Page 56 of Champagne Kisses
I set the tea on the counter to brew and fail miserably at not thinking about Adam. Thank God I’ve already got an appointment with Dr. Jamison tomorrow morning. I know what I'd like to talk about, but my guess is that she's going to grill me on my parents, asking me to make a dream journal, or some other bullshit. I'm not too happy about tomorrow's session, but Denise is right—something's gotta give, and my girls aren't professionals.
“So, Maya. What brings you here today?” The office has art pieces from a well-traveled life, including masks from Mali and terra cotta pots from the hills of New Mexico. Denise told me she trusts Dr. Jamison implicitly. She certainly has great taste. The leather of the butter-soft couch couldn’t be anything but Italian. I rub my palms on it before raising my eyes to meet Dr. Jamison’s.
“I’ve kinda got…Self-esteem issues.” I look at my hands again before continuing. “I’ve never had trouble dating decent men, but, in my head, none of them are really interested…At least, not because of my looks.” Dr. Jamison purses her lips and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
“OK. Did something in particular happen that caused you to seek therapy now?”Busted.
“I was seeing someone pretty great. His brother said some not nice things about me. And I took it out on my boyfriend.” She starts taking notes and I rush to elaborate.
“It wasn’t just that, though. I’ve felt this way for a while. I used to be teased about it growing up and, even though I’m grown and I’m successful, those bad thoughts have stayed inside me and come out whenever I try on a swimsuit, or start dating someone new, or look at movies and magazines with their unfair beauty standards.” Dr. Jamison puts her pen down and folds her hands in her lap.
“I’m sorry you’re going through all of that, Maya. Feelings of unworthiness are a common reason for people to seek therapy.” She smiles warmly at me, and I immediately start to relax. I can see why Denise likes her.
"Would it surprise you to know that, despite those unfair beauty standards you mentioned, people are three times more likely to search for pornography featuring a plus size woman over a thin one?" My eyes widen and I almost drop my purse on the floor. Dr. Jamison chuckles at my embarrassment.
"Pornography is nothing to be ashamed of, Maya. We can even talk about it in our sessions, if you'd like." I secure my purse more closely in my lap and shake my head nervously. "Fine. But my point is, these sessions are for your benefit. You don't haveto shy away from more mature or even taboo topics." She picks back up her pen and notepad.
"Feelings of inadequacy despite external circumstances that contradict those feelings are usually caused by some traumatic incident." She levels her gaze at me and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Can you recall an incident, maybe in adolescence, when you were, perhaps, bullied for your size or physical characteristics?"
Without hesitation, the insults come into sniper-like focus.
"Ms. Nappy Head"
"Thunder thighs!"
"Try Jenny Craig!"
"Call me when you lose 50 pounds!"
My palms start to sweat and I look up to see Dr. Jamison has noticed. I avert my eyes again. How pathetic that I have to go to a therapist to work out some junior high shit. Am I seriously not past this? I snort, almost disgusted with my emotional immaturity. Dr. Jamison's gaze sharpen.
"What's that? What were you thinking just then?" Is this woman psychic?
"I…," I start, hesitant to be truly open with her. What the heck; she said to be honest. "I was thinking how pathetic it is that I'm hung up on bullshit from junior high." She raises an eyebrow in question. "There was a slam book. Some bullshit like in 'Mean Girls', except the book was passed around for everyone to write in. It was basically a way to talk shit and to see how people really felt about you." Dr. Jamison didn't look impressed.
"They called me names. Things like 'fatty' and 'nappy head'." I keep my eyes trained on my hands folded in my lap. "Then the head mean girl embarrassed me right in front of my crush…Well, in front of, like, the whole school." I look up to see her irritated expression. Is she irritated because my problems are a waste of her time?
"What's pathetic is how unoriginal the kids at your school were when it came to insulting you. Did you know, Maya, that the slam book goes as far back as the 1920s? A century's passed and still no one has come up with a better outlet for teenage angst." I smile at Dr. Jamison. She's a one-woman trivia machine. Despite her radical candor, I get a good vibe from her.
“Over the next few sessions, we’re going to peel back the layers and see what might be at the core of these feelings of inadequacy. Then we will work to build your belief in yourself, so you don't rely so heavily on external sources of validation.” She returns my smile, and I'm feeling lighter already. I should’ve started therapy a long time ago.
“Thank you, Dr. Jamison.”
Chapter thirty-one
Adam
Ican barely hear myself think in this place and the lights are starting to give me a migraine. Bryan wanted his bachelor party to be like something out of “The Hangover”, so we are in Vegas – of course – and sitting in the third bar of the night. This one comes with strippers, a mechanical bull, and even an all-you-can-eat buffet. But, who wants to eat at a strip club? Yuck.
Bryan is across the room having the time of his life with one woman giving him a lap dance while another pours tequila down his throat. Knowing how he was in college, I sometimes still can't believe he's giving it all up to get married. Jessi's great and they're great together, but his little black book was almost as big as mine.
I got a handwritten card from Emily a couple days afterthat night. She apologized again for being "overly persistent"and swore to respect my boundaries going forward. She also apologized for being there when another woman came over, though I don't think she recognized it was Maya. She just saw me slamming the door in her face when I ran after someone, and then she left without a word when I came back looking like I'd been hit by a truck…emotionally, at least. God, that night sucked. We've only been speaking via email lately, just to be safe.
With that issue essentially handled, I had to talk to my brother. Cory had been a complete ass and he knew it. I was finally calm enough to call him a week after the dinner. He answered after the second ring.
“If you’re calling to say I was an asshole, Mom and Dad already beat you to it.”Alright, Mom and Dad!They hated to make a scene in front of company, but I knew they noticed how Cory was behaving.
“Good. Since when do any of us have a say in who the other is dating?!” I yell. Never in a million years would I have pulled that shit on any of my brothers. Bro code says that you wait until the woman isn't around to stage any needed interventions about a problematic relationship. Lucky me; I'm the first one to have to enforce it. Cory sighs.
