Sin With Me

15

This is one of the reasons I chose the career I have. I couldn’t help myself. There was no cure for what ailed me, so I wanted to help others who might be going through something similar. I understand what drives people to stay in relationships long after the love is gone. I know why they accept less than they deserve, and put up with too much s**t, and suffer for years rather than get out.

Because loneliness can kill you.

And even if it doesn’t kill you physically—which it certainly can, disease of the psyche often leads to disease of the flesh—it can kill your soul.

Which, in all the ways that count, is actually worse.

Just ask me.

I pad in my bare feet into the kitchen, flip on the overhead light, pull a frozen dinner from the freezer, heat it up in the microwave, and eat it right out of the plastic tray, standing over the sink. Then I go to my bedroom. I wash my face, brush my teeth, get undressed, and get into bed. I watch television for as long as I can keep my eyes open, switching between late-night talk shows and old movies. Finally at 3:00 a.m. when I can no longer fight sleep, I turn off the TV.

Then, staring up at the ceiling with my hands clenched to fists at my sides, I wait for the darkness to take me.

At one o’clock the next afternoon, I’m eating a salad at my desk in my office when the phone rings. I pick it up, say, “Grace Stanton speaking,” and laugh when the response comes, sharp as a tack.

“The Grace Stanton, marriage therapist to the stars, ultimate commitment-phobe and dedicated dickaholic?”

“Dickaholic?” I repeat, grinning. “That’s a new one, Kat. Bonus points for creativity.”

“It was either that or ‘c**k-gobbling meretrix.’” “Meretrix? Have you been reading the dictionary again?”

“Aha!” she crows, pleased. “You don’t know what the word means, do you, Ms. PhD from Stanford University?”

I look at the ceiling and sigh. “A meretrix was a registered prostitute in ancient Rome.”

In my mind I see her on the other end of the line, sticking out her tongue and flipping me the bird. “I’m gonna get you one of these times.”

“In your dreams, princess. And thanks for the compliment, by the way. It’s so wonderful to have friends who ring you at work just to call you a whore.”

“You’re not a w***e,” comes the immediate response. “You just like d**k more than any person I’ve ever met.”

I smile. “So technically I’m a slut.”

She protests, “If you were a man we wouldn’t even be having this conversation!”

“Hey, you started it.”

“That’s not why I’m calling anyway,” she says, changing the subject. “I just wanted to let you know that Chloe was released from the hospital late last night.”

I stuff a bite of salad into my mouth and say between chews, “I know. I called this morning and they said she’d checked out.”

“So d’you want to go visit her after work tonight?”

“Tonight? You don’t think we should give her a few days to settle in, spend time alone with A.J. and the baby?”

Kat snorts. “Whose idea do you think it was that we come over? A.J. has already texted me like ten times trying to find out how soon we can be there. He’s dying to show that baby off to whoever he can. I think he’s dragging people in off the street!”

“I didn’t get any texts from him,” I say, surprised.

There’s a short pause. Then Kat says, “You might be the only person on earth he’s afraid of.”

“Oh please! That man isn’t afraid of anything!”

Kat’s response is wry. “I hate to break it to you, Ice Queen, but you have no idea how intimidating you can be. I know a few mobsters who’d s**t their pants if they had to go up against you.”

Ice Queen? I’m not sure whether to be insulted or pleased, so I settle on neutral. Even if it does sting a little. “Well, good. It’s better to be feared than loved.”

This time the pause is longer. Softly, Kat asks, “Is it?”

Oh shiznits. Here comes the lecture.

“I can’t tonight anyway. I’ve got plans with Marcus. How about tomorrow?”

“You have plans with Marcus? That’s like twice this week, right? And you said you had another date with him this coming Saturday?”

I hear the hope in her voice, close my eyes, and pinch the bridge of my nose. It’s hard having two best friends who so completely, utterly, and unreservedly believe in true love.

Not everyone gets the happily-ever-after.

“Kat. Please don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she asks, sounding hurt.

“You know what.”

“Wanting you to be happy? Why is that so bad?”

“I am happy. We don’t all need the white picket fence!”

It comes out harsher than I expected. I hear it in the silence that follows, in her offended little huff, so I backtrack. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with the white picket fence. It’s just not for me, that’s all. You know that. It’s how I’m built.”

“It’s how you choose to be built,” she shoots back.

“I’m not fighting with you about this,” I say firmly. “And I’m not defending my personal choices about my love life, either. Do you want to go together to Chloe’s tomorrow night or not?”

After a tense pause in which I count every tick of the clock on the wall, Kat sighs. “You drive me to drink, girlfriend.”

“Don’t blame your chronic alcohol problem on me, dear.”