Page 100 of The Re-Proposal

“Then,” she rubs her chin, “why do you think that spending money on you and the things you care about is evil?”

My nostrils flare. I narrow my eyes in her direction. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re trying to insinuate that what I’m feeling is wrong.”

“Of course not. What you’re feeling is totally valid.” She steps closer to me and tilts her head. “I’d like to examinewhyyou’re feeling this way.”

I pretend to karate chop in her direction. “Keep that Master’s Degree of Psychology away from me.”

She chuckles.

“Fine.” I face her and lift my chin. “What do you think my problem is?”

“You’re the one who’s supposed to tell me.”

“You’re the shrink,” I point out.

“My job is to gently prod you there on your own. Revelations you experience yourself are worth more than the revelations you’re given.”

“Come on, Ms. Phoebe. You want to tell me or you wouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.”

Her chuckles are light and breezy. “Am I that obvious?”

“We’ve been working together for a long time.” My lips curl up. “We practically share the same brain.”

Her eyes twinkle with soft affection. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I think and you can tell me if I’m wrong.”

“Deal.”

“I think,” she runs a veiny hand over her bottom lip, “you hold some deep-seated resentment toward money.”

I stiffen.

“No, not money.” She waves away the sentiment. “The people who wield a lot of it. You feel inferior to them. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter and that you’re okay with having a little, having nothing. But it’s still a problem. You resent them and want to be like them at the same time. It tears you up inside. That dichotomy. That want. That rejection. That shame for wanting to be like them anyway.”

Feeling at a loss for words, I mumble, “Hm.”

“Or,” her grin turns teasing, “this is bothering you so much because you’re starting to develop feelings for Cody again and it’s better to lash out at him when he does something sweet than to admit you’re falling for him.”

Straightening my shoulders, I blurt, “It’s definitely the deep-seated resentment for money. How soon can I book a therapy session with you?”

She laughs.

Laura approaches us. She leans against the table. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

She gives me a disbelieving look but drops the topic. “The computer guys are almost done. The guys installing the stove said they’re about finished too.”

“Good.” I let out a breath of relief. “I want things to go back to normal as soon as possible.”

Ms. Phoebe’s eyes catch on something outside the door and widen. “Unfortunately, I don’t think your wish will be granted any time soon.”

Laura and I both turn.

“Oh boy,” I mumble.

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