I arrive at Dr. Greyson’s office on a cold February day. The clouds hang low in the sky and the world is so grey and colorless, it feels like it’s in mourning. The trees on campus stand stark naked, without a leaf in sight. It is on days like these that I miss the sunshine of Southern California the most. I miss the mountains and the endless blue sky. I try to remember what it’s like to not feel claustrophobic all the time – by both the tall buildings and the low sky. But I can’t. It has been more than a month since I’ve been home. And a month of clouds and grayness makes it hard to remember anything. Sitting in Dr. Greyson’s waiting room, I wonder if I can even make it here four years.

“I feel like this weather is making everything in my life worse,” I complain to Dr. Greyson.

She’s wearing a grey pantsuit and black heels. I glance down at her feet. A little bit of her olive skin is exposed between the end of her shoe and her pant leg. It’s barely 20 degrees out and I wonder if she wears these shoes outside or if she has boots or sneakers hiding somewhere underneath her desk, which she changes into on her way home.

“What do you mean?” Dr. Greyson asks.

“It’s just so cold and grey. It has been like this for more than a week and it just makes me so depressed. I don’t know if I can live here for four years.”

“Well, February does tend to be the coldest month. But luckily, it’s also the shortest month,” Dr. Greyson says.

I look at her. There’s an unusual amount of pep and optimism in her voice. But it quickly disappears when she finally realizes what I’m really saying.

“Are you trying to tell me something, Alice?” she asks, pursing her bright red lips. They are large and perfectly lined. I wonder how she gets her lipstick to stick the whole time. If I wear lipstick to one of these sessions, it’s usually completely gone by the end. But hers remains in tact, bright and perfect, just as if she had just applied it.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking of recently.”

“What?”

“Transferring.”

“Transferring out of Columbia? To go where?” Dr. Greyson asks.

“I don’t know yet. But I was sort of thinking of University of Southern California. I got in there before. It’s back in LA. It’s warm there. My parents live there.”

Dr. Greyson shakes her head. “This isn’t just about the weather, is it?” she asks.

“Well, sort of. I mean, it’s hardly ever grey and bleak like this there. And it’s never this cold. Maybe I’d have a better perspective about everything if I went there.”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Greyson shrugs. “But I don’t want you to discount everything that you have been through recently. That takes a toll.”

Ah, everything. That’s one way of putting it. I don’t say anything for a while.

“So, you haven’t told me how you’re feeling about this. Your marriage to Dylan?”

“Accidental marriage,” I correct her. The accident part is supposed to make me feel better about this, like it’s not all my fault. Even though I know it is.

“Okay, accidental marriage.”

“I don’t know how to feel about it. I just feel lost. We got back last night and Tristan was there in the living room and I felt like such a liar.”

“Why?”

“Because we were hanging out and we were both acting like his friend. But we’re not. Friends don’t do this to friends. They don’t get married and not tell him. Friends don’t marry your roommate and not tell you. Friends don’t marry your girlfriend and not tell you. We’re both such frauds.”

“It must be difficult,” Dr. Greyson says.

“And on top of all that, we’re still technically on a break. What I mean is that we’re not broken up. And now I’m married to his roommate. I just don’t know what to do. I need to get out of this marriage as soon as possible.”

“And when is that happening?”

“I don’t know exactly. But soon. Dylan’s looking into getting an annulment. I really hope we can do that.”

I hate to admit it, but it’s actually kind of nice to come and talk to Dr. Greyson. Juliet always has some sort of jokes or witty comments to offer, but Dr. Greyson is an unbiased third party. She never makes fun of me. Or mocks the situation, no matter how absurd. She simply listens and nods. I do, however, wish that she offered a little bit more advice. When I first started coming here, I thought she would. I’ve never been to therapy and I thought that she would give me the right answer and send me on my way. But she doesn’t. About the only thing that she does is give me one or two cryptic little sayings that could mean a number of things. But it doesn’t really amount to any actual advice since they often require me to think about what I’ve done even more (and that leaves me even more confused about the whole thing).

“And what about your parents?” she suddenly asks out of the blue.

“What about them?”

“Are you going to tell them about Dylan?”

“No! Absolutely not.” I stare at her as if she had lost her mind. “They’d freak out. And besides, I don’t want anyone to find out about this. If I could not tell Tristan about this at all, it would be even better.”

“But you just told me a few minutes ago that you want to tell him. That you feel like a fraud by keeping this from him.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know what I want. I want to just turn back time and have none of this happen.”

“We all want that sometime, Alice. But unfortunately, we can’t have that.”

We don’t speak for close to a minute. This hour is really dragging by. I sigh. Only fifteen more minutes, I say to myself.

“And what are your thoughts about public speaking class?” she asks. “Do you have any concerns about that?”

“Concerns? Yes, you can call it that. But I would say that it’s more like I’m terrified and hopeless about the whole thing,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

“Dylan showed me a way I could get through the speeches and I was really happy about that. I even got a B+ on the first speech, which is like a miracle. But now that my old strategy won’t work anymore…” I say with a sigh.

“Alice, I wouldn’t call drinking before class a strategy,” Dr. Greyson says, flashing a smile.

“Why? I would.” I shrug. “It was the only thing that calmed my nerves. And now I have no idea how I’m going to get through the next one. Which by the way is in two weeks.”

“I’m going to give you a pamphlet about this next time you come in,” Dr. Greyson says. “It will have a list of actual strategies for dealing with stage fright.”

I shrug. “Okay,” I say. I don’t have my hopes up. I’ve read a lot of things about it on the Internet and none of them have been particularly helpful.

“You know, of course, that you can’t drink again, right?” Dr. Greyson asks at the end of our meeting.

“Yes, of course.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll get kicked out of school for sure. Unfortunately, I think I’m going to fail that class either way.”

“No, you won’t,” Dr. Greyson insists. She seems so certain about it, but I’m not sure. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I will fail. What else can happen if you stand up there without saying a word?

I walk out of her office and back into the cold bleakness outside. This semester was supposed to go differently. It was supposed to be fun and exciting. Tristan and I were supposed to be together. We were supposed to actually take advantage of everything that college and New York City have to offer. So why did it all go so terribly wrong?

I decide to walk through Riverside Park to clear my head. I’ve been dwelling on this for far too long and I know that I’m nowhere close to being done. Juliet will come home tonight wanting to talk about this weekend – wanting to offer her advice over the whole thing without really telling me anything I don’t already know. And then Tea will call, I’m sure. I haven’t talked to her at all since all of this happened except for one or two texts asking her to keep this weekend to herself. And then, of course, there was Tristan. He has texted me a number of times since the weekend, trying to set up a time to talk. He wants to talk about our break. And I don’t want to. I don’t think I can face him. I mean, I don’t think I can face him and keep this weekend to myself. But, at the same time, I also can’t tell him what happened. It will crush him. And us. Our break will definitely become a break up. And then what? Will it mean that we’re really over? That there’s no more Alice and Tristan?

No, that is not how this semester was supposed to go. I walk past a couple kissing on the bench in Riverside Park. They are wrapped up in each other’s kisses. Their hands are intertwined and their legs are pressed closely together. That was supposed to be us. We were supposed to be sitting on that bench and kissing, not caring that it’s nearly 15 degrees outside.