Chapter 11

Brandon

I woke up Monday morning with a bit of a pep in my step. Today was the day I would see Melissa again, and despite what we talked about during her first session, I was honestly happy to see her again. I wanted to talk with her and to learn more about why she was feeling this way. My heart ached for her, and every single atom of my body truly wanted to help her. I wanted to reach in and pull out the happy, bubbly teenage girl I knew was still deep down within her.

But first, we had to peel back years of layers in order to find her again.

The patients I had that morning simply dragged on. With each passing patient, I grew more and more impatient. I needed to be able to set my feelings aside if I wanted to help Melissa, so when my two o’clock canceled, I was glad for the alone time. I took out the file I had on her and began reading over it, centering my mind for the next conversation that was about to take place. I tried to focus less on what she might be wearing and more on how I could possibly help her.

I’d asked all the questions I needed to ask her. Now, it was simply the task of getting her to freely talk to me.

Finally, three o’clock rolled around, and like clockwork, she knocked on my door. I hopped up from my chair to answer my door, and I couldn’t help staring. Her beautiful black hair was in its natural curl today, and I wanted to reach out and touch it. Her pencil skirt hugged her in places she most certainly didn’t have as a teenager, and I had to take deep breaths as I ushered her into my office. Her hips swayed with this unassuming femininity as her blouse fluttered around her womanly breasts. It took every ounce of energy I had to rip my gaze from her and place it back into my notepad.

“So, Melissa. How did your week go?” I asked.

“All right,” she said, grinning. “Tried to get out with a friend a bit this weekend. Left my daughter with her grandparents for the first time in a very long time.”

“With your parents?” I asked.

“No. Carl’s.”

Her answer was curt, and I made a note of that. Her parents were still a sore spot, and it was something I wanted to touch on and unpack at a later date.

“So, how did the outing go?” I asked.

“I mean, it was okay. I wasn’t exactly comfortable with the place Ava took me. She’s my best friend who works at the same company I do,” she said.

“Why were you uncomfortable?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Drinks and dancing isn’t my scene.”

“I would’ve never taken you for one of those girls anyway,” I said, grinning.

I saw her clam up, and I knew I’d stuck my foot in my mouth. I had to get this conversation back on track, so I decided to turn the subject back to something we attempted to unpack last week.

Her husband.

“Tell me more about Carl,” I said. “How did the two of you meet?”

“In a bar, ironically,” she said, giggling. “I was there because—”

She stopped her sentence and gave me a wary stare. I knew what was coming. I knew she was about to dive into the shit that happened between us when we graduated college. I knew it would come up eventually, but I didn’t realize that stuff intertwined with her late husband.

Holy hell, I was an idiot.

“Go ahead, Melissa. Right now, I’m your doctor,” I said.

“I was there because I was grieving us. I was heartbroken over realizing you’d gotten married, and I was crying in a drink when he met me. He sat there and listened, even offered to give me a ride home after he bought me another drink. He was very kind, and I gave him my number so he could let me know he got home safe that night.”

“Sounds like the two of you needed one another,” I said.

“We did. He was good for me. He helped me pick up the shattered pieces that you left behind and fit them back together. They might not have glued together perfectly, but the holes that it left he filled in with caulk and repainted over. I lo-loved him for that.”

I watched her bow her face toward her lap again, and I tugged at my tissue box. I slowly placed a few in her palm, pressing them into her skin and holding it just for a second. I needed her to know I was here and know I wasn’t angry. She had every right to feel the way she did. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to help her. Even if it meant only holding a patient-doctor relationship, I found myself wanting to do everything I could to get her back on track.

“He taught me how to love and how to be happy after heartbreak. That man was my savior, in many ways. And then he died. We had this beautiful daughter and built this perfect home, and then life decided I wasn’t worthy of it. Life decided I had to be tainted somehow. That heartbreak had to somehow play a role in my life,” she said.

I sat there and watched her cry, and my heart broke. I had to hold back tears of my own as I watched her wipe at hers. I wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand and tell her how sorry I was. I wanted to hold her beautiful body in my arms and tell her what a wonderful woman she had blossomed into and tell her she didn’t deserve to feel the way she did.

So, I decided to talk treatment options. I was confident enough that I could start her on something that would make her feel better, but her kickback was more than I thought I would get.

“I don’t want to take medication this soon,” she said. “Not just yet.”

“But medication could really help you,” I said.

“Aren’t there other things we could try first? Like, I don’t know, vitamins or time off work or something?”

“Melissa, depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain. There are things you can do to live a healthier lifestyle, but most people respond to treatment better with a mixture of both.”

“Then can we start with the healthy lifestyle instead of the medication? I mean, I came off all mine this week, and I haven’t slept as much as I should. My mind is everywhere, and it’s hard to get to sleep.”

“What are you thinking about when you can’t sleep?” I asked.

I watched her blush, and I knew exactly where her thought process was. It wasn’t uncommon for people to come off medication and feel a spike in their libido. Many of these medications had side effects of dampening sexual drives, so when someone gets pulled from their medication regimen, it can throw them in the exact opposite direction.

“How about this? There are things I advise, such as working out and vitamin D supplements. For some people, if they don’t get enough sun, it can contribute to rising severity issues with depression. If you don’t want to exercise outside, then get an all-natural vitamin D supplement and work out inside. Something like Zumba or yoga. These are easy on the body but gets your blood pumping and gets you moving. We can try that for a couple of weeks, chart your sleep patterns, and see how you feel,” I said.

“Thank you, Brandon. Really,” she said.

I shivered in my seat as my name rolled off her tongue. It was sweeter than I ever could have imagined, and I smiled as I looked down at my notepad.

“Do you have any hobbies?” I asked.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because this is also where I advise my patients to either indulge themselves in a hobby as well or to pick one up. Do you have a hobby you enjoy?”

“Not really. Just taking care of Sarah and working,” she said.

“Pick up a vitamin D supplement, work on a yoga or Zumba regimen, and find a hobby you might enjoy. Take ballroom dancing classes or make time to read. Do you read the way you used to?” I asked.

“Not in a very long time.”

“Those are your three tasks for this week, supplement, yoga four times a week, and indulging in a hobby that helps relax you, one that might even bring a smile to your face,” I said. “In the meantime, I’m going to give you my personal cell phone number.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” she said.

“No, no. I do this with all my patients who are starting a new regimen. If you start feeling overwhelmed or overly depressed or even suicidal, call me. Immediately. If I don’t pick up, leave a voice message. I’ll call you back, and if I have to make a house call, I will.”

I scribbled my number onto my card and handed it to her. I wanted her to use it. I wanted her to call me. I wanted to pick up my phone and hear her voice on the other end of the line. I sat there and watched as she punched my number into her phone, saving it before she put the card in her purse. She turned her eyes to me, and I could see just a small glint of happiness there. A small flickering flame that didn’t seem as dim as last week’s appointment.

“Same time next week?” I asked.

“It’ll be best for me, yes,” she said.

“I meant what I said, Melissa. Anytime you need to get ahold of me, just call.”

“I will, Brandon. I promise.”

Then I watched her leave. I watched her hips sway lightly with each step she took as her blouse fluttered around her torso. I watched her hair blow behind her as she walked down the hallway, her shoulders slightly slumped like she was carrying an entire world upon her shoulders. I wanted to chase after her, sit her down, and talk with her until she cried it all out. I wanted to hold her tonight and meet the beautiful little girl she had created. I wanted to show her the beauty this world still had to offer while I held her hand tightly within mine.

But I settled for watching her get into her car from the window of my office as she drove off down the road.

Maybe she would need me sometime this week, and if she did, I would be there.