Page 23 of The VIP Package

I haven’t said that out loud to anyone yet. Not even myself.

But when Ashton said I sounded like a great therapist, I wanted so badly to think so. I’ve always believed that. It’s what’s kept me going through challenging patients and discouraging treatments that tested my skills. Through all of that, I persevered.

But what kind of therapist can’t see she’s botched her own relationship this badly?

I should have seen the signs that things weren’t great with Hayden. We lost our connection long before he didn’t show up for our wedding. That was just a symptom of a larger problem. A problem I failed to diagnose.

That failure leaves me questioning everything.

Drawing a breath, I turn off the taps and settle into a fragrant sea of bubbles. As I snatch my phone from the edge of the tub, I reenter the real world for the first time all day.

I have several calls from Sara and Eve. A few from my sisters, all five of them, plus one from my brother and four from our mom.

A patient I’ve worked with for years has emailed requesting an appointment. “I know you’re getting married,” she says. “Please don’t let me bother you if you’re busy. But I’ve had a breakthrough in my feelings around Jimmy’s death, and if there’s any room in your schedule for a telehealth session, I’d be so grateful. Even ten minutes in the late afternoon would be amazing.”

I normally wouldn’t accept. It’s important to set boundaries with patients, and I’m clearly marked out of the office. But if tomorrow’s travel day goes according to plan, I’ll be stuck in Atlanta on a three-hour layover right when she’s hoping to meet.

I email her back confirming a time for a telehealth session, making it clear that it’s subject to change, based on my travel schedule. As soon as I send it, I switch back to checking my messages.

There are two missed calls and a series of texts from Hayden. He and I spoke briefly on my layover in Houston when I called to explain as clearly as possible that this wasn’t a temporary break. That we needed to end our relationship.

He didn’t sound hurt. Not even a little.

“If that’s your decision.” He spoke like a man addressing a third grader eating Crayolas in class. “I won’t hold you hostage in a relationship.”

“It’s been a long time coming, don’t you think?”

“What I think,” he began, sounding fatigued with the conversation, “is that we should talk about this later. When I’m not at work?—”

“You’re at work?” Of course he was. It was only nine p.m. in Portland.

Hayden kept going like I hadn’t asked a question. “I think we should sleep on it. Talk a bit more when you’ve calmed down and you’re feeling more reasonable and rational.”

“I think that’s the problem.” I was willing to give him a pass on thecalm downbullshit. It had been a long day for us both. “We focused too much on reasonable and rational. Not enough on our emotional needs.”

He scoffed like I knew he would. “Okay, Camille. If this is what you want, I won’t fight it.”

He hung up without a goodbye. Probably just as well.

As I settle in to read his texts that followed that call, I’m braced for anger. For an apology. For hurt or rage or blame or maybe all of those things.

What I should have expected was total detachment.

I’m sending a proposal to buy out your half of the mortgage.

Do you want to keep the cookware?

When did we buy this bookshelf? I’m adding it to my side of the ledger but please move it to yours if you brought it into the partnership.

“Jesus.” Right to the end, it’s a business transaction for Hayden. Why did I think our breakup would be any different from the entirety of our relationship?

I glance at time and realize it’s 7 p.m. here. That means it’s 4 p.m. back home in Portland. There’s a crumpled-up hollow in my chest that can only be filled by the comfort of friendship. I dial Sara first, since she’s most likely to be home at this hour.

“Camille, thank God.” Her face flashes up on the screen. She’s seated in her kitchen wearing a fuzzy pink top and a concerned expression. “We’ve been worried to death.”

“I texted you and Eve when I got here.” Maybe I should have written more thanarrived. “Hang on, let me buzz Eve for a three-way.”

“I’m here!” Her voice rings out in the background, and seconds later, the screen readjusts so they’re both in the frame. “We’re having a sleepover. And speaking of three-ways?—”

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