Page 31 of Unravel Me

I gathered up the courage I needed to continue. “And I really want you to meet him.”

“You do?”

“I want him to meet my family.” I said wiping away tears I knew she couldn’t see.

“I’m sure I can take a vacation around Christmas time, would that work?”

“That sounds perfect, we can have a family Christmas this year like we used to, show him what the Maxwell’s get up to.”

“You know it baby!”

I really missed her. All this time I was avoiding her, but why when she had always been a mother to me? Why did we ever let ourselves grow apart? “Tell me about what you’ve been up to.”

“Well, I am as busy as ever…”

We talked for over an hour. I felt a weight I’d never noticed lift off of me, and I felt better than I had in a long time.

***

“Mrs. Tupp, meet Lydia,” Taylor introduced me to the small woman I’d spoken to over the phone.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Mrs. Tupp said, smiling a small pleasant smile while she shook my hand.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” I said and sat down in one of the chairs in front of her desk. Taylor didn’t sit, he began milling around the space. Mrs. Tupp didn’t say anything about it, so I guessed that was usual for him.

“Now. I’m so glad you two have talked about your boundaries and discussed Taylor’s trauma in a way where both of you felt safe. I'm proud of you Taylor for deciding you wanted to and then being able to talk about it with your partner.”

Taylor didn’t respond other than a small huff of acknowledgement. He seemed focused on this puzzle mounted on the wall made of entirely white pieces.

“Now, I’m not a licensed couples’ therapist, it’s not my area,” she explained. “But my husband, Mr. Tupp, is.”

“Your husband is a therapist too?” I asked.

“That’s why everyone calls them Mrs. and Mr. Tupp,” Taylor finally spoke up. “They got tired of being confused as the other Dr. Tupp.”

“Now, Taylor has said I can share relevant information and files with my husband, but I want to get your permission too for your side.”

“Is this technically legal?” I asked, curious.

She shrugged a little. “I think it would be good for Taylor to work with someone he already trusts.”

“Mr. Tupp knitted me a sweater last year for Christmas.” I could see Taylor’s blush from here.

“That’s fine with me,” I said. It may not be technically ethical, but I didn’t know what other therapist we could go to and explain the whole fake marriage turned real marriage thing to.

We exited the therapy appointment with a referral to Mr. Tupp next week and a hug from Mrs. Tupp as we left.

“I think, since my aunt is coming home,” I began during the car ride home, “we should host a Christmas party.”

He hummed.

“It would also be a kind of congratulations on the promotion party too since you’d be CEO soon after. We would invite Virgo and Michael obviously, but also, I think it would be nice if you got to know some of my other designers. They are all super sweet and would love to meet you. Especially after seeing pictures of you in that blue suit. I think they might try to recruit you as a model.” I thought I saw him smile a little in the cornerof my eye. “I think we could invite the Tupps too. And, if you wanted to invite anyone, you could.” I was implying his father, but I didn’t want him to feel pressured. Maybe through therapy he would try to reconnect. But maybe he didn’t want to. Either was fine with me. I just knew how I felt to finally talk to my aunt again. Maybe it would help him too?

“I’ll think about it,” he said evenly. I thought that was a fine compromise.

***

It was a normal Saturday, at first. Taylor was off at therapy. We would be going to our first appointment in a few days. I was somewhat nervous about it. I knew it would probably be fine. Even though I hadn’t met Mr. Tupp, I knew Taylor trusted him. But still, I had never been to therapy before. I knew vague things about it from T.V., movies, and such, but I knew they couldn’t be completely accurate or maybe even they were completely wrong. I had decided to do a bit of research while Taylor was gone when I heard the doorbell ring.

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