Episode Two: Everybody Else’s Shit
This is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and therapeutic encounters are imagined.
Tasha K hated wasting money.
Which was ironic, considering she was sitting twenty-seven floors above downtown Dallas discussing a wedding that might not even happen.
The conference room was all glass, brass, and skyline. Lori sat across from her with a tablet open, a wedding budget pulled up, and the calm expression of a woman who had successfully trained herself not to look overwhelmed.
Tasha stared at her.
Lori kept scrolling.
“Okay,” Lori said. “So if we move the flowers from—”
“Tuh.”
Lori stopped.
“What?”
Tasha leaned back in her chair.
“What’s really going on?”
“With what?”
“With you.”
Lori’s face changed just slightly.
Tasha pointed at the tablet.
“Because I’m not about to have you spend seventy-something thousand dollars on a wedding you don’t even know if you want.”
“I want the wedding.”
“That ain’t what I asked.”
Lori looked toward the window.
Below them, Dallas looked tiny. Organized. Easy.
Nothing looked complicated from that high up.
“Tasha.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“You got deposits coming up. Venue, catering, photography, entertainment. Once we start dropping this next round of money, shit starts becoming nonrefundable.”
“I know.”
“And as your planner, I need you to know what you want.”
“I know.”
“As your friend, I need you to know what you want.”
Lori exhaled.
Then she tapped the screen.
“What if we cut the florals by fifteen thousand?”
Tasha stared at her.
“You see how you just did that?”
“Did what?”
“I asked you about your marriage and you answered me with hydrangeas.”
Lori laughed despite herself.
“Girl.”
“I’m not playing.”
“I know you’re not.”
Tasha watched her.
Lori wasn’t checked out. That would’ve been easier.
She was completely present.
Present enough to make decisions. Present enough to approve vendors. Present enough to argue about charger plates.
Just not present enough to answer the question.
“Do you not want to marry Marcus?”
“No.”
“No, you don’t?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“See?”
Lori closed the tablet.
“I love Marcus.”
“I know.”
“He’s a good man.”
“I know.”
“He doesn’t control me. He doesn’t make me feel small. He supports everything I do.”
“I know.”
“He wants children, but he’s not pressuring me. He knows about the PCOS. He’s already talking about IVF like it’s just another road we may have to take.”
Tasha stayed quiet.
“He believes in God. He believes in science. He believes in me.”
“That sounds beautiful.”
“It is.”
“Then why you look like you about to throw up every time somebody says wedding?”
Lori’s mouth tightened.
Tasha immediately softened.
“Okay. I’m backing up.”
“I’m fine.”
“Lori.”
“I’m fine.”
Tasha looked at her for another second, then picked up her phone.
“Cool. We can be fine.”
Lori smiled.
“Thank you.”
“But if you make me plan this whole damn wedding and then run away from the altar, I’m billing you for emotional damages.”
Lori laughed.
“There she is.”
“There who is?”
“The bitch I actually came here to see.”
Tasha threw a pen at her.
They moved on.
Not because the conversation was finished.
Because friendship sometimes meant knowing when a person had heard you even if they weren’t ready to answer.
“So,” Lori said, reopening the tablet. “Did you talk to Cherish?”
“Unfortunately.”
“What happened?”
“She’s still trying to become Whitney Houston at thirty.”
“Tasha.”
“What? She can sing.”
“She can really sing.”
“I know. That’s why it’s irritating.”
Lori laughed.
“She sent me three voice notes yesterday talking about whether she should leave her job and pursue music.”
“She better not leave that damn job.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“And then she probably got mad.”
“No. She asked me what success would have to look like for me to think it was worth it.”
Tasha paused.
“That’s actually a good question.”
“I know.”
“Don’t tell her I said that.”
“I’m absolutely telling her.”
Tasha rolled her eyes.
“And Mya-Ann?”
Lori’s smile faded.
“Tired.”
“She always tired.”
“No, like… tired tired.”
Tasha nodded.
“She told me her mom wandered out of the house again.”
“Damn.”
“Her husband found her two streets over.”
Tasha sat back.
“And she’s still trying to do everything herself?”
“You know Mya.”
“Yeah. And I know she’s gonna fuck around and have everybody in that house anxious.”
Lori raised an eyebrow.
“Including those girls.”
Tasha’s voice got quieter.
“One of them already is.”
They sat with that for a second.
Then Tasha shook her head.
“See? Here I go.”
“What?”
“Talking about everybody else.”
Lori smiled.
“You love everybody else’s business.”
“I do.”
“You’re good at it.”
“I am.”
“You should’ve been a therapist.”
“Absolutely the fuck not.”
They both laughed.
Tasha gathered her things.
“Nah. I need to go worry about my own shit.”
Lori looked up.
“You still going?”
“To therapy?”
“Yes.”
Tasha slid her laptop into her bag.
“I said I was.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make it deep.”
“It is deep.”
“It’s an appointment.”
“With a therapist.”
“Exactly. An appointment.”
Lori smiled.
“Okay.”
Tasha pointed at her.
“And stop saying okay like that.”
Now Lori laughed harder.
Traffic from downtown Dallas to Frisco had Tasha questioning every decision she had ever made.
By the time she got onto the Tollway, she had already cursed out three drivers, changed the playlist twice, and mentally decided she should’ve found a therapist closer to home.
Her son answered on the fourth ring.
“What?”
Tasha frowned.
“Hello to you too.”
“Ma, I’m playing the game.”
“I don’t give a damn what you playing. Did you eat?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Food.”
She rolled her eyes.
“What food?”
“Chicken.”
“From where?”
“The refrigerator.”
“You cooked it?”
“No.”
“So how did it get hot?”
“The microwave?”
Tasha laughed.
“Boy, I hate you.”
“You called me.”
“I’m going to therapy.”
There was a pause.
“For real?”
“Yes, for real.”
“Why?”
Tasha’s face twisted.
“What you mean why?”
“I don’t know. You don’t seem like you need therapy.”
She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror.
“Exactly.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He went quiet.
Then, softer, “You good though?”
Tasha smiled.
“I’m good.”
“Okay.”
“Dinner money is on Cash App if you want something else. Don’t order no bullshit.”
“Can I get wings?”
“You have chicken.”
“Those are two different things.”
She laughed.
“That is exactly why you my child.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
She hung up smiling.
Then immediately called Darren.
Straight to voicemail.
She frowned.
Called again.
Voicemail.
Tasha tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.
“Okay.”
Three minutes later, it rang.
Darren.
She answered through the car.
“Hey.”
“You called?”
“Twice.”
“I was busy.”
“Doing?”
He laughed.
“Damn, detective.”
Tasha rolled her eyes.
“I asked a question.”
“I was at the gym.”
“At four-thirty?”
“Yes, Tasha. People work out after work.”
“Whatever.”
“What you doing?”
“Going to therapy.”
He laughed.
Not mean.
Just surprised.
“Therapy?”
“Yes.”
“You okay?”
“Why everybody keep asking me that?”
“Because you just said you going to therapy.”
“Therapy isn’t the emergency room.”
“Okay, okay.”
She smiled despite herself.
“I’ll call you later.”
“You coming over?”
There it was.
Not How did therapy go?
Not You want to get dinner?
Not What are you doing this weekend?
Just:
You coming over?
Maybe that shouldn’t have bothered her.
They weren’t together.
Technically.
He had made that clear.
Except he called her every day.
Except he took her out.
Except he spent weekends with her.
Except he knew her son.
Except he got jealous.
Except he wanted access to her in every way that looked like a relationship until she asked what the relationship was.
Tasha stared through the windshield.
“Maybe.”
“You know you wanna come.”
She hated that he was smiling when he said it.
“I said maybe.”
“Aight. Call me after.”
He hung up first.
Tasha’s jaw tightened.
She picked up her phone at the next light and almost texted him.
Then Cherish called.
“What?”
“Why you answering the phone like that?”
“Because everybody want something.”
“Well, I do want something.”
“Of course you do.”
“I have tea.”
Tasha’s mood changed immediately.
“What kind?”
“Bad.”
“Good bad or bad bad?”
“Dr. Simone bad.”
Tasha sat up straighter.
“What happened?”
Cherish lowered her voice even though they were on the phone.
“I saw her husband last night.”
Tasha said nothing.
“At the club.”
“That man allowed to go outside.”
“I know that.”
“Okay, so?”
“He was with somebody.”
Tasha’s stomach tightened.
“With somebody like standing near a woman or with somebody like with somebody?”
“I don’t know.”
“Cherish.”
“I don’t!”
“Then why the fuck you calling me?”
“Because he sent drinks to her section.”
Tasha went quiet.
“And wings.”
“Wings?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Tasha!”
“I’m asking.”
“I don’t know what kind of wings!”
“Well, details matter.”
“This is serious.”
“I know.”
Cherish exhaled.
“I don’t know if I should tell Simone.”
“Did you see him touch her?”
“No.”
“Kiss her?”
“No.”
“Leave with her?”
“No.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“No.”
“Do you know if Simone knows her?”
“No.”
Cherish went quiet.
Tasha sighed.
“So what you know is that you saw Simone’s husband at a club, and he bought a woman drinks and wings.”
“Yes.”
“That’s what you know.”
“But that looks crazy.”
“It does.”
“And I want Simone to mentor me. I don’t want her thinking I knew something and didn’t tell her.”
Tasha rubbed her forehead.
“Okay.”
“What should I do?”
“I don’t know.”
Cherish gasped dramatically.
“You don’t know?”
“Bitch, I’m on my way to therapy.”
“That has never stopped you from having an opinion before.”
Tasha laughed.
“That’s the problem.”
Cherish laughed too.
“So you’re not gonna tell me what to do?”
“Nope.”
“Who are you?”
“I don’t know. Apparently that’s what I’m about to go pay somebody to figure out.”
The therapist’s office was quieter than Tasha expected.
Not sterile.
Not overly soft either.
No inspirational signs telling her to breathe.
No fake waterfall.
Just a comfortable chair, a couch, a plant in the corner, and a Black woman sitting across from her with a legal pad she barely touched.
Tasha liked that.
She had spent almost an hour researching therapists.
Not because she was nervous.
Because she was thorough.
At least that was what she told herself.
She had chosen this one because her profile specifically mentioned working with Black women and integrating Internal Family Systems, DBT, and psychodynamic therapy.
The therapist smiled.
“So, Tasha, before we get into anything complicated, tell me what made you choose me.”
Tasha crossed one leg over the other.
“Well, first, you’re Black.”
The therapist smiled.
“Okay.”
“I wasn’t explaining certain shit.”
“Fair.”
“And you work with women.”
“Yes.”
“And your profile said IFS, DBT, and psychodynamic.”
“Did you know what those were?”
“Google knew.”
The therapist laughed.
“I liked the IFS thing.”
“What about it?”
“The parts.”
Tasha shrugged.
“I have a lot of parts.”
“That’s pretty human.”
“Some people got more.”
“Do you think you do?”
“Absolutely.”
The therapist waited.
Tasha smiled.
“I’m funny.”
“I noticed.”
“I’m serious too.”
“Okay.”
“I can be really direct.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“But I also know when not to say something.”
“Okay.”
“I’m a mom. Businesswoman. Friend. I like sex. I can go a year without sex. I like relationships. I can do situationships.”
The therapist tilted her head.
“You’ve thought about this.”
“I think about everything.”
“Do you?”
Tasha laughed.
“Oh, you one of those.”
“One of what?”
“Therapists that answer questions with questions.”
“Sometimes.”
“Annoying.”
“You can leave.”
That made Tasha laugh harder.
“I like you.”
“We’ll see.”
Tasha settled back.
The therapist looked down briefly at her paperwork.
“You mentioned that you’re dating someone.”
“Dating is a strong word.”
“What word would you use?”
Tasha opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
The therapist looked up.
Tasha laughed.
“See, this is why I picked you.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Exactly.”
Silence.
Tasha shifted.
“He’s somebody I deal with.”
“What does that mean?”
“We go out. We hang out. We have sex. He comes over. I go over there. We talk every day.”
“That sounds like dating.”
“Except he doesn’t want a relationship.”
“Do you?”
Tasha’s smile faded just a little.
“Depends.”
“On?”
“The relationship.”
The therapist nodded.
“That makes sense.”
Tasha relaxed.
Then the therapist asked:
“Do you want one with him?”
Tasha looked toward the plant.
“See.”
“What?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because wanting a relationship in general and wanting one with a particular person are two different questions.”
“They are.”
“And then there’s whether the person wants one with you.”
“Yes.”
“And whether what they say matches what they do.”
“Yes.”
“And whether you’re even allowed to be confused when they already told you what they wanted.”
The therapist paused.
“That sounded less like an explanation and more like an argument you’ve had with yourself.”
Tasha went still.
The therapist didn’t rescue her from the silence.
Tasha looked down at her nails.
“That’s why I wanted DBT too.”
“How come?”
“Because sometimes I know exactly what I should say.”
“But?”
“I don’t say it.”
“With him?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
Tasha shrugged.
“Because if I tell him what I actually want…”
She stopped.
The therapist waited.
Tasha laughed softly.
“That might change shit.”
“There it is.”
Tasha looked up.
“What?”
“The cost.”
Tasha frowned.
“The cost of telling the truth.”
For once, Tasha didn’t have a comeback.
The therapist let the silence stay.
Then she glanced at the intake form.
“So.”
Tasha inhaled.
“What made you decide to come to therapy now?”
Tasha smiled immediately.
“My friends and I made a pact.”
The therapist nodded.
“Okay.”
Tasha waited.
Nothing.
“That’s it?”
“That tells me why you scheduled the appointment.”
Tasha’s smile weakened.
The therapist leaned back.
“It doesn’t tell me why you came.”
Tasha looked at her.
And for the first time all day, there was nobody else to talk about.
Not Lori.
Not Mya-Ann.
Not Cherish.
Not Simone.
Not her son.
Not Darren.
Just her.
Tasha crossed her arms.
Then uncrossed them.
“Damn.”
The therapist smiled.
“Take your time.”
And Tasha hated her already.
