Page 28 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
“Thanks again,” I say.
“My pleasure.”
“I’ll meet you at home? You won’t take off anywhere else?” I tease.
“I’ll see you there.”
“By the way.” I pat the roof of the Mazda. “I wouldn’t mind driving with the top down sometime.”
“Yeah? You would like that?”
“I would love it.”
Over a lunch of turkey and lettuce sandwiches, with my laptop open on the table next to me in case someone pings me, we mostly discuss the weather. We’re expecting a thunderstorm this afternoon. I can tell that Gramps doesn’t want to talk about the emotional scene in the car, and neither do I. We’ve had enough drama for one day. But there is one more non-weather-related thing that I need to talk to him about.
Gramps carries our plates to the sink. I follow him and load them into the dishwasher. As he wipes the crumbs from the table, I broach the topic I’ve been avoiding for the last two days.
“So, Gramps.” I lean against the sink. “I know I was out of line when I tried to schedule you for therapy before. But I was wondering if you might consider it. I think it might be helpful for you to talk to someone.”
“What, now that you’ve seen me cry you think I’m a whack job?” He steps around me to toss the crumbs into the sink.
“That’s not—technically, we don’t call people whack jobs anymore, and no. It’s because I think a grief counselor might be able to help you process your feelings.”
He stops on his way to the fridge, turns, and looks at me. “Mallory, in my day, the only people who went in for psychotherapy were serial killers and people with an Oedipus complex. As far as I can tell, I am neither of those things.”
There are so many things wrong with this statement, I’m stunned for a second.
“That may have been true,” I say slowly, “but now, in the twenty-first century, it’s very common to see a therapist. People with all kinds of mental health issues benefit from having someone to talk to. Even people without issues—like yourself.”
He snorts. “Nice try.” He opens the fridge and grabs a can of seltzer.
“The doctor I found sounds like a great fit for you, Gramps. She specializes in grief.”And old people, I add privately.
“Grief.” He shakes his head, like such a tidy word could never encompass everything he’s feeling.
“Talking to her might make you feel better. At the very least, it might make you feel less alone. Can I make the appointment for you?”
“I think today has demonstrated that I can’t be trusted to take myself anywhere.” He laughs lightly.
He has a point there.
“What about a virtual appointment? She sees patients over Zoom, too.”
Gramps just looks at me, one side of his mouth hitched up in amusement.
“Mallory, if my computer disconnects from the Wi-Fi, I have to call someone to fix it. I wouldn’t know where to start with a Zoom appointment.”
Right. Did not think of that.
“I could show you?”
“Sure, you could show me today. But what about next time, when some unexpected problem occurs? How will you show me when you’re not here?”
I blink.
“And I guess Trish is usually pretty busy…”
“Trish?” Gramps gives me a strange look. “Trish won’t be here to help.”
