Maybe You Should Talk to Someon - Lori Gottlieb Page 0,89

needs some space and will be back next week. I imagine that he wrestled up to the last minute with whether or not to come today, and that’s why he didn’t call in advance—and also why the standing food order appeared here without him.

But then I play my next message.

“Hi, it’s me again. So, um, I didn’t forget to call, actually.” There’s a long pause, so long that I think John may have hung up. I’m about to hit Delete when finally he continues. “I was going to tell you that, um, I’m not going to do therapy anymore, but don’t worry, it’s not because you’re an idiot. I realized that if I’m not sleeping, I should get sleep medication. Obviously. So I did and—problem solved! Better living through chemistry, ha-ha! And, uh, as for the other stuff we talked about, you know, all the stress I’m under, I guess that’s just life and if I get some sleep, I’ll be less annoyed by it all. Idiots will always be idiots and there’s no pill for that, right? We’d have to medicate half the city if there were!” He laughs at his joke, the same laugh I remember from when he said I’d be like his mistress. His laugh is his shelter.

“Anyway,” he goes on, “sorry for the late notice. And I know I owe you for today—don’t worry, I’m good for it.” He laughs again, then hangs up.

I stare at the phone. That’s it? No Thank you or even a Goodbye at the end, just . . . done? I had expected that something like this might happen after the first few sessions, but now that I’ve been seeing him for nearly six months, I’m surprised by his sudden departure. In his own way, John seemed to be forming an attachment to me. Or maybe it’s that I’ve been forming an attachment to him. I’ve come to feel real affection for John, to see flashes of humanity behind his obnoxious façade.

I think about John and his son Gabe, some boy or grown man who may or may not know his father. I wonder if on some level John wants to leave me with the burden of this mystery, a big fuck-you for not helping him feel better quickly enough. Take that, Sherlock, you idiot.

I want to let John know that I’m here, to somehow communicate that he—and I—can handle whatever he brings to therapy. I want him to know it’s safe to talk about Gabe here, however tricky that situation or relationship might be. At the same time, I want to respect where he is right now.

I don’t want to be the rapist.

It would be so much better to say all of this in person, though. In my informed-consent paperwork that I give to patients before they start treatment, I recommend that they participate in at least two termination sessions. I discuss this with new patients at the outset so that if something upsets them during treatment, they don’t act impulsively to rid themselves of the uncomfortable feelings. Even if they do feel it’s best to stop, at least the decision will have been reflected upon so they can leave feeling that they made a thoughtful and considered choice.

As I pull out some patient charts, I remember something John said while making the slip about Gabe. There’s too much estrogen in the house and nobody understands my perspective . . . I’m outnumbered . . . everyone wants something from me . . . nobody understands that I might need something too—like peace and quiet and some say in what goes on!

Now it makes sense; Gabe could counteract some of the estrogen. Maybe John believes that Gabe understands him—or would, if he were in John’s life.

I put down my pen and dial John’s number. When his voicemail beeps, I say, “Hi, John. It’s Lori. I got your message, and thanks for letting me know. I just put our lunches in the fridge, and I thought of last week when you said that nobody understands that you might need something too. I think you’re right that you need something, but I’m not so sure that nobody understands this. Everyone needs something—often, lots of things. I’d like to hear what it is that you need. You mentioned needing peace and quiet, and maybe finding peace and quieting down the noise in your head will involve Gabe, and maybe it won’t, but we don’t have to talk about Gabe if you don’t