The drive from Mar Vista to Westwood should be real quick, but of course it never is, ’cause of all the traffic and everything. I’m listening to the Velvet Underground’s self-titled album, and I’m sweating like crazy, even though the air-conditioning’s going full blast.
I smoke another cigarette, listening to Lou Reed singing, “I’m beginning to see the light.”
And I sing right along, walking through the crowded UCLA campus to the medical building where I have my appointment.
Dr. Cooper’s actually super nice to me about being late and all—which is a lot cooler than some therapists I’ve had in the past. She leads me back to her little office and sits down cross-legged opposite me in her uncomfortable-looking computer chair. I have the choice of a couch or a kind of plush armchair, so I go for the couch and cross my own legs and breathe out loud.
She adjusts her wire-frame glasses, asking me the same question I’ve been asking myself all day. “So, how are you feeling about going back to Charleston?”
I sit up straighter, and then I go over everything—repeating all the reasons I feel obligated to go back with Sue Ellen and all the reasons I don’t want to.
“The fact is,” I say, trying to make eye contact as best I can with her, “she was there for me when I needed her. So whether I’m in love with her or not, I need to be there for her now. That’s the right thing to do. I mean, I really do owe my life to her. That’s how it works, right?”
Dr. Cooper actually laughs some. She tucks a strand of blond hair behind her surprisingly tiny ear, and I notice for the first time how long and thin her fingers are.
“Look,” she tells me, acting kind of mock exasperated, or something. “Don’t kid yourself, all right? What she did for you was not some selfless, saintly act. She’s no Mother Teresa. She acted on her own self-interests just as much as you did. I mean, let’s face it, you both used each other, right? The decisions she made were based on her own needs and desires. So, I promise you, one hundred percent, you don’t owe her anything. Obviously, it’d be great if you could end the relationship in a straightforward and kind manner, but even that you don’t actually owe to her. And I gotta say, Nic, without trying to tell you what to do at all, you really do have a lot to gain by staying in LA. The work you’re doing here is already paying off in a big way, but, honestly, you’re still in the very beginning of the building process. Now, I’m not saying you can’t continue this work in Charleston—and, obviously, I’d be happy to keep up appointments with you over the phone—but the support system you’ve built here just seems to be working so well for you. I’d hate for you to have to lose that.”
“No, I know, me too,” I start to say, but she cuts me off, apologizing.
“Sorry, Nic, I just want to say one more thing. You talk a lot about how you’re not in love with Sue Ellen, but I think there’s a big part of you that feels like the reason you don’t have that love for her is because you are comparing her with Zelda. I’d even go so far as to make up that you don’t think anyone could ever possibly compare to Zelda, so there’s no point in even trying. But the truth is, Nic, the only reason you don’t feel Sue Ellen compares with Zelda is that you very simply don’t have a real connection with her. There are girls out there who will compare with Zelda, though, I promise you that. There are girls out there who will even far surpass her. What you have to do is be patient until you find that girl. Because she really is out there. And, Nic, you deserve that. And, honestly, that girl, whoever she is, deserves you, too. But Sue Ellen is not that girl. I know you know that. I’m just trying to help clarify things for you.”
My voice gets all choked up when I try to respond too quickly. Tears are coming down. “So I don’t have to sacrifice myself for her?”
Dr. Cooper laughs, but just to emphasize her point. “Of course not, Nic. I mean, this isn’t the Middle Ages. We don’t need martyrs anymore.”
I laugh, even though I’m still crying.
“Look,” she continues. “You don’t need to hold yourself to such ridiculous standards. I can tell you honestly that you’ve made just so much progress. You’re allowed to be happy, Nic. You deserve that. You deserve to live for yourself and, yeah, to love yourself. I give you permission, okay? And that actually means something because I’m a doctor, right?”
We both laugh together at that, and then I just close my eyes and sit silent for about a minute, breathing.
“Yes,” I finally say. “Okay, yes, you’re right. I deserve to be fulfilled. I mean, why not? Everyone else deserves it, so why not me? I deserve to find some sort of happiness and, yeah, I believe I can. I believe doing this work here and in outpatient and with my friends and all really will give me the foundation I need. I believe in the life I’m building. So I’ll stay. I’ll figure it out and I’ll stay. Hell, maybe I’ll call that kid Justin and see if any of the apartments he manages are open. That’d be perfect.”
“It would,” she tells me. “That would be just great. But I do want to say one more thing. If you do this, which I absolutely support, it’ll be the first time you haven’t been in a relationship in… what, five years? Is that right?”
I think for a minute before nodding. “Yes.”
“Well, that’s going to be a major transition, so wherever you
