Chocolate Makes The Best Therapy

I should never have listened to my mother. I'm the worst therapist in this whole wanking city. Why am I even here? I wish I was swimming. It's been so gawdamn hot all week. Fuck am I itchy. 

In front of me sat my fourth client for the day, a petite woman with dark circles around her eyes. Or maybe it's just smudged makeup? Is this a goth thing? I don't get it. Her lips were pale and quivered with emotion; her hair touseled into a bun that didn't quite pull off "bohemian." It also tried but failed to match her dress, a brand new print that wished it was vintage. 

Probably from Anthropologie. Very chic. I bet she left the tags on, hanging somewhere under those delicious ruffles. I should get a dress like that - I love the ruffles. But my shoulders are too big for ruffles. I'd probably look like an enormous wedding cake. Fuck ruffles. Wait, did she just ask me something?

She was looking at me, expectantly. The sun slanted in through the enormous windows and lit her up like a movie star under the floodlights- which wasn't doing anything to help her raccoon-eyes. Yes, it was make-up: mascara and caked-on eyeshadow. 

Probably cheap - those always smudge more. Oh right, she was crying when she came into the session today. Something about not sleeping? I looked down at my notepad and, sure enough, I had made a reminder to recommend melatonin before she left. Maybe something stronger, I scribbled quickly.

Ok, ok, gotta get her talking again.

"I'd like to hear more from you. How did that make you feel?" I said, tapping my pen with my best "thoughtful" look against my lips. 

Don't smudge the lipstick. Tap your chin gawddamnit. This lipstick is way too expensive to waste. Why did I buy $90 lipstick?? Do people even wear plum anymore? Or maybe only after labour day. Fml.

"Well, he never listens, so I wasn't surprised that he just grunted and walked away. When he finally confessed he'd been cheating and using our savings on all those women, I thought, I dunno, I guess I thought we'd have a breakthrough. We'd talk it out or - something. Are all men like that?"

Selfish and self-serving cheating assholes? Yes. Let me tell you about selfish men, lady - 

"Now, Claire, let's try to stay focused on you. What are you feeling? What thoughts went through your head? There's nothing we can do or control about others and their behaviours, right? So tune into you."

She nodded along, sniffling. She was an ugly crier and her face was blotchy. Do I look like that when I cry? My gawd, no wonder Jeff is always such a prick to me when I'm crying. I'd want to punch myself with a face like that.

"All I wanted was for Brent to hear me out, you know? Like - it's been happening for a few weeks now. Why would I be making this up? He just said it was to get attention. Because I'm not as pretty as his girls."

Shit. What is she talking about? I must have missed that. From last session, maybe? Should I check my notes? No, no, that's too obvious. Keep her talking.

"Why don't you go back and tell me the story again. All the details. As many as you can think of. Sometimes we just need to get them out a few times before we purge them." Focus Tara!!!!! Whyareyoualwayssuchaspazz? 

"Yeah, yeah ok. Umm, so I guess the first time it happened was about a month ago? I woke up hungry. It was hot, and that always wakes me up, you know?"

Hungry. Constantly seeking external validation, I scribbled in my notes. I nodded with a small, encouraging smile. Shit, did I just smudge my lipstick on my teeth? I tried to lick it off without being too obvious, but thankfully she had closed her eyes and was blowing her nose. 

"Brent was snoring. He always sounds a bit like he's choking when he snores, and that wakes me up too." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "Sometimes when we've fought, and then he wakes me, I imagine he does choke. Would I even save him? What would it be like if he died? Is that  weird?"

Homicidal thoughts, I wrote. "Imagining the death of our partners is a totally normal experience, especially when relationships go through rocky times. But it doesn't make you a bad person, Claire."

"Oh, ok," she giggled nervously. "So anyway, I stepped on the cat when I climbed out of bed, and she yowled and scratched me. Not even that woke Brent. I'm so glad we never had kids - I mean, I would totally have been the one to do all the night feedings. And I hate waking up at night. I always have to pee and then it takes forever to go back to sleep. Anyway, I didn't worry about being too quiet because he was obviously dead to the world."

She paused and took a small sip from the tea sitting at her elbow. Avoidant, I wrote on my pad. Gawd, I hate this pen. Get a new pen. Get a new pen. Why don't these mental notes ever work? Oh, right I was supposed to get some more garbage bags. Shit. And we're all out of grocery bags too. Mental note to start writing down actual notes.

 "-but then I noticed the kitchen was, like, 10 degrees colder than the rest of the house. Which makes no sense, because actually, it doesn't have any vents. The AC was installed long after the house was built, and they couldn't get under there properly. So I knew, right away, that something was weird."

Paranoia, I scribbled. My pen stopped writing for the "ara" part, so it came out looking like P noia. I shook the pen and tried again but only managed to scratch the paper. Bloodycocksucking pen. Maybe I should get a tablet??

"Then the hairs on my arms started to prickle. But it didn't feel just like cold - it felt like - well, have you ever felt like someone is watching you? You can't see them, but maybe they're peeking through a door or just outside the windows? I thought that's what it was, at first, so I checked the windows, but all the blinds were still down."

Oh, shit did I pull my blinds down? Shit shit shit, it is going to be so hot when I get home. Jeff never remembers but he's going to be so mad at me. I'm so sick of his bullshit. Why do I even - 

"I'm sorry, can you say that again? I think I misheard you." 

"Then the fridge opened. All by itself. The light spilled across the kitchen and there wasn't anyone there, but there was a shadow of a body in the light."

Delusional, I wrote. Or tried to write, but the pen had stopped working altogether. Should I get up and get a new one? Shiiiiit. Where is she even going with this?? 

"So - did it look, um, human? Or a different shape?" I asked, trying to reach over for a new pen as nonchalantly as I could without tipping my chair over. 

She nodded, her pale face and wide eyes now reflecting the intensity of that remembered moment. "It was a human. In fact, I recognized her. It was my Nana Betsy."

"Ah - er, how did you know it was your Nana? I mean - if it was just a shadow?"

"Well, the shadow was hunched. And when she turned her head, I could see she had a bun. Nana always wore her bun. One of those fake ones, you know, because her hair was really thin. So she just pinned it on, like it was real. But I still wasn't sure until, until - "

I nodded encouragingly. Ok, this is getting soooo weird, but at least it's more interesting than yet another limp dick story.

"She pulled out a slice of cake. Chocolate cake. She put it on the island and then pushed it over to me like - like I was supposed to take it."  

Ok that's not what I was expecting. Should I be encouraging this? Wtf?  

"Ah so, um, does that have any meaning for you?"

She nodded eagerly, finally warming to her story. "Nana Betsy always had chocolate cake in her fridge. Almost more icing than cake. Especially after Papa died. I was 11, maybe 12? Sometimes she'd take it out and eat 2 or 3 big slices at a time, purring happily like a cat. She'd cut me one too and then tuck a napkin over my shirt so I wouldn't get the icing all over myself."

 "Then she'd hand me a fork, but before I took a bite, she'd whisper in my ear, Always keep some handy, just in case."

"Just in case of what?" I asked, intrigued. I like the sound of this Nana.

"I never knew at the time. But - " she hesitated, looking tentative again. No - secretive. Now the hairs were all prickled on my arm too. 

Damn girl, don't leave me hanging like that! "Don't self-edit, Claire. It's important you say everything. Especially here. This is a safe space."

"Later, when we were cleaning up her papers - after she passed - I found some old medical papers. Papa's papers, from when he died. And, well, it turns out he'd choked to death. On a slice of her chocolate cake."

She looked across the empty space towards me, the unspoken statement hanging in the air between us. She no longer looked tentative or afraid. She looked powerful. Resolved. And she looked curious - she was waiting to see what I would do. 

Carefully, I tore out the last few pages of my notebook and ripped them to shreds while she watched, face impassive. They settled into the garbage can like the leftover feathers from a bird that's been caught by a cat and eaten. 

"Same time next week, Claire?" I offered, carefully reapplying my lipstick. 

"I'll send you a text, if that's ok?" she replied, offering the first real smile I'd ever seen her wear. "For some reason, I'm feeling better already."

"Of course, of course. And oh - if you happen to remember," I added, as though it were an afterthought, "I'd love to have a copy of your Nana's recipe."