Check, Please (Book #2)

Twenty-Seven.

Leaning across the arm of my chair, I reached for the paperweight on Dr. Fersan's desk and lifted it from where it rested. Careful not to disturb anything else as I drew it towards me, I turned it over in my hands, eyeing the monogram of her initials that had been carved into its center.

K.A.F.

Kelly-A-Fersan.

I wondered what her middle name was for a moment, knowing that I'd probably never find out unless I asked—and even then she might not tell me. She'd probably question why I wanted to know and that would undoubtedly end with her psychoanalyzing my curiosity. For some reason, Anne sprang to my mind as my first guess, but I doubted her parents would've intentionally made her names rhyme. Most parents thought about that sort of thing, even if mine hadn't when they decided to give me Tucker as a middle name.

Scott Tucker Donahue.

Frankly, it was nothing short of a miracle that I hadn't spent all of high school being called S.T.D., but maybe that had something to do with the fact I'd lied to everyone who asked and said my middle name was Charles.

The weight's metal felt cool beneath my fingertips and I rubbed my thumb against its contours until the steel slowly warmed. The paperweight was shaped like a starfish, and as I peered around my shrink's office, I realized that it fit in perfectly with the space's nautical theme. Small anchors served as bookends for her massive medical tomes and paintings of ropes tied into knots hung from the wall. Judging by the pictures on her desk, it looked like she and her husband had been married on the beach, so I guess it made sense that she apparently liked the water enough to surround herself with images of it. I avoided her gaze while I continued to play with the weight, though I occasionally glanced down at the bright orange loafers that she wore, staring as her feet moved up and down.

Even without meeting Dr. Fersan's eye, I could sense that she was studying me. Watching, waiting for me to respond to the question that I hadn't wanted her to ask. My psychologist's patience annoyed me, and I decided that I didn't want to talk to her today. In fact, I didn't want to come to these sessions anymore at all. I didn't need to--not really, anyway. I was happy, life was great, things were fine.

Well, even if I wasn't happy, at the very least, I could manage. I had no problem with the fact that Melanie asked to cancel our tutoring session this week. She'd said that she wasn't feeling well, and I'd told her that I understood and to get better soon. The fact that she couldn't meet didn't bother me; people got sick. No big deal, whatever.

And, on that note, what did it matter that I hadn't been able to face Gemma in over a week? I had fourteen missed calls from her, which was both surprising and strange, but it wasn't a bad thing either. In fact, I should've appreciated the fact she seemed to miss me; I was used to chasing her, not the other way around, but I still couldn't bring myself to listen to her voicemails or call her back.

There was no point in calling her, I decided, because there was honestly nothing to say. Gemma could always tell when I was lying, and if she asked me if something had happened at the date dash, I knew that I wouldn't be able to hide it. I'd spill the beans--all of them, every sordid detail. I'd tell myself to stop rambling, but once the flow of word vomit started, I wouldn't be able to stop. I knew I needed to tell her the truth, but I was selfish. I knew I was. I always had been.

Much more than I hated being jerked around, I hated being alone, which is exactly what I would be if and when Gemma learned that I'd tried to kiss Melanie. I found myself torn between racing towards that moment and staying rooted to the spot, afraid of committing to either outcome. Maybe keeping things the way they were was the right way to go. Even if we weren't officially together, there was something comforting in the fact that Gemma was there. Would it really be so terrible for me to stick with what I knew--what was safe? My parents had, and things had turned out... They weren't happy but they hadn't killed each other either. What more could you really ask for?