The Difference Page 2

  Harrison cuddles up next to me on the blanket as I open my book. My favorite throw is a ballet pink one that’s as soft as a baby’s blanket. I’m constantly running my fingers over it when I wind down on the couch. I have no idea what the fuzzy material is, but it’s remarkable. It makes me feel safe. Can I be wrapped up in it forever?

  I find myself thinking about my grandpa more every day so it’s no surprise that the book I’m reading is set in Italy. My dream is to visit Genoa and walk the same streets he did before moving to the States. The book falls into my lap and I stare out the window, my mind drifting into a daydream about my grandfather. His Italian accent never left him and I can hear him calling my name right now in his sweet voice. What I wouldn’t give for him to be alive, to embrace him in a hug, to tell him about my life, and to ask him the million questions that have arisen since his death fourteen years ago. I know I was lucky he lived until age ninety-six, but it wasn’t long enough. It never would be. And, his lips were sealed about his immigrant past and how our family ended up in Philly. When he died, a part of me died with him, along with the chance to know anything about his youth. It bugs me more as the years go by.

  Before I know it, Brian’s walking through the front door.

  “Hey, stranger.” I push myself to get up and give him a hug, blinking to orient myself.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  “I’m reading that book I started last week.” Or daydreaming and missing my grandpa. “How was your dinner?”

  “It was okay. I don’t know if we’re any closer to closing the deal.” Brian grabs a water bottle from the fridge and sits on a bar stool at the counter. “I just wish these guys would decide what direction they want us to go. They keep changing their minds so we have to redo the entire campaign every time. Either they don’t understand that, or they don’t care.”

  “I’m so sorry it was a rough day for you. I hope they get their acts together soon.” I walk over and lean on the counter next to him.

  He lets out a sigh. “Yeah, me too.”

  “Want to watch some TV before we head to bed?”

  He stands up and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “No. I just need to go to sleep.”

  My shoulders fall and I step away. “Oh. Okay.”

  “Night.” He walks into our bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

  A new record has been set. Less than two minutes together. I don’t think I can feel more alone than I do right now.

  Chapter 2

  “Good morning, sleepy head. I left a little coffee in the pot for you.” Brian, the king of pep, walks into the bedroom, fixing his tie.

  I ease open my eyes while still buried in the comforter. My voice cracks out a noise meant to show my appreciation. I am so not a morning person.

  “Hey, I was thinking that maybe we can go out for dinner tonight.” Brian lifts his eyebrows as he waits for me to respond. After a few seconds, he exhales, as if he was holding his breath. “I feel like we haven’t spent much time together recently. I shouldn’t have to work late.”

  Did we just end up on the same page here or am I still asleep? “Um, sure. That would be great.” I crawl deeper into the covers, thinking about his quick escape last night. “Call me later and we can figure out the details.”

  He kisses me goodbye in a solid lip lock and I feel a hint of hope rising inside of me, overtaking the dash of anxiety and sprinkle of confusion from a moment earlier. Maybe we still have something worth saving. Will an engagement be in my reality soon?

  “Love you. Talk to you later.”

  “Love you too,” he calls out right before the door shuts.

  The alarm rings and I slap it. There’s that horrid sound. Thank God today is Friday. I have been dragging all week and need a weekend at home to recuperate.

  Harrison is snuggled against my blanket-covered feet but the smell of coffee wafting in from the kitchen makes it a little easier to crawl out of the warm bed.

  One of the reasons we chose to live in our apartment was that it is ridiculously close to my practice, for New York standards. Brian usually takes the train to his office. Most days, I can’t take the chaos of the subway. Stop touching me, strange man. Hello there, kid who doesn’t notice me trying to get by because he’s listening to music and looking at his phone. Argh! Even on the coldest of days, I’d much rather walk to get away from that mess.

  When I enter the waiting room of our practice, I learn that Annabelle’s first client didn’t show up for her appointment, since her office door is wide open. Good, we have a few minutes to catch up.

  I stop at her door before unlocking my mine. “Hey there.”

  She looks up and smiles. “Well, hey there to you too.” She pushes one of the stacks of files on her desk into another mountain so she can lean on her hand.

  “I seriously do not understand how you stay organized.” I shake my head.

  She looks at the various piles and knick-knacks around her room. “It’s a whole system. There’s a method to my madness.”

  We both smile. Her neon orange dress glows amidst her whimsical furniture.

  “I need to ask you about a new psychiatrist in Chelsea while you have a sec.”

  “Sure, shoot.” She examines her hot pink nails then looks back at me.

  “Have you referred anyone to Dr. Schmidt? I heard he works with kids who have substance concerns as well as adults.”

  “Nobody yet, but I can ask around if you want.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I have someone who needs to transfer to a doctor who’s a better fit for their needs. Let me know.”

  I’m glad to have a quick conversation. It’s few and far between for us some weeks. Connection with anyone right now is welcomed, yet difficult. Ugh. I lean on the door frame and loosen my arm so my tote reaches the floor and lessens the weight on me.

  “Did you see that Bradley Cooper movie? I saw it last night,” she says.

  I wonder if she’s trying to churn up some energy for me by changing the subject to a mutual celeb crush. “Nope. Not yet of course. That would require me leaving my apartment.”

  “And being up to date on the pop culture scene.” Annabelle sometimes snorts when she laughs and this is one of those times.

  I shake my head again. “Oh, Annabelle. Catch me about five years after something is cool. That’s my sweet spot.”

  “Don’t I know it. So, what’s your day look like?” She glances at her computer.

  “From what I remember, it seems pretty easy today.”

  “Never say that!” She waves her finger as she turns to face me. “You know as soon as you say that, you’ll be stuck here until seven dealing with an involuntary hospitalization or something.”

  I chuckle and hold my hands up. “Okay, I won’t say that again. Let me rephrase. I have some cases that don’t appear as intense as usual, which is perfect for a Friday. Is that acceptable?”

  “Better. Do you have any plans for the weekend?” She smiles and adjusts her sparkly silver headband.

  “Brian wants to go out for dinner tonight. What about you? Any married people things you are doing?” I giggle, while motioning for her to come with me to unlock my office. I have to turn away or she’ll see my eyes give more away than I’d like. I’m not being genuine in laughing; I’m dying inside. What I wouldn’t give to look as Barbie-like as her and have the most fabulous relationship ever.

  We enter my room and she makes herself comfortable on my couch as I drop my tote and lunch on my organized desk. Annabelle answers, “Peter and I will be going to Connecticut for the weekend. Another couple rented a house with us on the beach.”

  “That sounds like fun. It must be beautiful.” I hear her continue, but also can’t fight my mind wandering to my relationship because of her storybook married weekend. They sound so happy, so in sync. How I would love to have that kind of relationship with Brian. W
ill I ever?

  Before I dive deeper into my comparisons or miss anything she’s saying, my office phone rings. Saved by the bell. Annabelle looks at me with eyes questioning if I’ll answer. “I think I will let it go to voicemail. It’s a horrible practice of mine, I know, but I can’t deal with any issues this early in the morning. I like to be prepared and not be taken off guard by a random complex issue by phone.”

  “Yes, that’s my girl. Listen to the message and think of all possible responses.”

  “Ha, yeah pretty much. Sorry, Ann, I should get started.” I give an exaggerated frown. “Let’s talk later. Maybe we can grab a coffee this afternoon?”

  She gets up and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Love it. Have fun with analyzing that message.”

  I half smile. Looking back at my computer, I take a deep breath and try to gain energy for the day.

  Today ran like clockwork. Everyone was on time, parents were calm, and progress was made with every client. I imagine giving myself a pat on the back. But the triumph fades instantly when I reflect on the suggestions I made to clients today. They impacted me more than usual. I have been encouraging them to try to have difficult conversations with their families, yet I haven’t been practicing what I preach. I’m expecting this major change from kids when I’m an adult who doesn’t do it? What kind of a therapist am I if I can’t live the same way I try to help others live?

  As I amble home, I think that I need to somehow get up the courage to talk about the distance between Brian and me. It’s time. I have been thinking about it more often, but don’t want to face the conversation. I can’t keep doing the usual Rachel protocol with waiting for a miraculous change to happen to put passion back in our relationship. It didn’t work with past relationships and it won’t work now. I hate to ruin an enjoyable evening out tonight, but there is never a good time. It’s now or never.

  When we spoke on the phone, Brian said he would come home so we could go together to a surprise restaurant. Nice. So now I have no idea what to wear and he won’t give any hints. Gazing at my dressy options in my closet, I choose a little black dress with ample room for comfort. Throwing it on, I feel fancy, despite this mop of hair on my head. My standard black flats will match, so I retrieve them from the front door and slide them on my feet.

  A hint of nausea washes over me as I attempt to mentally prepare myself to talk to Brian about our relationship and the future. I pull my hair back into a low ponytail to air my neck and fan it with my hand. Maybe I should make a quick list to refer to if I forget certain points. I spot my trusty pad and paper for these occasions on the counter, scoop them up, and start brainstorming.

  Hmm. I bite the end of the pen. Once I start writing, the words flow.

  You are working too much.

  We used to be more affectionate.

  You used to say I look pretty more often and you haven’t said it much lately.

  Why don’t we go out together much anymore?

  Dating for 4 years so what about marriage? Do you ever even think about it?

  I cross off the last one. I don’t think I can ask that question. It’s not my goal, really. I want a solid relationship and if marriage happens, it happens. But still, what if? It would be nice.

  Maybe I will just keep the other points and let that huge question sit on my mind a while longer. It is a little too overwhelming. I don’t know.

  As I rip the paper from the notepad and slip the list into my purse, Brian walks through the door. Phew, good timing.

  “Hey, pretty lady.”

  “Hey.” My voice is an octave higher than usual.

  He walks to the kitchen and gives a peck on my lips. “I just need five minutes to get ready.”

  I stare at him as he walks to our bedroom. Speak, Rachel. Respond. But before I can open my mouth, he looks back with a raised eyebrow, which kicks me into gear. “Yeah. That sounds good. I’m ready.” I manage a smile.

  I grab my list and review it again. I can do this, right? Right. I can.

  True to his word, Brian is ready in just a few minutes. Tonight, he’s wearing a blue and yellow plaid button down shirt. I bought it for him a few Christmas’ ago and it’s my favorite. The blue in the shirt is a perfect complement to his eyes and the yellow highlights his dirty blonde hair. Paired with his jeans, it’s a striking look.

  Brian flashes his flawless white teeth and walks to the front door. “Ready?” He squeezes my shoulder and I notice his bulging bicep.

  I nod and grab my purse.

  Ready or not, here we go.

  We jump on the C to Greenwich Village, but I still have no idea where he is taking me. I am trying my best to enjoy the beautiful night, but heart palpitations and my mind’s bombardment with thoughts of the impending “talk” are overbearing. Also, the chaos of the subway is never my friend. I hope I don’t look as nervous as I feel.

  We arrive at a place we haven’t been to in years. It is a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant we love. They have the best beef burritos in the city. The key is they put just the right amount of cheese, onions, and red sauce spice in them. My mouth waters thinking about it. Two days in a row of Mexican food, my second favorite cuisine. Yum! Italian is my first love, of course.

  Just as we seat ourselves and I loop my purse strap on the back of the chair, I hear Brian call out, “Two margaritas, please.” I look up and see him signaling with two fingers to the waiter.

  I dip my head and whisper to him. “Jeez, can you be a little more polite?” I hate when he calls attention to us. I look around to see who’s staring. He knows I like to blend.

  “What do you mean? I said please.” He has a blank look on his face and I think he is clueless, not just acting clueless. My embarrassment doesn’t faze him, though. He’s never affected by what other people think of him, so it never seems to click in his head that not everyone has his confidence. It would be incredible to have that sense of freedom.

  “Nobody had a chance to come over yet, so give them a second.” I’m tense enough for tonight without thinking the waiter will spit in the food of his annoying new customers.

  “I’m sure he’ll recover. You gotta chill, Rachel.”

  If he only knew how much that is needed.

  After we order and start drinking those darn margaritas, I feel the alcohol taking off my edge. I can take some deeper breaths now and try to enjoy tonight. Well, as much as possible knowing what I have to face.

  “How’s that granola bar account at work?” I try to focus on any other topic.

  He licks his salty lips. “It’s goin’. Jake and I think we are winning over their brand manager with our mockups of kids diving into huge bowls of granola with flying breakfast bars around them. It’s ludicrous, but the feedback has been positive so far. Maybe some of your clients can be in the ads.” He squints his baby blues and grins.

  “Yeah, because that would be ethical. Oh, and not at all a breach of confidentiality.” I smile and take a sip of my liquid medicine.

  He reaches over the table and grabs my hands. His are warm and soft, as usual. I feel tingles in my fingertips, but my heart also jumps. I slowly look up from my bowed head.

  “This is nice, Rach.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad you suggested we go out together. It’s been a while.”

  “Too long.”

  Butterflies fill my stomach. My hands feel clammy. Before he can realize my sweat glands are gearing up, I let go. I hear a screaming internal voice telling me to talk about another subject, quick. Come on, think. Um…ooh okay, I have it.

  “So, you know how I finished reading the book set in Italy? Guess what I started reading about now.”

  “Oh, let me take one guess. There’s some kind of anniversary coming up, I think. I mean, somebody keeps telling me about a ship that sank or something like that.” He puts his index finger to his chin and crinkles
his mouth to the side, in an exaggerated thinking expression.

  “It’s only the biggest shipwreck in history, but whatever.” I roll my eyes and laugh.

  “Wait, is it called the Titanic? Nah, you don’t care about that. Your book has to be about something else.”

  “Wow, you guessed it. Gold star for you.” I throw the straw wrapper across the table at him.

  “I think I know you a little bit. The details you have told me can’t leave my mind at this point even if I wanted them to.”

  “Well, everyone should know them. How the hell could something man-made be unsinkable? What were they thinking? They weren’t prepared at all! Not enough lifeboats, crew not filling them enough with passengers, trying to make fast speed to America without—”

  “I know, Rachel.” He laughs. “I think I know everything there is to know without being a fan like you.”

  “I’m only a fan of the movie from the ‘90s. Who wouldn’t be with Leo starring in it? Duh. But I’m just fascinated with the history of the whole thing. I can’t be ‘a fan’ of a disaster. That’s sick.”

  “Oh, Leo. Oh, Jack.” Brian raises his voice to a high pitch, lifts his shoulders, and tilts his head to the side. He proceeds to make kissing sounds. “Oh, I love you!”

  “Stop.” I laugh. But, is Brian my Jack? Am I his Rose? Stop. I need to take my own advice. Don’t go there yet with thinking of us. Stay in the moment.

  “Here’s something I haven’t told you. I came up with a term for my condition.”

  “Your ‘condition?’ I’m listening.” He leans toward me like I’m about to disclose the winning lottery numbers.

  “I’ve determined I have TOD—Titanic Obsessive Disorder.”

  He bursts with a belly laugh. “What?”

  My eyes scan the room to see if his volume attracted any gawking. Good, it didn’t. “With all the centennial sinking documentaries and books out there that I’ve been engrossed in, I figure it makes sense. And, it makes us silly therapists laugh. Maggie just says she’s embarrassed for me, though.” I grin.