Dr. Watkins

Rowan

I thought couples counseling would be different this time. On account of all the progress we've made since Riley's accident.

But now, sitting in Marley's study, I'm not so sure.

Our session is two minutes old, and Riley has already completely shut down. He's staring out the window while Marley makes opening remarks about her philosophies on marriage counseling. I reach for his hand, hoping to recall his attention, and he shirks me.

Marley stops talking  as she examines Riley's obviously frustrated body language more closely.

"Riley, would you prefer to start with separate sessions?" she asks calmly.

"There's no need. We've been that route before. Twice. You're our fourth therapist. I'm quite inoculated to the discomfort of having my entrails examined in public, and prophecies of our marriage announced."

I'm shocked to hear Riley ridicule therapy like that, and I almost expect Doc Gorgeous to snark back, but I guess never met Dr. Watkins before, because she doesn't react at all. She nods coolly and makes a two word note in a brand new journal. "Your antagonism is a little surprising. Yesterday, you seemed positive, even eager to begin counseling. What's changed?"

He says nothing.

"It's been a rough morning," I say apologetically. I reach again for Riley's hand, and he lets me take it this time. Our gaze meets and he gives me that goddamn British smile of resignation.

"Yes. Quite."

"Okay," Marley says. "Would you like to talk about your morning?"

"Yes," I say at the same time he says, "No."

I stare at him helplessly. He stares back, infuriatingly British.

"Row would like to talk about it. Will you listen?" Marley asks him.

He inclines his head at me, then returns to staring out the window.

"I think, for the purposes of our sessions, we should not assume that either Row or I can read your body language. I think it would be really helpful if you gave us both the courtesy of responding with words."

He narrows his eyes at her, but he says. "Of course. Go ahead, darling. Tell her."

The way he says darling is not the way I've become used to hearing it. He pierces me with it like a saber. I withdraw my hand.

"He's angry with me because we were having sex this morning and I...I started crying in the middle of it. He lost his erection."

Marley nods. She doesn't ask the obvious question. Instead she says, "Is this a common occurrence?"

Riley gives a derisive laugh. "You'll have to be more specific, Doctor. Do you mean Row crying during sex or my erectile dysfunction.?"

She smiles. "You're right, Riley. That was poorly phrased. I meant neither, actually. Row, is Riley's anger a common response to your sexual discomfort?"

"No," he says at the same time I say, "yes."

He laughs at me. "You've got to be kidding, Row. You're actually going to characterize me like that? Tell her the true story..."

"Why don't you tell me what happened, Riley?" Marley says.

"It's the first bloody time since the accident I've been able to keep an erection long enough to have sex. We've been trying for weeks and it's been...tender, which is why I can't believe she would say I'm angry in bed. This morning, we were finally able to make it all the way to intercourse, and she started crying right in the middle of passion. And before you ask how that made me feel, well it made me feel furious. I'm trying to make love to my wife and she's...I don't know if she was pitying me or if she was recalled to her sex with Aidan Mosteller and feeling guilty about it, or if she was just comparing the two experiences and the one we were in was miserable in comparison, but any of the above reasons for her tears makes me fucking furious, alright? That's the truth."

"I see. And I want to get into this, and help you have a dialogue about what happened, but before we do, I want you to note what you said, Riley. You called Row your wife."

"It's just a habit," he says defensively.

"It's a habit I would encourage you to break," she says, surprising us both. "Your marriage is over. You both agreed to end your marriage."

"Actually, I divorced her," Riley reminds her. "It wasn't her preference."

"Yes, but infidelity is a deal breaker. Row ended the vows that you entered into with her when she cheated, and then you chose to finalize the dissolution legally. Where you are now, is definitely not in the same relationship as before the infidelity . That marriage is over and continuing the habits and routines of that marriage is not going to get you a better result. You can choose a new relationship, but you have to put a barrier between what was—which was dysfunctional and unhealthy and ultimately unsuccessful—and what is now.  There was a marriage, and it's over, and now you are both choosing a new partnership, in which you have an opportunity to completely reframe. It's a simple concept to understand, which I think helps you to make a better choices in reaching for each other in this new relationship. Would you agree?"

She looks to me. I think about what she said. "I would like to make better choices in our relationship, in every way. So yes, I'm willing to try that—not thinking of us as still married, but in a new relationship."

"It's not that easy," he objects.

"I didn't say it was an easy task, I said it was simple concept to understand," she corrects. "But what about the concept do you find difficult?"

Riley rolls his eyes behind his glasses. "The baggage is still there. Obviously."

"What baggage specifically?"

He lets go of my hand. "Her affair," he says, not looking at me. "With Mosteller—"

"Let's leave his name out of it," Marley says. "Names have power, and he has no power in your new relationship if Row has rejected him and chosen you, and you have forgiven the mistake and chosen to enter into a new relationship with her."

"He hasn't," I interject.

"He hasn't what?" Marley asks.

"Forgiven me," I say. "He hasn't. It's like three people, in this relationship. Me, Riley, and my...sin against our marriage."

She nods. "I see. Riley, do you think that Row's statement is true, or just an expression of her guilt?"

"I think it's true, but I also think it's true that her constant contrition makes it even harder for me to feel forgiveness. It keeps him-she says her sin, but in my mind it's him— between us."

Marley uncrosses her legs and leans forward. "Okay, let's have a real moment. I'm your fourth therapist and you are still talking about forgiveness as a feeling? Have you had shitty therapists or what?"

I laugh. "No. Riley doesn't understand the concept of forgiveness."

He turns to me, wincing in physical pain  as he does. "Rowan, there's not a goddammn thing I have thought more about in the last fifteen months than the concept of forgiveness. I have worked very hard in all kinds of fucking ways to forgive you. I failed over and over, and yet here I am, still trying. Harder than ever, because I love you."

I'm near tears, but my tears always seem to make him more angry, so I blink rapidly, trying to hold them back. "I love you,  and I am trying too,  but it feels like every step we take, we two back."

"Okay, I see the problem. You are both trying too hard," Marley says.

We both gape at her. "What?"

"Forgiveness after infidelity is not a footrace.You aren't going to cross a finish line and feel only victory from that moment on, and never again anger or guilt over the betrayal. That is not what forgiveness is. It's not a feeling. It's not a state of victory. It's a commitment."

"Yes, of course," he says dismissively. "I've heard that before, but I don't bloody know what it is I'm supposed to commit to."

Marley holds her hands out toward him. "Okay. If the idea of making a commitment to forgiveness doesn't fully resonate with you, let's use a different paradigm."

She folds her hands, and things for a long moment.

"I propose you think of forgiveness as a practice of compassion.  I want you to think of Ashlynn's yoga practice as an example. Just like Ashlynn practices yoga to achieve some balance of physical benefit and inner peace to keep healthy brain function,  you will practice compassion to achieve inner peace and a loving heart toward Row. There is no finish line to your forgiveness practice. It's  a skill that builds. Just like Ashlynn couldn't do headstands and acroyoga when she began, in the beginning your acts of compassion may seem too small to effect the bigger picture you are trying to achieve, but you will do what you can. Just as there are some days when Ashlynn still feels her old pain, there will still be some days when you will still feel the pain of betrayal. You will not frame that as a failure to forgive. The pain is an occasional reality of your life. You will continue your practice of compassion, just as Ashlynn continues her practice of yoga, because it manages the pain in the long term. You will not allow the intermittent pain to disrupt your practice. You will not allow it to be an excuse to return to the destructive habit of anger, just as Ashlynn doesn't allow her pain to return her to drug abuse. That is what I propose for you, Riley. A daily, gentle practice of compassion. Toward Row's guilt. And toward your anger."

Wow. That makes a lot of sense to me. No one has ever  framed it that way. I'm watching Riley carefully, to see if it's registering with him. He's especially proud of Ashlynn, because of the way she's turned her life around, so I think for once, he might relate to that example.

But he's not saying anything.  He is staring at me, and I'm scared this is going to be like all the other counseling sessions. This is so hard. I know Marley is trying. At the same time it's like she's speaking a language we can understand but can't speak ourselves.

I can't hold back the tears any longer.They are slipping down my face, and I'm wiping them away.

"Riley, what do you feel right now, watching Row cry?" Marley asks.

"Anger. I know I should feel compassion but I feel angry when she cries. She's crying because because we can't get past this. She's crying because of the affair. Sometimes I think she's crying because she thinks I am—and always have been—unfairly difficult as a hus—as a partner. We're trapped in the past, and I'm scared we will never escape it. That pisses me off."

"Okay, those are valid feelings. Let's turn those feelings into a practice of compassion. Is there anything you can do--right now—to free yourself from anger? Or is there any way you can comfort her? Can you practice compassion either toward yourself or toward Row, in this moment?"

Riley is staring at me with lips thinned in disapproval. They part suddenly. Something changes in his eyes. It's almost a violent transition from anger to—elation.

"Christ. I can do both. We already have the tool for this. I just wasn't using it properly..."

That's when I realize, too. Exactly what he means. He sees it on my face just as I have seen it on his. "Row— go get what we need, please..." he says urgently.

"Yes, on it" I say.  I jump up and throw open the door to Marley's study.

"Where's she going?" Marley asks, but I don't stop.

Bodie is in the kitchen, mashing something in a bowl. Violet is in a baby chair, batting at toys. He looks up. "Want some?" he grins and holds out a tiny spoon of avocado.

I laugh like a crazy person, still crying. "No!" I yell and race down the stairs to his basement. He's already feeding her when I beat back up the stairs carrying two guitars.

His eyes light up. "Oh, that's a fucking good idea. Hey, can I come to your therapy session, too? I wanna hear...and I can get the bongos!"

"No!" I yell, laughing again through my tears.

When I come back, Marley nods in encouragement. Riley must have explained already, what we are both thinking. I hand Riley a guitar, and I sit on the floor in front of him. He begins playing a lick I've never heard.

"What's that?"

"Just something original. Something that's been stuck in my head," he murmurs.

"Are there words?"

With excruciating care, he edges off the couch and onto the floor in front of me. He leans against the couch and extends his legs so that his left leg is touching mine. "There are, but they are hard ones. From...before."

"It's okay. I understand."

I do. I understand perfectly that a song is a catharsis—pain lifted into melody, given wings to fly away from its writer.

"I want to hear."

"Row, there's just one verse...and half a hook, the beginning of a conversation. Not necessarily the way I feel now..."

"I understand I really do. But maybe we should have all the conversations we should have had." I whisper.

The moment stretches as he smiles at me. We both know what's beginning. An entirely new relationship—a songwriting relationship. All these weeks of practicing covers, restyling them into a unique sound between us—it was building to this moment. We're on the precipice of something entirely new. Relearning love through song. Finding a musical vein we can open to bleed away all the hurt, guilt, anger.

"Alright, let's have a conversation," he says, very quietly.

He turns his attention to the guitar. He begins fingering the lick again. His melody begins quietly, as if he is singing a prayer over me while I sleep.

I think I'll leave this

Before I break you

And make you hate me

But I don't

Effortlessly, I find my response in verse:

Why won't you end this

I know I've hurt you

You could walk away

Though I won't

I can't explain how the words just spill out. It should be chilling but for whatever reason it feels perfectly natural. Riley doesn't seemed surprised, only approving as he strums forward to the hook, taking the lead once more.

Will you show me

How to be free?

Because I'm longing

To be Gone.

Again, the words fall from my tongue like they've always been there. Like we wrote the song already.

I can't release you from this love

Like you can't leave me alone

Cause there's right

In our wrong

Riley makes a sound of agreement. "Gorgeous, darling. Again." He restarts us at the hook, and then we begin the process of singing together this time, testing harmonies on the hook. We stumble a little and that's when Marley clears her throat.

We've both forgotten her, and we both have the same reaction. We look at her, and then we look at each other. In our silent exchange I know Riley and I are feeling each other perfectly and Marley is an intrusion in our process. We maybe need her for a lot of things, but we don't need her for this—our act of compassion.

We've got this.

Fortunately, she reads the situation as well. "Tell you what," she says. "I think I want to give you the room for this. Do you what you need to do, and whenever you are ready, we can finish this session, okay?"

When she opens the door, Bodie is lurking against the other wall.

"Bodie!" she hisses. "Are you eavesdropping on our therapy session?"

"Naw, I'm trying to get in a jam session," he pouts at her. She pushes him but he wraps her up in his arms and says. "Honestly I don't think there is any percussion for me there, but I'm thinking maybe you should swell the hook the second time with some strings. You might want to get Adam in on that with his cello? Or maybe Bridge with her violin. I don't know...you guys decide. But when you get it written, we need to talk. To Adam, I think. He could hook you up with a publishing house in Nashville. Or...you know...if you're feeling it...I could lay it down for you...just for fun...or maybe not just for fun?" He looks between us.

"You know you don't own a vanity label anymore, right?" Riley reminds him.

"Thank god. That was a pain in the ass, but I still know gold when I hear it..."

"Leave.Them.Alone." Marley beats his chest in time to her words. "This is therapy, not a studio session."

"Could be both," he shrugs at us and winks as he closes the door.

About an hour later, we've finished a rough draft of the song and practiced it over and over until there is no hurt or anger between us, only the desire to understand each other in every way, like we do in song.

I search for Marley and find her with her feet in the pool, talking on the phone to Darius, I think, while Bodie holds Violet to his chest in the pool, letting her splash and squeal.

"We're ready to talk again," I say to her.

"Wait. I don't get to hear the song?" Bodie says indignantly.

"Not today. We're going to work on a set of originals," I tell.

"What? Are you kidding me? You're worse than a cocktease, you know that?"

I laugh, while Marley gives him a stare of disbelief. "Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you that you would say that to Row when she's come here in the capacity of being my patient?"

"She knows I'm playin'," He rolls his eyes at his wife. "Humor is good therapy too, Dr. Watkins-Jamison."

She rises and says to Darius on the phone. "Your father is being an idiot." She listens to whatever he says, laughts and says, "Right. I've gotta go, D. Love you."

Marley pads back to our session barefoot, with her slacks rolled up, grabbing us waters along the way.

As she passes them out, she says, "Okay, how are you both feeling now?"

Riley is still sitting on the floor, but I'm sitting on the couch above him, one leg tucked beneath me, one leg dangling against his shoulder. He reaches for my leg, gently massaging my calf and ankle. "The anger is gone, and we just had an incredible experience together. I feel...incredibly close to Row right now."

Marley smiles. "Row?"

"I feel...safe. I feel like I can trust Riley's mood to stay calm, now...even if we have to talk about something hard."

"That's good, because we do," Marley says. "We need to revisit what happened this morning."

I sigh. "I know." I slide off the couch and sit shoulder to shoulder with Riley.

"Can you tell him why you started crying in the middle of sex?"

He takes my hand. "It's okay. You can tell me. Even if it was pity for me, because it wasn't like it used to be.  Or even if I did something to make you think of him, and then you felt guilty...you can tell me. We have to talk about it, to get past it..."

"It none of that Riley. It was because you were in pain," I say. "You were in pain but you were resolved to keep going, and it felt...forced. And I don't want any more forced sex between us."

I look quickly at Marley, thinking she might misunderstand. "I didn't mean...that Riley has never forced sex with me, obviously. I meant...After the affair...we tried to resume our sex life and it was difficult. He was disconnected, it was mechanical. At that point in our relationship, his anger during sex was really...demeaning to me.  After a certain point, this morning...it felt the same way to me. That he was only trying to prove a point. A different point than before, but still...I felt like he was trying to prove his manliness, instead of making love to me."

He looks confused. "Seriously? That's why you were crying? Darling, I wasn't disconnected. I only wanted to please you..."

"I didn't feel that way," I say. "It was wonderful at first...but then..."

He closes his eyes. "But then I changed positions. You're not wrong, darling. I was in pain and I kept trying to find a position that was slightly better, but it was still definitely worth it...and I certainly didn't mean to make you feel...undervalued in the act."

"But it did feel that way. Because I want to make love with you, not just get off. I want it feel like the real connection we had when we were first  married, not the painful disconnect we ended with."

Now Riley looks sad, but he eases his arm around me, and kisses my head. "I understand, but I don't know where that leaves us in terms of a sex life. Pretty much every way in which I move has the potential for discomfort right now, Row."

"I do," Marley smiles. "It leaves you with taking sex back off the table for a little bit longer. It sounds to me, for both physical and emotional reasons, neither of you are ready to resume that part of your relationship."

"That is terrible advice, Dr. Watkins," Riley scoffs.

"It is not. Your physical pain during sex is causing your partner emotional pain during sex which is in turn causing you anger and disrupting your practice of compassion toward her. It is perfectly reasonable advice, especially since you're attitude is to ignore your pain instead of try to manage it better."

"Tell me that when you've spent three months thinking you might never be capable of sex again," he grits.

"I think she's right. Riley every time we've tried, I feel incredibly anxious and worried that we're going to have trouble...and we do. You are maybe emotionally ready to have some kind of sex with me, but maybe...I'm not. I need to feel more confident that the experience isn't going to end in disappointment or your anger. And we're not there yet. I just need a little time to make sure you're comfortable, physically. "

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Alright. We'll take sex off the table until my pain is better. But we're calling the doctor, a hypnotist, an acupuncturist and a masseuse as soon as we can get home, because life is short, Rowan, and I want us back. All the way back."

"Me too. As soon as it doesn't hurt for you to make love to me. "

"Okay. Then it's settled. But only I can feel my pain, so I get to make the call, about when I'm physically ready."

"But I get to decide when I feel emotionally comfortable with your decision."

"Fine."

"Good."

"Okay, then," I smirks.

"Excellent."

"Wonderful."

Marley is absorbed in her notebook, trying not to laugh at us.

I sigh. "You're not letting me have the last word, are you?"

"Nope," I smiles.

"For all you many wonderful qualities, you are exasperating as bloody fuck, sometimes. Do you know that, darling?"

"You love how tenacious I am."

He smiles at me. "I do."

She gives me shit-eating grin. "I know you do."

"This is juvenile."

"Then just stop talking. "

He pauses. He knows I'm right. But he can't let it go. He's so like this. "I don't always have to have the last word, you know."

"Prove it. Prove it right now, in front of our therapist."

He gives me a coaxing, charming smile. "What if the last words are, 'I love you, Rowan, and I'm glad we are in therapy so that we can learn to negotiate better?'"

"I'd say that's  fantastic that you feel that way, and I hope you show it by following through with your doctor about better pain management."

He glowers. "I said I would, didn't I?"

"Great, thank you."

"You're welcome. But honestly my pain is not that bad. I'm only doing this to show you I'm willing to compromise."

"See what I mean? He can't ever let me have the last word." I say to Marley.

"Hmmmm," Marley says.

"It's not true," he pouts.

"It's so true."

"Bloody hell, Row."

"All you have to do is stop responding."

"You're time is up," Marley interjects.

"Why is having the last word so important to you?" he asks me, as I help him to his feet.

"It's not. Why is it so important to you?" I counters.

"It's not. "

"Clearly it is or we wouldn't still be doing this."

"Good-bye," Marley rolls her eyes and shuts her office door in my face.

We revel in our silly bicker the rest of the day. It feels amazing to have nothing to fight about except who gets the last word.

I let him win, by letting him sing me to sleep. His gorgeous expressive voice says even more than the lyrics we wrote.

"I can't release you from this love/Like you can't leave me alone/Cause there's right/In our wrong."