Post-Therapy Talk with Cattie

“How did it go?” Cattie asked me as she held me tightly, her chest pressed firmly to mine.

Doctor Samson had walked me back out, chuckling a bit as he’d admitted mine wasn’t the weirdest case he’d ever had, but it was definitely unique. And had the largest cast of characters to learn in a short time. He’d also let me know that if I decided in the next two weeks that I wanted someone more traditional or with a different outlook on things, I could ask to pivot to someone else in the practice with no issues or hard feelings. Then he’d shaken my hand firmly and wished me well, laughing again a little incredulously as he saw Cattie standing up and coming to me from the waiting room.

I couldn’t blame him - even dressed down, Cattie was the kind of woman who just drew eyes to her.

She’d crashed into me, arms up around my shoulders and neck so that I could hug her around her waist.

“It was… good,” I said. “Weird. But good.”

“How weird are we talking?” my girlfriend asked, pulling back a little at the shoulders so she could look me in the eye.

“Pretty weird,” I smirked. “Let me get my next session scheduled, and then I’ll tell you.”

She nodded, and I could tell by the way her eyes flicked down to my lips and hers pursed just slightly she wanted to kiss me but wasn’t sure about my headspace. I reassured her by ducking down and kissing her firmly and letting one of my hands slide down from her lower back to caress the top of her ass without going full grabby hands.

We slipped from each other, and Cattie went to reclaim the seats we’d had when we first came in while I went to the front desk. The thin blonde was speaking quietly with another client, so I went to the gay black guy. It took him a moment to look up from his computer screen, but when he did he had that very fixed, and particularly brilliant white, customer service smile on.

“I’d like to book another appointment, please,” I said. “In two weeks?”

“Sure,” he said, his deep voice throwing me again because of the ‘gay voice’ lilt he had. “Everything was vibing well with Doctor Samson?”

“I think so,” I said. “He’s definitely… an interesting guy.”

“So I hear,” the secretary murmured, already focused back on his screen. “It looks like we could do it next Tuesday at 10 AM.”

“Is there any chance that we could get a regularly scheduled appointment?” I asked. “It can be during the day, but it’ll be a lot easier to plan work around it.”

“Are you certain you want to commit to that with Doctor Samson?” he asked me. “Usually we want to give a client a few sessions to feel out the therapist relationship before blocking off time like that.”

“I think his particular… ways of tackling things will help with my particular situation,” I said.

“Mm,” the black man grunted softly and nodded. “Well, in that case, he has the time slot you just had open biweekly. Would that work for you?”

“It can,” I said, doing the mental math. This work week my hours were off their usual timing because I’d been away the week previous - I often started work and left work later since the ballroom events rarely ran in the morning unless it was a full conference situation, and the big conferences like that were generally handled by Doug. Starting next week, I’d be back on a more hours-flexible schedule; something Cass and I had gotten used to, but now I realised my other girlfriends would have to get used to as well.

I could, however, mark out Wednesday evenings ongoing if needed. And that would mean that the off-weeks from therapy could be designated date nights.

“Let’s go with that,” I decided.

“Alright, we’ll get you booked in, starting in two weeks,” he nodded. “How would you like to pay for your session this week?”

The price tag for two separate therapy sessions was a soft pinch. Cass and I had our finances in order so it wasn’t bad, and it helped that I had some OK coverage through my benefits at the hotel, but even a 50% co-pay was going to start adding up over the coming months, and we had the wedding and the housing plan to save for.

Maybe I needed to find a side gig of my own to pursue.

Pocketing my wallet, I headed back over to Cattie at the seats and she was chewing on her lip a little as she eyed me, obviously looking for signs of how I was feeling. I sighed, and as I went to sit next to her on the plushly padded bench, I leaned down further and scooped up her legs to pull them over my lap. That made her smile as she looped her arms around mine and hugged it.

“Cass went in about fifteen minutes ago,” she said. “The Doctor’s name was Amberlee, and she looked like she was maybe in her early fifties and all buttoned up like she was going to a business meeting or something. The exact opposite of how your guy looked.”

“Hm,” I frowned a little. “Weird that such different people would work in the same practice.”

“Maybe they looked for partners that would offer variety,” Cattie shrugged.

“Well, hopefully Cass likes her,” I said.

“Do you want to talk about your session?” Cattie asked. “Or why that kiss tasted a little like you’ve been drinking beer?”

I chuckled softly and couldn’t help but smile a little, then slide into a grimace. “He’s kind of like… Imagine a hippy Dad bartender, and all three of those descriptors are almost cartoonishly stereotyped. And yeah, we started the session with beers, and he ended up cracking open a second round because our situation was so complicated.”

Cattie snorted softly as she looked at me incredulously. “Really? Is that like… legal?”

“I guess so,” I shrugged. “I know it definitely helped break the ice even if it wasn’t exactly in the regular playbook.”

“So you told him everything?” she asked.

I shrugged again. “No sexual details, and I’m sure I missed stuff. But the big stuff, yeah. The whole Cass situation and the timeline with that, the relationships and how some of them were - and are - kinda messy right now in how they are happening, and how I feel about that.”

“The panic attacks?” she asked.

“Yes, and those,” I said. “It wouldn’t exactly have been a helpful starter session if I kept that back, baby.”

“I know, but…” she sighed, cocking her head and looking at me sadly. “Hiding big stuff is kind of a normal thing people do when they feel defensive or ashamed. And I wouldn’t blame you if you got in there and weren’t sure how comfortable you were with everything. Or anything.”

“Catherine,” I said quietly, giving her leg a squeeze where I was holding her. “I love you. Desperately.”

“Robbie,” she sighed, her look softening a little more.

“I don’t deserve you,” I said.

“Yes, you do,” she said, hugging my arm a little tighter.

“No, baby,” I said. “No one does. No one could ever actually be enough to deserve you. I’m just the guy lucky enough to-”

“Hush,” she interrupted me. “Even if that were true, I don’t deserve you either. None of us do. So suck it up, you’re stuck with us.”

I chuckled and sighed, leaning back against the windows behind us and rubbing her leg as I looked into my beautiful girlfriend’s eyes.

“Speaking of ‘us’ and the others,” I said after a long moment. “Let me text Becca that I finished up and that I’ll tell her everything later.”

Once that was done, all I needed to do other than repeating what had happened for Cass as well was figure out how to tell all of them I needed the weekend to myself without phone calls so I could have ‘Me Dude Time’ like my crazy therapist had suggested.

And I had to sell that idea to all seven of the women in my life… because there was no way I wouldn’t be answering the first call I got from Wanda.

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