something he seems to know already.

"He was sweet. He's still sweet. He calls me, and when I don't answer, he leaves voicemails, and he's asking me to please call him back to talk. He came to my apartment one day too, not to bother me, but to let me know he misses me. He did it when he knew I'd be at work."

"He did what?" At this, Dr. Caswell's eyebrow has lifted rather dramatically.

"He left flowers at my door, and a card. Just telling me he misses me."

"That's nice," he says.

"I thought so," I whisper.

"Do you regret breaking up with him?" he asks, placing both feet on the floor so that he can lean toward me and watch me.

"Of course I do." Picking through the fringes of the throw pillow in my lap, I wish I could turn everything back, that I could ignore Rick, that I hadn't called Drew. "Too bad time travel isn't an option."

"Why do you need time travel, Cass?" he asks. "You don't have to go back in time to take it back. From the sounds of it, all you need to do to erase it all, is pick up the phone."

"I think the worst part of that, is knowing that you're right, and still being too scared to do anything about it." I hug the pillow tighter to myself.

"Why?"

"Because I guess there's still a part of me that believes Rick," I sigh.

Rising from his chair, Dr. Caswell comes over to sit beside me. "Isn't there a part of you that doesn't? Even just a little whisper in your mind that says he's wrong?"

"There is," I answer, looking over at him.

"Choose which one to follow," he says gently. "Native Americans once had a tale about good and evil, about the two sides of our spirits. The two sides are expressed as wolves; one is vicious, snarling and snapping, drooling and scratching and cruel. The other is much like a dog, kind and loyal, affectionate to a fault, and at all costs."

"Who wins in the tale? Which wolf is the alpha?" I ask, terrified of what he will tell me.'

"The answer is individual to each of us," he says, smiling. "The wolf who wins is the stronger one. The bigger one. The one with the most power. The wolf who wins in your spirit, is the one you choose to feed."

"And I've been putting the hot dogs outside, haven't I? With the vicious beast waiting to kill me?" I ask. His putting my life into a metaphor like that really gives me a new perspective, and now I really feel terrible about Drew. He isn't supposed to be part of the story, and I know that the two wolves are my own personal aspects of my personality. But I can't deny that Rick has been feeding the bad dog, and Drew has been lovingly nurturing the good one.

"I really have been giving up my power over myself," I whisper. I'd heard him tell me so many times that I needed to reclaim myself as my own, but seeing it in a fresh way, applying it to the metaphor, gave me an entirely new perspective.

"What can you do to get it back?" Dr. Caswell asks, smiling, gently urging me to my own conclusions.

"I think at this point, confronting Rick on my own just isn't working. The more I fight back, the more vicious he is, the more angry. And eventually, he'll find little ways to take me down. I think the only way I can, sort of beat him, on my own, is to just disconnect."

"But?" he urges.

"But that's not what I want, you know? I don't want to be one of those bitter, emotionally numb people. I want authentic reaction to the world and the people around me. I want to be ... human," I say, watching his eyes to see if I'm explaining adequately.

He nods; he gets it! "And how do you achieve this?" he asks. "How do you best a vicious dog, if you are unable to win alone?"

"I need a weapon," I joke, and he laughs, shaking his head.

"I'm not sure that's the right answer," he says, wiping his eyes.

"I need help, though, don’t I?" I ask, thinking of my sisters' offer to confront Rick with me.

"Now there's an idea," Dr. Caswell nods, steepling his fingers under his chin. "When a dog is in a fight with another dog, and it becomes clear that one dog is going to live and the other is going to die, one dog is at an advantage if he is part of a loyal pack. Isn't he?"

"I suppose he is. You know, I talked to my sisters about all of this the other day," I say.

"And what did they say?" he asks.

"They offered to help me," I smile.

"And that's exactly what you need," he grins, touching my hand before he stands. Our session is over, but as always, I feel lighter in his presence. My mind is clearer now, and I know exactly what I need to do.

I've been running off and on for twenty minutes, down the path in a local park. I started out walking, but just like Stephanie said, eventually my body whispered that it was time.

"Run,"
my feet whispered.
"Run."

I walked a little faster, easing into a light jog, faster and faster until my ponytail was bouncing crazily behind me, and I'd ceased to care what my butt was doing. With a front closing sport bra that's way too small, I'm able to run without too much breast pain.

However, my personal hygiene has reached a state that the yoga girls all refer to as "fat nasty." My hair is soaked, my eyes are burning, and I'm pretty sure my thighs are about to catch my brand new running pants on fire from the friction. I'm also pretty sure if I wasn't wearing dark black pants, I'd look like I'd peed myself. Even my hands are sweating.

But I love it; I can feel the blood rushing through me, the heat radiating out of my body. I feel healthy, I feel tough, and I feel fit. For a while, I feel thin.

Until I round a corner on the path and see Drew running toward me. He looks amazing, shining with the sweat of his run, his steps long and even. He's beautiful and strong, muttering to himself as he tromps along.

He catches sight of me and his step catches; he increases his speed, but only slightly. Any stranger might think he's just realized he's running out of time, but I know he's running to me, so I stop and step off the path. There's a bench right next to me, but I choose the ground and drop to the grass under the shade of a tree.