Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“Charles Sturbridge,” Matty says, taking Patrick’s thicker, furrier hand and giving it a firm pump before motioning my way. “And this is Kitty.”
“His wife,” I say, with a goofy grin, because dammit…it’s fun to say. It’s fun to be someone’s forever, even if it’s just pretend.
I take Patrick’s hand, which is warm and dry and clings to mine far longer than it did to Matty’s.
His smile is also much warmer as he says, “So nice to meet you, Kitty,” and nods toward the room behind him. “Shall we? We can get started with just the two of you, and if another couple joins us, we’ll pause wherever we are and fill them in on the protocol. Just remember, you have nothing to be embarrassed about here, not with me or with the other attendees. We’re all here to grow and learn and share.” His grin widens, showcasing thick white teeth as he continues to clutch my hand. “And save marriages. That’s the point, right?”
“It sure is, Patrick,” Matty says, clapping the other man on the back as he inserts himself between us, severing the now oddly prolonged hand clasp. “Can’t wait to get started.” He casts a wide-eyed look at me over his shoulder and mouths, “Handsy much?” making me fight a laugh.
Instantly, I decide I can’t go with the alternative “trauma,” I landed on this morning, not after what Matty shared with me at the breakfast table. It might hit too close to home to pretend he needs to “find himself” and I’m tired of waiting for him to be found.
I’ll just have to fall back on our original plan, but with one very important shift in execution.
A shift that I, for one, think could be fun…
Chapter Sixteen
MATTY
As soon as we step through the door and I get a good look at the “Trauma Pit Stop Stations” marked by cardboard signs taped to the walls around the conference room, I break out in hives.
I have no urge to explore “Childhood Trouble” or “Teen Traumas and Trials” with anyone, but especially not with Patrick. I don’t want to explore anything with Patrick except my jujitsu skills on his grabby hands the next time he drools all over Nora.
I get it—she’s a fucking knockout—but she’s also my wife, at least as far as old Patty knows. And he’s supposed to be helping us mend things, not hitting on vulnerable women who are looking for support saving their marriages.
He’s on my shit list already, and then he suggests Nora take his hand and lead him toward the “trauma pit stop” that speaks most powerfully to her, and I access a level of loathing I’ve rarely felt toward a near stranger.
“You know what, Patrick?” she says, pressing closer to my side. “I think we can skip right ahead to the finish line. I had a breakthrough last night; one I can’t wait to share with the man I love.”
Patrick’s dark, bushy brows hitch higher on his forehead. “Well, that’s great, but that’s not the way this works. You can’t go straight to jumping out of the airplane. You’ve got to learn how to put your parachute on and pull the cord first.” He nods toward me. “You might be surprised how much you don’t know about each other. For example, do you know what Kitty’s childhood was really like, buddy? The real deal? Not the pretty picture your in-laws paint for the outside world?”
“I don’t know my in-laws,” I shoot back, hating him for going straight for Nora’s jugular, like he has some sixth sense that she had a rough time as a kid. “They aren’t in Nora’s life anymore.”
Nora nods. “That’s right. I don’t have a relationship with my parents.”
Patrick’s broad forehead furrows and his wide, stupid mouth turns down at the edges. “Oh no. I’m so sorry to hear that. Sounds like we need a pit stop in childhood trouble.”
Nora shakes her head, her smile wide and confident. “No, we don’t. I dealt with all of that stuff a long time ago. I had tons of therapy as a kid and teenager. My grandmother was insistent.” She loops her arm through mine, hugging my bicep. “And Charles knows all about it. We’re actually wonderful communicators, at least when it comes to verbal communication. Like I said, I think we can go straight to the finish line.” She gives a little shrug before adding, “Or straight to Sexual Trauma and Dysfunction. That’s where we’ve been having trouble.”
To say Patrick’s eyes light up is an understatement. He starts to glow from the inside like a demented jack-o’-lantern. I think he even starts to drool a little, though he swipes his hand across his mouth before I can be sure.
Once he’s done mopping up the saliva inspired by the thought of “Kitty’s” sexual trauma—I want to punch the man more with every passing second—he claps his big hands together. “Sounds great. Let’s put you in the pit stop, Kitty. Old Charles here can standby, ready to come in if you tag him for a refuel.”