Page 37 of The Last Session

“Yes! An anxious person feels comforted. A stick-in-the-mud wants toparty all night. It’s like a drug. On top of all those other love chemicals we get high on.”

“But at some point, it ends.” Moon sounded mournful. “You can’t stay merged forever. And when you separate and see the real person, with all of their flaws, it can feel disappointing or even scary.Who is this person?People may fall out of love fast.”

“But there’s a solution,” Sol said.

“There is!” Moon cried. “It’s possible to deconstruct your ghost lover by integrating their traits back into your own life. For example, before I met you, I started boxing. It helped me feel more powerful, and I started protecting myself more, setting boundaries and telling people what I needed. Then I didn’t feel like I needed someone else to give me those things.”

“But that’s just a part of it, right?” Sol asked. “With regards to what we help people do?”

“Oh, of course. There’s a whole other piece of the ghost lover that’s connected to your caretakers, and what you did or didn’t get from them when you were young. We can help with that too.” She paused. “Do you want to talk about Catherine?”

I sat up straight on the couch, my heartbeat kicking up a notch.

“Absolutely.” He was smiling. “Catherine is a member of our community who gave us permission to tell her story. That’s not her real name, of course. But she thought it was important for us to share her breakthrough with you all.”

“Catherine actually had two ghost lovers,” Moon went on. “They were based on two different males from her childhood. One of them was abusive to her. So she really struggled with dating and relationships.”

“Until…” Sol prompted.

“Until she came here.” Moon sounded quietly pleased. “We did some of the deepest work possible to excavate those ghost lovers. And at the end of our sessions, she was able to let them both go.”

“And best of all,” Sol went on, “she was able to connect with partners who she didn’t have to project on. She’s now living here full-time, pursuing her art, helping us spread these teachings. And she has not only a real-life partner, but many connections and friendships to rely on.”

“And this all started with a weekend retreat, yes?” Moon asked.

“It sure did.” Sol grinned. “Speaking of, we have a retreat comingup this month. All of us are really looking forward to it. If you come, you’ll even be able to meet Catherine.” A beat. “What did she want us to say again?”

“She wanted us to say: ‘If you feel a tug, a longing, listening to this, then take it as a sign.’?” Moon’s voice became urgent. “I’ll add to that: Even if you’ve never met us, this place is your home. Here, you’ll feel a sense of belonging that I can promise you’ve never experienced before.”

“Totally agree. I love that.” Sol gave a contented sigh. “So take our words as an invitation from the universe: It’s a beautiful time to come home.”

Part Two

19

As the plane neared Albuquerque, I started having second thoughts.

Dom had appeared the night before as I was packing. I could see it in her eyes as I explained Jonah the PI and the fake therapist and the podcast episode and the weekend retreat. A sort ofuh-ohlook, though she didn’t actually question my decision.

“Just be safe, okay?” She’d perched on the edge of my bed. “Maybe check in and let me know how it’s going?”

“Sure.” I’d still been in a daze. After feeling so much uncertainty about so many things in my life, it had felt like a relief to sign up for the retreat and book a flight. It wasn’t a coincidence that Catherine had directed me to the podcast. This couple—cult leaders?—had sent her a secret message, calling her by name, directing her to “come home.” By leaving the note, she was clearly asking for help.

I was her last chance. If I didn’t help her, no one else would.

But now, the certainty was wearing off. The adrenaline too. I’d gotten up at 4:00 a.m., and the lack of sleep was hitting me. I’d never been able to doze on planes.

A sigh emanated from my seatmate, a Black woman around my age who was nestled against a faux-fur coat pressed to the window. She smelled like expensive sandalwood perfume and had an alternative vibe: a section of her hair shaved, the rest in delicate locs, silver jewelry twinkling from her ears and nose. She wore patent high-heeled boots, patchwork jeans, and a button-down black suede shirt.

I envied people who wore chic outfits on planes. In my leggings and a sweatshirt, my hair twisted in a messy topknot, I looked like a college student flying home for break.

One of the flight attendants roamed the aisle with a garbage bag, intoning, “Trash,” in a solemn tone, as if pronouncing judgment on each of us. I opened my backpack, catching a flash of feline side-eye from my eighth-grade journal. I’d grabbed it at the last minute. I wasn’texactly sure why, beyond the fact that it brought me back to that point in my life when I’d felt so connected to Catherine. Maybe it would act as a talisman, pulling her towards me.

I opened the confirmation email for the tenth time.

We’re so excited to meet you! Based on the flight info you all sent us, we’re providing two shuttles from the airport, one at 10:00 a.m., the other at 3:00 p.m. Our driver will be waiting for you outside of baggage claim with a sign. It’s about a 2.5-hour drive to the Center.

According to the website, the Center was built on a half-completed resort that had languished when the owners ran out of money in the sixties. The Center had bought it in 2020 and had remodeled it under the guidance of mosaic artist Steven Leister—which had been detailed in the art site article. All the pictures made it look impressive: a huge, colorful structure in the middle of the desert.

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