room is small, with only seating for five people, and there's another door leading to the rest of the offices with the sign on the front that says, Sessions Are In Progress.
This is mainly to keep nosy parents from interrupting the sessions with their children and to keep the children in the waiting room until the therapists are ready for them.
Trisha's office is to the left as I walk inside. Mine is a few doors down and I share it with three other therapists. It's not so much an office as a place to drop off our bags and to keep our laptops and any other supplies. We do all of our work in the individual therapy rooms that are lined with toys and have a little table and chairs for kids to sit on at their own level.
“Hey,” I say, popping my head into her office.
She has a large space with a big wide table. One part of the table faces the window and the other two face the adjoining walls. Her computer is behind her and she's writing something onto her planner, facing the parking lot outside.
“Hello. It's nice to see you.” Her voice is upbeat but a little bit detached.
She's quite hard to read, but my sense says that something here isn't exactly putting her at ease.
I don't want to be here either. I have taken off a lot more days than I should have, but partly that was the case because I wasn't sure if I was coming back.
We chat for a few minutes about the weather and nothing in particular and when the conversation reaches a lull, I apologize.
“Listen, I just really needed some time off and that's why I wasn't really communicating that much these past few days.”
She’s about to say something, but I stop her.
“I'm sorry about everything. I really should have called you and kept you more in the loop. The online sessions with three of my clients actually went pretty well.”
Trisha taps her pen on the table and licks her lips.
“What happened? I mean, what really happened? Why did you need all this time off all of a sudden?”
I open my mouth to say something generic about why I needed space, but then I realize that I need to give her something more concrete, if I want her to believe me.
“I had a romance with someone,” I say, looking straight into her eyes. “We met online and I didn't know who he was, but we talked a lot on the phone and video chatted and then we decided to meet.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” I say.
I can’t tell Trisha the truth. I can’t tell anyone the truth, so this line will just have to do for now.
“We met in a Facebook group,” I say, trying to think about a plausible place to start up a conversation with a stranger.
“You always said that you never wanted to date online.”
“I know,” I say with a shrug. “I never really felt very comfortable with that, especially given what happened in New York.”
I didn't meet my ex-boyfriend, the police officer, online, but after what happened, I didn't want to strike up any conversations with people I didn't know.
“It was just a Facebook group about this area. People post pictures and discuss what's going on. Nothing close to being romantic.”
She nods, waiting for me to continue.
“Anyway, he made a few funny posts and commented in a witty way and he made me laugh. I commented back. Eventually we started messaging back and forth. A little bit later, we talked on the phone and then we video chatted. It was all very natural and fun and that's when we decided to meet up.”
“Is that why you took the trip?”
“No.” I shake my head. “We actually met before that. I felt safe with him so we decided to take a trip. I wasn't sure how it was going to go. I wasn't sure about anything. That's why I didn’t tell anyone about it. I hope that you don't take offense, but I just didn't want anyone else's opinion muddling up what I thought of him.”
“No, of course not,” Trisha says, shaking her head with approval. “I know that things have been quite difficult for you for a while and I'm glad that you had a good time.”
I let out a sigh of relief. Maybe this is going to work out. Maybe I didn't jeopardize my job at all.
I apologize again and again she tells me that it's okay. There's a slight hesitation