“People don’t just share their problems with me. I get to hear about a lot of joyful things too. Marriage, babies, people breaking old patterns, surprising themselves in ways they didn’t think possible…”
“But why would you need to talk to a therapist about good stuff?”
“Most of my clients are what we call the worried well, people like you or me who don’t have serious underlying mental illness but are looking for someone to talk to who can offer a more objective insight than they might find from a partner or a friend.”
“How do you know I’m not seriously mentally ill?” asked Lucky.
She had meant for it to be a joke, but the question came out strangely earnest.
“That’s true,” said Chiti with a gentle nod. “I don’t. None of us really know what another is going through until that person feels able to share the truth of their lived experience.”
“But how do you do that?” asked Lucky. “What if you don’t even know the truth of your, um, lived experience?”
“It takes practice,” said Chiti.
“Sounds hard,” said Lucky.
Chiti glanced at Lucky and forced a smile.
“Now you remind me of Avery,” she said.
They finished eating and Chiti began loading the dishwasher, shooing away Lucky’s attempts to help. Avery had still not returned from her meeting, and they both kept surreptitiously glancing at the clock.
“Can I get you coffee or tea?” asked Chiti. “We have this fancy espresso maker I’d love an excuse to use.”
“Sure, I’ll have one if you are.”
Chiti turned to pull a tiny coffee cup off one of the high shelves.
“I’m actually not drinking caffeine at the moment, if you can believe it.” She emitted a light laugh. “Chinese water torture would be preferable.”
Lucky raised her eyebrows in surprise. Chiti was famously addicted to coffee. Lucky had once actually heard her ask what altitude the beans she was drinking were grown at.
“First the booze, now the caffeine. What are you, pregnant?”
Chiti turned around quickly, her face flushed.
“Sorry, that was stupid,” said Lucky. She’d spoken without thinking and years of working with mostly female models meant she knew better than to ever ask a woman if she was pregnant.
“No, it’s okay,” said Chiti. “I’m not, but we’ve decided to start looking for a donor.” She cast her eyes down, unable to contain her smile. “I know the no-caffeine thing is a bit preemptive, but I thought, well, better overprepared than under.”
“Oh shit,” said Lucky. “I mean wow. That’s great.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” said Chiti. “It’s not my news to tell. Not that we have any news!” She threw up her hands as if releasing something from her grasp, a bird perhaps, or a butterfly. “Silly me, I’m just excited.”
Lucky stepped forward and hugged Chiti.
“You’re going to be the best mums ever,” she said.
But there was a sadness, too, beneath Lucky’s words. Life as she knew it was ending yet again. Avery and Chiti would be busy with their baby, and they wouldn’t have time to look after her anymore. Even though she hadn’t seen Avery in a year, the knowledge that her eldest sister was there, willing to drop everything if she needed her, had been a comfort. But she was twenty-six years old, Lucky reminded herself sternly. She didn’t need a mom anymore, and she especially didn’t need her sister to be her mom. Chiti pulled away, smiling, and clapped her hands together.
“Now, I’ve laid everything out in the guest room for you,” she said. “There are towels folded on the chair if you want to take a shower before bed. Or we could curl up and watch telly. Don’t judge me, but I’ve become addicted to this reality show about young people sequestered on an island together trying to find love. They spend a lot of time getting drunk, then fighting in the hot tub. Mesmerizing stuff.” Chiti grinned. “I’d feel a little less sad if I was watching it with company.”
“Actually,” said Lucky, her face growing hot, “I was going to head out and meet this stylist I know. Her friend’s having a party. If that’s okay?”
Lucky had met the stylist at a fashion week party back in February. She couldn’t remember much about her, but she’d been peppering Lucky with messages ever since and Lucky wasn’t one to turn down a party with an open bar. She tried not to notice the look of disappointment Chiti was quickly wiping from her face.
“Of course, of course! We’re such homebodies in this house, I can forget it’s Friday night. Vish is always mocking me for it.”
“How is Vish?” asked Lucky, eager to get off the subject of where she was going.
“Oh, he’s well. In love with someone new every week as far as I can tell, but such are the foibles of youth.”
“Right…You sure you don’t mind?”
“Absolutely not,” said Chiti resolutely. “Go be young. I’ll just get the spare key for you so you can come and go as you please.”
—
Lucky let herself out of the house with a wave of guilty relief. The truth was, she was dying for a drink. She shut the door with a soft clunk and turned to find Avery opening the gate at the bottom of the steps. She looked different. Her cheeks were pink and her dark hair, usually pulled back in some kind of sensible ponytail, fell softly around her face. A wrap dress in a pretty print of purple hydrangeas cinched her waist. She looked flushed and girlish, completely unlike the Avery Lucky remembered. Avery turned to see Lucky at the top of the stairs and stopped.
“You’re wearing a dress,” said Lucky.
“It’s summer!” said Avery, flustered instantly into defensiveness.
“No, it looks great. I just haven’t seen you in one since we were kids, is all.”
“That’s preposterously untrue,” said Avery, shutting the gate behind her with a sharp click. “I wear dresses all the time. You just never see me.”
