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It’s at Georgie’s tenth session in twelve weeks that he decides therapy might not be for him.
Now, to be fair, he thought that after every one of his previous nine appointments, but this time he has the thought before he’s even finished giving the therapist a very abbreviated version of his life story.
“It feels kind of like I’m on a blind date,” Georgie says. “Trying to sell myself to you, you know?”
“Hm,” she says.
“Yeah,” Georgie says. “You’re right, slightly different — blind dates you’re probably trying to hide everything that’s wrong with you, but I’m sitting here telling you all about what's wrong with me.”
She doesn’t return his smile.
*
“Didn’t like the blind date analogy,” Georgie says. “Didn’t even pretend to.”
*
“Which is?” she asks.
“What’s wrong with me?” Georgie asks.
She nods.
“Where do I start?” Georgie chuckles, but she doesn’t smile then either. To be fair, she probably hears that joke all the time — people don’t go to therapy when things are going well. “Okay, I guess we’re doing the blind date thing, then. I’m a father of two fantastic kids, in the middle of getting a divorce from my wife—“
“Why?” she interrupts him.
“—and looking at—” Georgie says, then, “Why am I getting a divorce?”
“Yes,” she asks.
“It’s complicated,” Georgie says.
“Yes,” she says. “Of course it is. That’s why you’re here.”
“Fair enough, I guess,” Georgie says.
“So, in one sentence,” she asks. “Why are you getting a divorce?”
*
“So?” Finn says. “What’d you tell her?”
“That I couldn’t sum it up in one sentence,” Georgie says. “And then I gave her the entire backstory, which took the rest of the session.”
“But you’re not going to see her again,” Finn says. Georgie doesn’t know if he picked that up from the way Georgie spoke about his session, or if he’s just assuming because that’s what happened to the previous nine therapists Georgie’s seen.
Georgie shakes his head. “Waste of time,” he says.
Honestly, he would have given up long before now, figured that he and therapy just weren’t compatible, but he and Mel had promised each other they’d talk to someone, both keenly aware just how many ways their split could fuck up the kids, and how easily. She found someone she liked months ago, but Georgie’s still trudging through phone consultations, colorless waiting rooms, telling the same story over and over again, all those damned first dates. Which are, thankfully, the only dates he’s going on right now — the thought of dating makes him feel a little seasick, though three separate therapists have assured him that’s perfectly normal.
Finn sighs. Georgie doesn’t blame him — he isn’t just the one stuck hearing about the sessions after the fact, but he did a fair amount of research when Georgie first mentioned he was looking into therapy, even made Georgie a list — twenty names, all with a particular reason Finn was recommending them. Georgie’s gone through almost half of them.
“I really think you should consider trying some virtual sessions,” Finn says. “I know you don’t like the idea, but—“
“It feels fake,” Georgie says. “I don’t want—“
“Or I can look up some therapists in Manhattan,” Finn says. “There’s obviously a lot more variety—“
“I’m sure I’ll find someone I like,” Georgie says. If he finishes Finn’s list without finding someone, well — at that point he’s probably out of local therapists, and New York would probably be his best option, but he’s still got plenty of list left.
“Or you could just make an appointment with literally any of the LGBT-friendly therapists I sent you,” Finn says.
Georgie stares down at his scotch. “My sexuality isn’t relevant.”
“It’s not relevant,” Finn says.
“No,” Georgie says.
“Your sexuality isn’t relevant to your life,” Finn says.
“I mean, not really, it’s not like I’m dating right now—“
Finn sighs again, and this time it isn’t quiet at all, the explosiveness of it enough to cut Georgie off mid-sentence.
“What’s the difference between what you’re doing and just not going to therapy, G?” Finn asks.
“I’m trying to find someone—“ Georgie says.
“What’s the point of going to therapy if you don’t actually want anybody’s help?” Finn says over him.
“Okay,” Georgie says. “Been holding onto that one for a while, huh?”
“Six therapists,” Finn says. “The list I made you had six therapists that specifically say they’re LGBT friendly. You haven’t seen any of them.”
“Okay,” Georgie says. “I’ll call one tomorrow, okay? You win.”
“I wasn’t trying to—“
“I know,” Georgie says. “I know you weren’t. You win anyway.”
“It’s hard not to notice when it’s all of them,” Finn mumbles.
Apparently it hadn’t been hard for Georgie, but then, he guesses some part of him must have noticed too, because when Finn asked, Georgie already had an answer ready for him, like he’d been waiting for it all along.
*
“Do you have an idea for that sentence?” Finn asks a drink later.
Georgie’s been waiting for that one too, but there’s no answer ready for him, so he just shrugs.
“You want to hear mine?” Finn asks.
“Probably not,” Georgie laughs.
“Probably not because you don’t want to know?” Finn asks. “Or probably not because you already do know, but you don’t want to hear it?”
“Seriously, you could be a lawyer, Schneids,” Georgie says.
Finn isn’t smiling either. Ninety percent of the time he will, even if he doesn’t find the joke funny — will smile and laugh and play along, maybe mention his concerns later, behind closed doors. But one time out of ten, Georgie gets a reminder of why exactly Finn and Cap have always been attached at the hip. Also why Finn and Toby get along so well — Finn can be just as stubborn as a three year old when he chooses to be, though frankly, it’s a lot harder to deal with that kind of stubbornness when you can’t expect him to get distracted by a snack, or a toy, or cartoons, and, worst case, you can’t pick him up and carry him off to bed.
“You want something to eat?” Georgie tries anyway, but Finn’s already shaking his head before he speaks.
“Why are you getting a divorce, G?” Finn asks.
“Schneids, I’m seriously—“
“Months of therapy and you haven’t seen the same person twice,” Finn says. “Haven’t seen even one gay-friendly—“
“I told you,” Georgie says, “I’ll—“
“Because it’s not relevant,” Finn says. “Because you, what, shut that part of you off?”
“You know I didn’t—“
“When obviously the real reason you don’t want to see any of them is because you’re worried the second you mention Robbie’s name they’ll know exactly why you’re there,” Finn says, then, face stricken — because, also like Toby, Finn is never unkind except accidentally, and when he is, he feels worse about it than anyone, “Sorry, I’m sorry, I—“
“I’ll call one of them tomorrow,” Georgie says, and he even does.
*
But first, they have the rest of the night to get through, the two of them staring at their scotch in the dim light of the fake fireplace at the rental Georgie stays at on the nights Mel has the kids.
Finn says it isn’t fake, just electric, but Georgie doesn’t really see the difference. Finn also told Georgie a few times — a lot of times — that he was more than welcome to take Logan’s old room, but Georgie couldn’t be someone’s guest for that long, not even Finn’s. This place can be a little depressing, especially when he’s the only one here, but at least it’s his.
The therapy topic’s long dead by that point. All the topics are. Georgie’s the fuzzy sort of tipsy he only lets himself get on these whiskey tasting nights with Finn, knowing that if something comes up with the kids, Finn’s sitting right beside him, a little more sober than he is.
“What is it,” he says, when all that’s left is a thin amber pool at the bottom of Finn’s glass, one last sip before Finn heads home.
“What is what?” Finn asks, but cautiously, like he already knows precisely what Georgie’s asking, like he’s been waiting for this question since he said it. Which is probably true.
Georgie says it anyway. “The reason I’m getting a divorce.”
Finn’s quiet. He probably means it to convey ‘you already know’, and to be fair, it does, but Georgie presses anyway, though he doesn’t really know why. He probably isn’t going to like the answer.
“You said you had an idea for that sentence,” Georgie says. “Earlier. You weren’t talking about like it was just speculative either — you had a specific one in mind.”
“I’m the lawyer,” Finn mutters.
“I just want to know which angle you were going to go with,” Georgie asks. “The one where my wife made it clear she thinks I’m still in love with my ex, or the one where she fell in love with someone who wasn’t me?”
Finn’s guilty face is answer enough.
“Wow,” Georgie. “You win again, I guess. Which one was it?”
“What?” Finn asks.
“That you were going to say,” Georgie says. Most people would go straight for the infidelity, but Finn isn’t most people. “Which one were you going to say?”
“You just said both those things in one sentence,” Finn says, and Georgie only realizes, after Finn’s gone home and he’s rinsing their tumblers in the sink, that in one last lawyerly move, Finn had simply stated a fact rather than answering his question.
Georgie knows he has one in mind. A sentence. If he hadn’t he wouldn’t he spoken about it like he did. And whatever it is, it’s probably a hell of a lot more succinct than Georgie’s. But whatever it is, Finn clearly doesn’t think Georgie wants to hear it, and in Georgie’s experience Finn’s usually right.
Still.
*
The first LGBTQIA+ friendly therapist on Finn’s list is no longer taking new patients. The second has no availability in the next six weeks.
The third had moved to virtual only, though, remembering what Finn had said, Georgie does a consultation anyway. But even though they seem genuinely nice, Georgie feels off balance after, worse instead of better.
The fourth never replies to his email inquiry, and when he calls to follow up, he gets a message that their mailbox is full.
The fifth has very distinctive eyebrows.
“I know how that sounds,” Georgie says. “It sounds like the most made up shit in the world, but—“
“I get it,” Finn says.
“Seriously?” Georgie asks. It’s more than he can say for himself.
“You can’t talk about Robbie with someone who reminds you of him,” Finn says.
“I—“ Georgie says. He’s about to ask how the hell he knows that the therapist reminded him of Robbie, but — well, Georgie had told him, hadn’t he?
“New York’s not that far,” Finn says.
“Hey, one more, right?” Georgie asks. “Don’t give up on me yet.”
*
The sixth therapist is a Whalers fan. A big one. Born and raised, multi-decade season ticket holder and everything. She’s upfront about it, at least, tells him that she can be professional, but she fully understands if he’s not comfortable speaking about his personal business to a fan.
“I get it,” Finn says immediately. “Totally wouldn’t be cool with it either, G. If you want me to look into—“
“She referred me to a colleague, actually,” Georgie says.
*
“You asked me a question the first time I was here,” Georgie says. “I’m sure you don’t remember, but—“
“I remember,” Vittoria says.
“—you obviously take notes, so,” Georgie says. “Siobhan says you’re the best therapist she knows.”
“She tells me you’re a talented hockey player,” Vittoria says.
“Did she say I am a talented player, or that I was one?” Georgie asks, and that’s the first smile he ever gets from Vittoria DeAngelo.
“How old are you, Georgie?” she asks.
“I’m 35,” Georgie says.
“That’s pretty old for a hockey player, isn’t it?” she says.
“You’re right,” Georgie says. “It is.”
“Have you thought about what your sentence would be?” she asks, so Georgie guesses she remembered him after all. Or that it was in her notes.
“I don’t know,” Georgie says. “I genuinely don’t. Because I could answer that question five different ways, and they would all be wrong, because I don’t actually know which one of them did it, but they’d all be right, because I’m pretty sure it was all of them.”
“Okay,” she says.
“Okay?” Georgie says.
“Okay,” she says. “We can work with that.”
*
Robbie,
Finally saw a therapist two times in a row(!). Sorry to disappoint — I know you were secretly hoping you’d be able to follow through on your threat to ‘sic Schneider One’ on me.
How did your interview go?? Let me guess — they offered you the job on the spot.
Funny thing — the therapist I finally landed on has the same name as your mom. Small world, right? Never even heard that name before I met her, and now I know two.
- Georgie