August 2009
With a polite smile, the receptionist gestured towards the closed door flanking the front desk. “Mr. Ephrem, you’re welcome to step inside.”
Raf was half an hour early to his one o’clock appointment, but Mrs. Lantos never crowded her bookings enough to make him wait, no matter his timing. He supposed that was a luxury afforded to her by the high cost of her professional services. And by all means, someone with the competence required to to turn a life around–the way she had been able to do for him–deserved every luxury money could afford. The mountains she had to move in order to wear down his cynicism, on this matter alone, spoke to her abilities loudly enough.
As Raf opened the door and stepped into her office, Mrs. Lantos greeted him with a warm smile, a welcoming nod, and a gesture to the small couch he had grown so familiar with over the past several years. She said nothing, electing instead to close her laptop and place her pen down on top of it before sitting back in her chair with her hands folded in a relaxed manner atop her lap.
She was an older woman, short and a bit squat with a round face and softly wrinkled skin. Her hair, once blonde, was closer to white, now, and fell poker straight past her shoulders, held back from her face by a hair large clip that bit against the back of her head. Her brown eyes sparkled warmly, yet held him with a calculating intensity that betrayed her hardened experience. Indeed, Raf had quickly learned that, though Mrs. Lantos practised kindness very effortlessly, she had a sharp eye for bullshit and didn’t play games.
Their relationship had never been adversarial, even at its very beginning when he was less than convinced that these therapy sessions would amount to anything for him. He had made something of a game out of it, electing to agree with everything she had to say and employ every piece of advice she dispensed to the fullest extent he reasonably could–without betraying any malicious intent via his overcompliance.
Even still, she had been able to signal to him, on several occasions, that she could see through the behavior. It was evident to him by the meticulous deliberation she afforded her phrasing. It was evident to him during their very first session, when she identified his agreeability for what it was. She pulled back the curtain on him quite swiftly with a point-blank assertion that she would not be calling his diagnosis into question, but explained to him, instead, that they’d find it easier to develop habits and strategies targeting his PTSD rather than try to categorize and target behaviors that could be attributed to the paranoid personality diagnosis. He had told her that he was accepting of both diagnoses, but at some point, he had given her an indication of serious doubt towards the PPD diagnosis.
Or perhaps she simply assumed that was the case, regardless of what he told her–as a hallmark trait of the disorder itself. Either way, she made it clear to him that she was disinterested in forcing notions of his own personality upon him and was willing to meet him where he was at. After all, he did want help. There was absolutely something wrong with him, and he was tired of feeling the way he did. The PTSD diagnosis made perfect sense to him. It actually acknowledged the uniquely awful experiences of his childhood in a way that calling him “paranoid” strived to dismiss. And whether or not Mrs. Lantos agreed on this point, she was very careful about how she described his behaviors to him. To date, Raf could not recall a time where she had even used the word “paranoid” as an adjective with him. She was very clever for it.
Yet, after all these years of working with him, she never once suggested a reassessment of his diagnosis.
“Hey.” Raf closed the door behind him before obediently dropping himself onto the tweed couch. “It’s been a hot moment,” He suspected that this was some version of the greeting that Mrs. Lantos had courteously withheld from him.
“A fair few months,” she agreed. “How has it been?”
“Great, actually.” He kicked off his shoes so that he could throw his feet up onto the armrest furthest from him. “S’why you haven’t heard from me.”
“This is good news.” She delivered her response with a genuine tone carried on a nearly imperceptible sigh. Earlier in their relationship, Raf could have interpreted that sigh a handful of differently disparaging ways. Today, however, there was a practised ease in the way he chose to take her response at face value.
“That being the case,” she continued, “I’m interested in hearing about what brings you here today.”
“Ah, yeah.” Raf nestled in, dropping his head down onto the armrest behind him, and folding his hands atop his stomach. “Well…good things are coming to an end and I need a level head to bounce some thoughts off of.”
“Alright.” Mrs. Lantos settled deeper into her chair. “When you’re ready, Mr. Ephrem.”
Raf elected not to hesitate. “Margie.”
“Your roommate.” Mrs. Lantos confirmed.
“Yeah,” he winced, “not for much longer, unfortunately. She got a job offer from some place in Edmonton–legitimately a pretty cool gig. I don’t know if you know anything about video games…” He cast a sidelong glance to her before deciding not to waste time on these particular details. “It’s a really well known company that’s put out some very popular titles. She’ll be composing music for their games and she’s just…extremely excited about it. And I’m glad for her because she’s been aching so badly for a career that will legitimize her skills as a musician. But I’m hitting up against, uh…” He let out a thoughtful hum that rumbled more like a groan.
“They won’t let her do it remotely. For some reason, they need her living in Edmonton so that she can go into the office every day. Which is ludicrous to me, but they’re offering to pay for the entire move–everything!” He shifted restlessly, tucking his hands under the back of his head. “And she’s excited to leave.”
There was a long pause as Raf waited to hear Mrs. Lantos identify the subject of his difficulty, but she didn’t.
She never did.
She’d never go beyond rephrasing to clarify things. Mrs. Lantos’ consistency in her refusal to guess his thoughts or feelings to him, no matter how obvious it may have been, forced Raf to put words to it himself.
“I really don’t want her to go.”
“Have you told her this?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
During their earliest sessions together, Lantos had made it very clear to him that this line of questioning was intended to hear and understand his reasoning, and did not signify any manner of her own opinion on the matter. It wasn’t a veiled condemnation of his actions, nor was it an inquisitive form of agreement. Still, Raf had difficulty managing his defensive knee-jerk reaction at what definitely felt like a question preceding criticism.
“I don’t trust her with that information.” With a heavy sigh, Raf kicked one leg up, over the headrest of the couch, so that his foot dangled behind it.
“I don’t trust her to make the right choice with it. I just don’t see a way to tell her without–I don’t know–planting resentment.”
His second leg joined up with the first, slung over the back of the couch, and in turn, his entire upper body slid towards the center of the seat so that his head and shoulders dangled over the edge, down towards the floor. It granted him an excellent up-side-down view of the front of Mrs. Lantos’ desk, and she made no comment about his choice of posture. Hanging upside down off the couch had been long established as his favorite “therapy pose”--initially done to test the limits of her patience with him, but quickly became an unironic part of the whole…therapy ritual. He allowed his gaze to unfocus.
“Am I weird for that? It doesn’t seem…fair to weigh in on a decision like this. If the roles were reversed and she came at me last minute telling me to stay for whatever reason, I’d be pretty pissed off.”
“Why ‘pissed off’?”
Raf turned up his palms in an exasperated gesture, “Why wait? Why now? The terms of our relationship were crystal clear; it’s a temporary thing. I was specific about not wanting a commitment–if things stopped being fun or if something changed, we could hit the bricks, no explanation required, no need to justify the decision. I just–I thought…” He dropped his hands back town atop his stomach. “I know I’d be pissed off if the roles were reversed because I’ve played it over so many times in my head. I’ve spent a lot of time preparing myself for the moment when it’s time to ditch, only to have her decide last-minute that our agreement is suddenly not what she agreed to anymore. I’ve had every imaginary argument I could fathom with her about it. ‘Cus I’m a fucking moron who didn’t think it could have ever ended up the other way around.”
“Patience with yourself. Setting up well-communicated boundaries and personal safeguards based on experiences from your previous relationships is something all relationships require to thrive. Our previous discussions about that still ring very true.” She paused to let that settle for a moment.
“However, what you're running up against here sounds like a very difficult practical lesson in distinguishing personal boundaries and safeguards from avoidance coping and controlling behavior. Your empathetic approach to this situation is very fair. As is your conclusion. It won’t hurt to let her know that you’re sad to see her go, but your reluctance towards discouraging language like, ‘I don’t want you to go,’ is well founded. It may be helpful to focus, instead, on celebrating this last stretch of time you have with her as your roommate. It will also help to keep it in perspective that she’s only moving to a city one province over, she’s not out of reach. Once she’s settled in over there, important conversations between the two of you can still take place without the burden of time-sensitive, life-changing decisions.”
“Mmh.” He’d been going to therapy for far too long. Everything she was saying were conclusions he already arrived at on his own. He was really hoping…for something better.
“It’s difficult not to feel slighted.” Raf admitted. “I gave her a job, a place to live, all the amenities. Instruments…We played so much music together. None of that was validation enough. Bioware sounds great but…man, it sucks to be ditched for a company.”
“If she’s being asked to relocate and put in hours at the office, it sounds like she’s being hired on as an employee rather than a contractor.”
“She is.”
“It may be a matter of commitment, then.”
Raf winced so hard that his eyes wrenched shut.
Mrs. Lantos continued. “Giving her a place to stay and providing her a source of income is very generous from many perspectives, but from her perspective, this may feel like a very tenuous arrangement that relies entirely on her relationship with you. You’ve created a situation where you get to maintain a great deal of control and enjoy all the protections that affords you, but the cost of this is Margie’s sense of security. Especially if, as you’ve said, you’ve made it clear to her that the relationship is temporary.
I would encourage you to frame her decision as one that’s concerned with wresting control over her own quality of life. It isn’t a matter of her valuing a business more than she values you. If we consider the hierarchy of needs, Margie is likely looking to fulfil the “stable environment” tier before she can feel securely receptive to the “belonging”, “esteem”, and “self actualization” tiers. Your current arrangement with her provides plenty of opportunity to seize those top three, but fails to secure the more foundational tier. Right now, you may need to accept that her needs are not compatible with yours. You wanted a temporary relationship, and this is the natural outcome of that. By seeking stability elsewhere, and not requesting that you step up to fill those needs for her, she’s respecting the terms of your shared arrangement. Does it seem reasonable to begrudge her for this?”
Raf hefted himself to sit back up on the couch the way it was designed for. And then there was a long, silent pause as his gaze washed over the darkly tiled floor beneath his feet.
“How do I fix it?”
It was too vague of a question and he knew Mrs. Lantos wouldn’t try to interpret its meaning for him. But he couldn’t find the words to elaborate, either. And so another long moment of silence followed.
“If you’re seeking advice on convincing her to stay,” Mrs. Lantos maintained her diagnostic tone, “With the information I have currently, I can only really advise you against pursuing that course. To ‘fix’ anything here, we need to take a step back from the entire situation and gain some perspective on how it arose in the first place. And to do that, we may need to identify and discuss some of the more complex emotions at play.” She paused, “I’m suggesting we talk about your feelings, but only if that’s a conversation you want to partake in.”
Raf lifted his head to meet her gaze, and felt the corners of his mouth pull upward in a closed-lipped, joyless smile that indicated his discomfort. “It’s not.” He turned his chin up to prompt her, “But talk. I want to hear your thoughts about this, they can be wrong. I don’t care. I just want to hear you say something about this.”
Mrs. Lantos mirrored his smile for a fleeting moment before injecting some genuine warmth into it. “We’re better to–”
“You’re not gonna piss me off. No reading between the lines, I know you have limited information. I’ll work through it. Just give me–something.”
The therapist’s smile faded as she measured him with an extremely heavy gaze. He didn’t flinch away from it and sat firmly with his resolve.
She relaxed in her seat. “I’m going to list off the things I understand as facts. Correct me if you feel something is misrepresented in my wording.”
Raf provided a curt nod, and she began listing the points on her fingers. “You met Margie in a train station, bonded over a shared interest for music, and agreed to meet up once a week to play music together. You offered your place of work as a primary meeting spot for practical reasons. Over the following weeks, your compatibility led to a tentative friendship, which led you to feel concerned about her housing situation.”
She paused there for a moment to allow Raf an interjection. When he only provided a tentative nod, she continued.
“You offered to let her stay in the guest bedroom if she didn’t have anywhere else to go. She took you up on that offer, but the lack of frequency concerned you. To address this concern, you offered her the keys to your apartment and free tenancy. She declined the free tenancy, and you responded by giving her a job that she could work in order to contribute rent. This arrangement seemed to satisfy both of your concerns, and things went relatively well for you during the months that followed. The relationship further escalated when you both arrived at the decision to involve sexual intimacy. You both agree that your relationship is not romantic in nature, and promised no commitment to one another.”
Again, Raf provided a resigned nod.
“And now, she has secured a new job for herself and will be moving out to Edmonton, bringing an end to this particular arrangement, but not to your relationship”
“That’s a pretty fair summary,” Raf agreed, “except I’ve never had a relationship survive any kind of distance for long. So…if I’m being honest, that’s probably toast, too.”
Maybe that was something to unpack later, too, but Lantos remained on their current course.
“Alright. She has secured a new job for herself and will be moving out to Edmonton, bringing an end to the arrangement and, potentially, the relationship as a whole.”
“Mmhm.”
“Additionally,” Mrs. Lantos folded her hands back over her lap. “All of this has taken place over the course of a year. You met in August last year, if I recall? She moved in before Christmas. Things turned sexual in spring.”
“As they do.” It was a weak stab at humor, but for some reason, shame colored Raf’s tone. Having the events listed in such a clinical manner shone light onto a few…things he found deeply disquieting.
Lantos continued. “Would you agree that this progression is unusual for you?”
“Yep.”
“Would you agree that several of these decisions may have been made during emotionally compromised states that may have circumvented your usual systems of reasoning?”
This won a moment of hesitation from him.
“...No? I just wanted her to be safe.”
“What options did you consider before addressing that concern?”
He hadn’t.
“Yeah, alright. I know where you’re heading with this.” He sighed and slumped against the backrest of the sofa.
She waited.
He stared at her.
The ball was in his court. He hadn’t answered her question.
He didn’t want to.
“Is it just…impossible? To have a relationship that doesn’t suck?”
A twitch tugged the corner of her mouth–she almost smirked at him. “If that’s not a rhetorical question, I’ll need you to elaborate on it before I can give an answer.”
A pang of anger seared him and he drew in a steadying breath.
I signed up for this. I can leave at any time.
“Alright.”
He sat up–and leaned forward.
“Alex sucked. Lacey sucked. They were both fine until we decided to try and lock it in. Alex, whatever. That was stupid, I completely clocked out. But Lace–man, we fuckin’ tried. For years. And the harder we tried, the worse it got. Everything, everything was a fucking slight. Did something? ‘Not enough, should have done it sooner.’ Didn’t do something? ‘Why not? What’s the problem? Did I piss you off? Am I not worth it?’ A win was just setting the bar higher, and higher, and higher. Alex, too! I stopped going to parties because I was struggling with my course load, and he took it to mean that I didn’t enjoy spending time with him anymore. When we were just friends, there wasn’t that obligation. We didn’t need to do everything together, we didn’t need to constantly reaffirm our feelings for eachother with these obligatory gestures that’d just lose their meaning if they didn’t keep getting bigger and better and more spectacular. Shit that used to be so nice and fun and assuring became rote, meaningless, and so, so fucking tedious.
“Margie–I bring her home some fuckin’...french fries from McDonalds and she’s just thrilled to know I thought of her. If I ‘loved’ her–if she thought I ‘loved’ her–she’d expect to live in my head every second of every day. If I ordered food, of course I’d have to order for her too–or else it’d mean I didn't ‘love’ her. And then doing that for her doesn’t bring the same joy any more because it’s just–the bare minimum I should be expected to do. That. That.
That sucks.”
Mrs. Lantos maintained her composure except for a barely perceptible twitch of her fingers, hands still neatly folded on her lap. “You’re asking if it’s possible to have a relationship where basic gestures aren’t taken for granted, and space is provided to you when you express a need for it?”
“Or something,” Raf vaguely agreed with a dismissive shake of his head.
“The answer is ‘yes’. I’d venture so far as to say it’s a requirement.” She wove her fingers together and corrected her posture. “Let’s look at the relationship you have with your uncle. It’s platonic, but the necessary foundations for any thriving, long-term, loving relationship is the same across all of them. Do you feel your uncle’s expectations have exerted an increasing pressure on your relationship with him?”
A smile cracked across Raf’s face before a bark of laughter escaped him. He buried his face into his hands with a cynically bemused groan. “My uncle is just happy to know that I haven’t walked into traffic yet.” He punctuated that with a self-depreciating little laugh. “I can manage his expectations just fine. They’re pretty much non-existent, yeah.”
“And have your expectations of him increased over the years at all?”
“I don’t–” Raf’s tone sobered up. “He’s not digging hooks into me and raking me across his whims, so expectations are being constantly exceeded.”
“Your expectations weren’t raised after he gave you a place to stay?”
“No.”
“After he gave you a job?”
“...”
Raf turned reproachful eyes to her. “Are you drawing a parallel?”
“Not explicitly, but,” assuredly, she leaned back in her seat once more, “love, as a human quality, is best defined as an emotional vestment into the health, comfort, and general well being of another person, wherein tending to those factors is the transactional goal and reward of the relationship. That’s it. At its very core, that’s really all there is to it.You and your uncle illustrate this very well.”
Lantos allowed Raf a quiet moment to think about this, and waited patiently for a counter argument.
He took his time to chew on it. There were objections that struggled to find words in his brain. If the words existed, he didn’t find them quickly enough before Mrs. Lantos moved forward with the conversation.
“If you want Margie to stay, your best bet may be to describe exactly how you feel about her leaving, that your feelings come from a place of genuine love for her, and that you’d really like the chance to renegotiate your relationship with her. Whether you actually mean it or not, there’s a fairly decent chance that it will force her to reconsider her choice. But–”
But…
It was exactly the ‘advice’ he had been fishing to hear from her. He knew that she knew it. But hearing it outloud caused something to break with a painful twang inside of him like an overwound violin string.
Dropping his elbows onto his knees, he slumped forward and buried his eyes into the heels of his palms. As far as he was concerned, this marked the end of his therapy session.
And the end of his future with Margie.