By the time I get to the office and walk up to the receptionist desk a week later; I can feel my confidence wavering. I’m feeling quite shaky, but I force myself to stand confidently and introduce myself to the blonde woman who’s typing something on the computer.
“I’m Kristen Fuller. I have an appointment with Dr. Clark.”
“He’s expecting you,” she says nicely, then picks up her phone and says, “Kristen Fuller is here.” Then she gestures to the waiting area. “You’re his last patient for the day.”
I walk into this large room and I sit down on a white upholstered sofa. The room is deserted. I look around, everything is white, and the furniture is extremely expensive looking. And for a moment I think this place is probably for the extremely wealthy and if it weren’t for the black card Omar gave me, I’d probably be having this session at a local clinic, like regular people, and not at a practice that looks more like a vacation spa. I grab a vogue magazine and sift through the pages for what seems like ages when Adam approaches.
I raise my eyes to meet his, feeling a bit unsure of myself. He smiles down at me and I take in a deep breath. He’s dressed in normal clothes, a button grey shirt and pants; the first button on his shirt is undone and I can see light chest hairs peeking through. “Please,” he says, indicating for me to follow him into his office, and with heels clicking, I do.
When I sit down on the brown leather sofa, across from him, my gaze travels to the photographs of animals on the wall behind him, thinking the bright-colors compliment the furniture in the room. Feeling nervous, anxious all the way; I begin to experience cold feet and think that maybe I should have thought things through before showing up on a whim.
But everything about him is inviting: his eyes, his smile, the tone of his voice. I don’t want to leave. And I know I’m not going to.
“It’s nice to see you again, Kristen. So, what would you like to talk about today?”
I bite my lip and cross my legs so that I may give off the impression that I’m comfortable and not someone who is hiding something. Silently, I pray he doesn’t ask about Dr. Montgomery and why I chose to change doctors. If he does, I don’t know what I’ll say—I haven’t thought that far ahead. I swallow hard and tell him about my relationship with Omar, how we lost a child.
“That must have been very difficult, losing a child?”
“I was numb at first, but Omar was there to pick up the pieces,” I say looking down at my hands. “I was just starting to move past it when his mother suggested that we put off the wedding and blamed me for the miscarriage. His sister accused me of being a gold digger. I felt misunderstood and betrayed in so many ways.”
When I look up at him, his green eyes are on mine, hands on his lap, and something strange seems to pass between us. He’s watching me, intently. The warmth in his eyes seems to heat up the room, causing me to shift in my seat. I take in a deep breath. Eventually he nods slightly and says, “Sounds like you’ve been trying to heal from the past, and you’re having difficulty doing that with Omar’s family being involved.”
“Yes, that’s it, that’s exactly it,” I say. “I got into it with his brother Jameel, as well. He said I should know what I’m up against and that it wasn’t like Omar to settle on one woman. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, exactly. Did he mean that Omar would take on another wife?” I ask, as much to myself as to Adam. Then I look down at my hands again, thinking about what I’m going to say next and how I didn’t want to embarrass myself by revealing too much at once. Sensing my frustration Adam pulls me out of my wayward thoughts.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Umm… sure. Coffee would be nice.”
He gets up and heads over to his desk. I can’t help but look at how tight his glutes look in his pants, and how developed his hamstrings are. He’s definitely fit. Now he’s on the phone talking to his receptionist. “Yes, Patricia bring in coffee for my client,” he says, curtly then hangs up. Smiling, he walks to the middle of the room, back to his abandoned chair. He looks me in the eye for a long while and I almost feel shaky about what’s going to happen next. Then he sits down and closes his finger around his pen while I wait, and wait.
“As you were saying,” he finally says.
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