Fat Chance (9 page)

"-- And don't weigh."

Crap.

"Don't weigh?" I ask.

"Nope. Then there is no risk of seeing a loss and riding an emotional high that you can be knocked down from. And no risk of seeing a gain that will send you into a depression that will make you vulnerable to any comments he might make. You are not a number, Cassaundra."

"I know," I say. "Still, I really am so affected by my weight. And it's like you just said; when I'm losing, even a few ounces, I'm so high, some days I'm giddy with it. Other days, I've gained just slightly, and I am so sad that I'm a little ill. I hate it. But weekly weighing has helped me some. The first week was really hard, but it has gotten better. I don't catch myself thinking of it as often now, unless some clothes are tighter or looser than I remembered."

"It's nice, huh?"

"It really is," I say, and I mean it completely.

"Good. Because no woman should ever judge herself by the number on a scale, a tag, or a measuring tape. You are so much more than that, and I can't wait until you can see what I see."

"So I just had to tell you guys about it, because it looks like I'll be going for a little while. And it's not something I want to keep keeping from everyone," I say. I'm on the usual conference call with my sisters, lounging on my couch, and I've just told them about being in therapy. I've told them why I'm in therapy, how low I really got and how much it scared me.

They've listened quietly, just like I asked them to, which means I had enough time to reassure them and tell them how much I think I've grown, and how much the doctor's new strategies are helping me. For a minute or so, the line is silent, and I hold my cell phone out, waiting for it to light up so I can check the screen. The call timer is still going, and I haven't accidentally muted the call; I wait, lying back against an old purple throw pillow that Janet gave me as a housewarming gift.

"Oh my goodness, Cass!" Renee finally exclaims, and her voice is wobbly. "I can't believe it was that bad. Oh my goodness, why didn't you tell me, honey?"

"Me too," Chelsea says, but she's quiet and I can tell that I've hurt her. In telling them the truth now, I've clued them in to the fact that I felt I couldn't tell them certain things before.

"I'm sorry, you guys. I just, I don't know. I just have been unhappy about things for a long time, and I felt like you guys wouldn't get it because you guys haven't been through this kind of thing before. And I haven't told Janet, so please, don't tell her either okay? I just don't want her to know at all. I think it would hurt her, to feel like --"

"Like we do?"

"Aww, Chels. I’m sorry, I just felt like I couldn't tell anyone. Not anyone." Yanking the pillow from under my head, I press it to my face to muffle a groan as Renee chips in.

"Obviously," she says. She's upset with me for upsetting Chelsea, who tends to be more fragile. Like me. And now, I'm wishing I hadn't told them at all. I'm pretty sure I don't want to hear their reactions to the rest of what I wanted to tell them, and I wonder briefly if I have any alcohol in the kitchen.

"Well, if you guys can hold off on being mad at me for a while, I can tell you how it gets worse."

"Oh my goodness," Renee mutters.

Simultaneously, Chelsea says, “Oh God, worse?"

Standing up, I resituate my twisted shirt, and walk into the kitchen. "Yeah, it gets worse. I think I'm kind of attracted to him. And I think maybe it's not one-sided."

"You need a new therapist," Renee says, and she's speaking seriously. "I went into therapy after dad died, for a little while, and it was just really hard, letting out everything that I was feeling. I can't imagine how the dynamic would have been changed if there had been any sort of chemistry between me and my doctor."

Now I see why she wasn't mad at me. She gets it; this isn't news to her because she's been there before, though it is the first time any of us have heard that Renee was in therapy. Still, that doesn't stop me from pouring a splash of vodka into a glass and topping it off with orange juice. I give it a swirl with my finger and take a sip.

"Wow, guys. I'm kind of feeling on the outside of the loop here." Chelsea's usual cheer seems to be going downhill a bit, hearing that Renee has kept a little secret too.

"Chelsea," Renee says, "it isn't you, you know that. I share everything with you; for goodness' sake, we're twins. And you know Cassaundra tells you everything too. It's just that therapy is, well, it's different."

"Maybe I need therapy," Chelsea mutters, sarcasm letting us know that even though she understands, she isn't quite happy about us keeping things from each other. Renee laughs, and the conversation moves back to me getting hot and bothered whenever I'm in the office with sexy Mackenzie Caswell.

"You know, what if it's just transference?" Renee asks. She's being gentle about it, but I have a feeling I'm not going to really like her question. "This sort of thing can lead to a lot of regrets, Cass. On both sides." And now I'm really glad I've made myself a drink. Taking another sip from the glass, I leave it on the counter and start unloading the few dishes in the dishwasher.

"What's transference?" I ask dryly.

"That's when you can fall in love with your doctor because he's a great caretaker or something. Or you know, like your therapist, because he's a good listener," Renee explains.

"Well, I'm sure it doesn't help that he's apparently hot," Chelsea laughs. "I've never known Cass to talk about a guy like that before."

"Well, he's definitely hot," I laugh, stacking the last plate in the cabinet with one hand while trying not to drop the phone. "He's really tall, and he's built. So he makes me feel small, and I like that. He has these broad shoulders, and his hair is short, and his eyes --" I've gone dreamy, so Renee has to step in quick, before I can get myself into trouble.

"Looks like his eyes are putting him in danger to me," she says as I snatch my glass from the counter and head back to the living room.

"What?" I sink into the couch, setting my drink on the end table waiting for Renee to answer me.

"Duh, Cass, you don't know this?" Chelsea asks. "It's kind of illegal for a therapist to mess with a patient. He'd lose his job, his practice, his license."

"Oh, wow."

"Well, not really illegal. Like, he wouldn't go to prison or anything. But he'd lose his license for unethical conduct. So, you need a new therapist. A female," Renee says, and her tone is stern, like I'm six and she's my forty-year-old aunt.

"No I don't," I laugh. There's a Sudoku book on the coffee table in front of me, with only a few simple puzzles left to do. I lift the book and open it, still talking. "I can deal with the attraction, and if it's transference, it'll maybe wear off. But really, aside from being attracted to him, he fits as my therapist. He makes me laugh even when I'm being serious, which helps me to keep moving forward. And it does make it easier to keep talking. I think he's a little unconventional, but he's helping me, and I'm not willing to let go of that just because he's nice to look at."

"Well, if you have to keep him, there is another strategy for keeping him out of the unemployment line," Chelsea says, and now she's playful. I'm glad she isn't angry anymore; I hate it when she's mad at me.

"Okay, like what?" My pen is frozen, because part of me knows where this conversation is going. Tossing the pen and the book back to the table, I drop over onto the couch, stretching my legs until my feet hang over the side.

"Distraction," she sings out, laughing. "Let me set you up. I know this guy from work, and --"

"Uh, no." I shut her down before she has a chance to say much of anything. I'm pretty sure I don't want some guy who has to be set up with a woman because he can't approach women on his own. And I am definitely sure that I'm not the type of woman who's willing to be set up with any guy.

"I'm not doing the whole blind date thing, Chelsea. I just don't have that in me; I want someone who wants me enough to ask me to be with him. I want that classic dinner date, not because my sister arranged it for me, but because some guy wants to hold my hands across the table, and he won't care if I order steak instead of salad."

"Oh come on, Cass," Renee chimes in. "I know a guy too, and he's really sweet."

"Mmhmm," I answer. Rolling my eyes, I catch sight of a stray bra lying on the floor. Jeez, that thing is huge. "Is that why your Mr. Perfect doesn't already have a girl? Thanks, you two, and I love you both for all this, but I'll meet a guy when I'm supposed to meet a guy, I guess. You've definitely convinced me to stay away from the doctor as anything other than a patient, though. You're probably right about it costing him his license. And I can't cost him his entire career, even if the attraction does go both ways. I'm just not that person."

"Well, it's not even just the license. I mean, obviously, he's a bright guy, he could go to school for something else, and maybe he might like a career change," Chelsea laughs. "But imagine the reputation he'd have in the professional world, after something like that."

"Yeah, and I can't do that to anyone. I wouldn't even do that to someone I don't like."

We spend another hour or so with my sisters trying desperately to convince me that I need a date, and me desperately trying to fight them off. Eventually, I win, and I'm able to convince them that when the time is right for me, the relationship thing will happen.

I may have won that one, but the celebration is short and I totally lose another fight. By the end of the call, Renee has her consolation prize; she's gone online and registered me to attend her yoga class with her. And it gets worse; they've teamed up and bullied until I've agreed to go yoga clothes shopping with Chelsea.

I'm pretty sure I'm really going to need therapy after that. But now, I can talk to my doctor as only a patient, for real, because he's a genuinely nice guy, because I do like him as a person. Not just because he's cute, but because he's a good guy. I refuse to cross that line now, realizing what it would do to him as a professional. Plenty of other fish in the sea, right?

I wish I hadn't agreed to go. All morning, while I was getting ready, I doubted myself, and I doubted the things I've learned from Dr. Caswell. I was so upset that I couldn't remember the quote for the day, so I wrote a list of good quotes from the book he gave me. It's folded up right now, tucked safely --
or lost desperately
-- between the fabric of my dress and the fabric of the new bra I had to buy.

After writing the list, I searched that book, reading page after page in an effort to find a quote that really stood out to me, one that spoke to me. I looked, especially, for one that was short enough to be remembered in a crisis. And right now, driving in my car and halfway through the hour-long drive home, I'm in a personal crisis.

"With confidence, you have won before you have started," I say to myself, mentally thanking Marcus Garvey for being a wise, wise man. I have heard so many times from Janet and my sisters that Rick has grown, and that he has changed, but I can't help remembering the Rick that I grew up with. I remember a vicious boy, a boy I feared emotionally, a boy who held great, great power over me in some very important formative years.

Then, I remember Dr. Caswell, telling me that it's time to take back my power. I almost didn't make it to this moment; I almost changed my mind and backed out of the reunion. Last night, I called the emergency number that Dr. Caswell gave me, and when he answered, I broke down and told him I wasn't strong enough, that I couldn't do it. But he said I am strong, and that I will never grow if I am too afraid to move forward, if I am too afraid to challenge myself.

Because of his encouragement, I'm here. I'm in the flirty red dress that I bought with Chelsea, and I'm wearing little black boots that make me feel taller and a little more svelte. If I don't think about Rick, I feel pretty, and honestly, that just feels so good. This is the feeling I need to hold onto, and in an effort to do that, I reach over and push play on my personal confidence song list.