Vanity Fare Read Online Free PDF Page A

while you eat every single crumb.
     

 
    3
    “ GIVE IT TO ME .”
    Dr. Lowell held her hand out, offering no chance to refuse. I leaned forward on the sofa, feeling the butter-soft brown leather squish under the weight of my thighs. I thrust the paper toward her, then scooted back to wait as she adjusted her half-moon glasses.
    I didn’t want to watch her read it, so I looked around her office, noting the framed degrees rising vertically up her bone-colored wall. So many degrees. So many ways to analyze just how screwed up a person was.
    She cleared her throat, darted a mischievous glance at me, and began reading. Out loud. Dear God.
    THINGS THAT ARE BETTER WITHOUT HUGH
Being able to watch teen movies like What a Girl Wants with Colin Firth without having to change the channel quickly when he comes into the room
Not having to watch SportsCenter
Being able to read trashy romance novels without having to see a raised eyebrow
Not having to watch any Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue cover model search
Getting on the computer when I want to
Being able to go to sleep when I want
No wet spot
No little shaving whiskers in the sink
All the mess is my mess
Three words: more closet space
    She chuckled, folding the paper and holding it out to me. “Do you mind if I keep this?” Her brown eyes were gleaming behind her glasses. At least someone found me amusing.
    I shook my head. “No, of course not.”
    “It sounds like you’re regaining your sense of humor.”
    “A little bit,” I admitted in a cautious tone. “Although Hugh called a couple of nights ago.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “What did he want?” Her tone was as frosty as the bitter February day outside. Bless her little therapist’s heart.
    I told her.
    Her eyes widened and she shifted forward in her chair. “So what will you do now?”
    I gave a rueful laugh. “Isn’t that why I pay you the big bucks? To tell me?”
    She smirked in reply. “No, Molly, you pay me the big bucks to help you figure out what to do.” Why did I have to find the one therapist in New York City who was as snarky as I was?
    I exhaled. “Well, I don’t think I can pay you any size bucks, at least not until I figure this stuff out. My insurance will run out in a month. John called, I’m doing some temporary work for him, thank God. But after that? I’m scared.”
    She placed her hands in her lap and nodded. “Of course you are. That’s natural. What we have to work on is not letting you get overwhelmed.” A lump rose in my throat as she spoke—how could she sit there, all New York City Upper East Side comfortable and calmly tell me not to get over-whelmed? I resented her, resented anyone who had figured it out better than me.
    “You mean having no visible means of support for me and my six-year-old son are not reason enough to get over-whelmed?” My tone was sharper than I’d intended.
    She waved her hand at me. “It is reason. But you’re stronger than that, Molly, you just have to believe it yourself.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Okay. Well, so far I made this list for you, like you asked, and I looked at the classifieds but then this thing with John came up.” I paused, and shifted on the couch.
    “Yes?” Her tone was hopeful, encouraging, confident.
    “I thought I might look into teaching. Substitute teaching at first. And then . . .” My voice trailed off.
    “Stop it, Molly.” Dr. Lowell leaned forward in her chair and gripped her armrests with her hands. “Do not let yourself do this.”
    “Do what?” I said in a monotone.
    “This.” Her voice was dismissive. “Climbing into a hole and pulling everything in on top of you. Break it down. Take one thing at a time.”
    I placed my hands on my thighs. “I guess I could ask my mother for help. For Aidan’s insurance, at least.” Dr. Lowell’s expression made it look like she had swallowed a bug.
    Which is what I bet my face looked like, too. Dr. Lowell was very— very —familiar with my mother, at least from the