Aftertaste - Meredith Mileti [76]
If “proud” was code for stubborn, then Richard was right. Which means I’m more than a little troubled by the thought that I have been so predictably vulnerable to his obvious use of reverse psychology. At least I can take some small comfort in the knowledge that Dr. Dobransky-Pullman isn’t really a psychotherapist. She’s a life coach. A life coach sounds to me like someone who might not focus too closely on past events, but who might be a sort of paid cheerleader, helping to get you back on the path you had somehow wandered away from. Less embarrassing somehow, like a personal trainer or a makeup artist.
I’m on my way out the back door when I see the note left on the kitchen table in Fiona’s loopy hand. Took Chloe to Gymboree. Back for nap time! Fi. I know I should leave a note, but I don’t because I’m still stinging from Richard’s comments and my father’s failure to muster even a pathetic defense of his only child. Let them wonder where I am.
Dr. Dobransky-Pullman’s office is in the Highland Towers apartment complex. There is no receptionist to greet me when I arrive, just a large, windowless waiting room with a beige linen sofa, a brass and glass coffee table, and a couple of simple, but expensively framed, lithographs on the wall. There is a door at one end, which I presume leads to her office. I’m alone in the waiting room. I take a seat on the sofa, and nervously leaf through a copy of People magazine while silently rehearsing what I might say about my life and what has brought me here.
At precisely two o’clock, the door opens, and a tall, beautifully dressed woman emerges, carrying a clipboard and wafting some sort of expensive scent. “Mira? I’m Dr. Dobransky-Pullman. Before we get started, would you mind filling out a short questionnaire?”
It’s technically a question, but she delivers it like a statement.
She hands me the clipboard, flashes me a saccharine smile, and, without waiting for me to answer, returns to her office, shutting the door behind her.
In addition to requiring the usual contact information, the form also includes several questions about my behavior and mental state over the last six months. “Six months” is written in italics, so for some reason this must be important.
Are you currently experiencing any sexual difficulties? It’s been so long, how would I know? Mark that a “no.”
Have you ever been a victim of domestic violence? Ha! Domestic violence, yes, but I hadn’t exactly been the victim. “No” again.
Did you ever feel as if your emotions were out of control (e.g., do you ever have trouble managing your anger or do you ever find yourself crying for no particular reason)? “Out of control,” I decide after several minutes of deliberation, is a relative term. Sure, I’ve lost my temper a bunch of times in the last six months, who hasn’t? But I don’t necessarily think I was out of control. On the other hand, some might consider having to be handcuffed and hauled away in a police cruiser evidence of, if not a total loss of control, at least a significantly diminished capacity for it. However, when I mentally calculate how long it’s been since the attack on Nicola I’m relieved to find it falls just outside the six-month window. “No” again.
Do you ever think of harming yourself or others? I haven’t ever really considered doing myself any harm, and it has been a few weeks, practically months, since I harbored any serious violent feelings toward Jake or Nicola. Good enough. “No” again. Skimming the rest of the questions, I check off the rest of the “no” boxes and flip to the other side of the form. On the reverse side there are four questions, each separated by a large expanse of white paper.
1. Why did you choose a life coach?
2. What areas of your life do you feel most need to be improved?
3. What is the source of your greatest disappointment?
4. What is the single thing you want most in life?
In response to the first one I write: I have recently made some significant changes in my life, and I would like some help in deciding where to go from here. Good—short and to the point. For the