"Of course, he did have a very tough childhood," I continued, rambling through the awkward silence. "His mother died when he was just a boy, and his father was—"
Ms. Early gave an irritated shake of her head and held up a palm. "Eliza, I don't give a shit about your husband's childhood."
Now I was the silent one.
"I, um, don't give a shit about his childhood, either," I heard myself say. And then I laughed, and so did she, and then we were laughing together. I hadn't laughed this much since they gassed me while I was having Mara.
"You've told me enough about your husband. I know his type. He doesn't interest me," Ms. Early said in the end, gazing at me. "I want to know about you¸ Eliza."
"Me?"
"Yes. Tell me, what do you do?"
"I... I mind our daughter, Mara. And I do the theater's paperwork. That takes up a lot of my time."
"And you get paid? For this paperwork?"
"Well, no, but—"
She shook her head and wrote something down. "What did you do before? Before you had your daughter. Before the paperwork."
"I was a concert pianist."
She raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair, as if to say, now we're getting somewhere. "Were you any good?"
Normally, I'd have slithered out of a question like this, or played down my abilities, but I appreciated her bluntness.
"Yes. Yes, I was good."
She gave a nod and I sensed she was reassessing me. "You still haven't told me why you're here today."
When I didn't answer, she said, "People typically don't come to me unless their marriage is in the danger zone."
"Okay, well I wouldn't say mine's in the danger zone..."
"Then what would you say?" she prompted.
I'd say Richard would be wise to sleep with one eye open till sleep deprivation erased his latest transgressions from my memory.
I mean, it wasn't like I had, I don't know, set up a running-away fund and squirreled enough money to pay for a year's rent on a bijou apartment with a pastel color scheme. Not yet anyway. But a girl can dream. "We're just going through a bad patch."
"The most common crises I see are financial problems—"
"No, it's not that." We had a huge mortgage on our new house, but the theater had offered Richard a generous package to relocate to Ireland. We were sailing pretty close to the wind, but we were still afloat.
"Then what is it?" Ms. Early held my gaze while I dithered. I didn't know this woman at all. How was I supposed to share the most intimate details of my life with her?
"All right," she said briskly when I remained silent. "Let's try this. What do you think is the most important attribute in a husband?"
"Obediency?" Dammit. I hadn't meant to say that. Out loud.
The therapist gave me another dose of top-quality eye contact. "I'm trying to find out what it is that you really want. If I don't know that, I can't help you. So tell me. What do you want?"
"What do I want?"
"Yes. It is a very simple question."
I took a deep breath. "Okay. I'll tell you what I want. I want Richard to be the one who has to stay up till two in the morning washing all the sheets for the third time to try and get rid of the latest head lice infestation. I want Richard to watch over Mara all night for signs of concussion after she falls off his stupid ergonomic wheely chair. I want Richard to be the one stuck at home. Every. Single. Day."
Ms. Early considered this, then shook her head. "No."
"No? What do you mean, no?"
"I'm sure you would like all of those things, Eliza. But that's not the reason you're here."
I felt a surge of annoyance. "What's the reason I'm here, then?"
"You tell me."
I didn't reply.
