Page 148 of Clinically Delicious
Did I just say, “very abdominal”?
Is that even a word?
I’m having a stroke.
I’m having an actual stroke on my doorstep in front of a social worker.
“Cate.” Gabriel’s voice was strained.
Very strained.
The kind of strain that suggested he was reconsidering every life choice that had led to this moment.
“And the thing is,” I barreled on, because stopping now would somehow be worse than continuing, “I think the dream is trying to tell me something. About my subconscious. Or my anxiety. Or possibly my relationship with breakfast foods. I haven’t quite figured it out yet. But it’s very persistent. The dream. And the ninja. He’s very persistent. He shows up at least three times a week. Sometimes more if I’m stressed.”
From inside, I heard Megan’s voice: “Uncle Fitz, why are you putting all my toys in the closet?”
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
“We’re organizing!” Fitz’s voice, slightly muffled and slightly panicked. “It’s a surprise organization party!”
“I love surprises!” Megan said, her voice bright with excitement.
“That’s great, sweetie!” Fitz said too enthusiastically. “Let’s organize all the toys! In the closet! Right now! Post haste!”
Ms. Rodriguez’s eyebrows rose. Both of them. High.
She’s suspicious.
She’s very suspicious.
She knows something’s wrong.
“Perhaps we should go inside?” she suggested.
“NO!” I said, too quickly, too loudly. “I mean—not yet. Because I haven’t finished telling you about the ninja. See, the interesting part is that he keeps appearing in different scenarios. Sometimes he’s in a kitchen. Sometimes he’s in a dojo. Once he was in a grocery store, which was really confusing because you don’t typically associate ninjas with produce sections—”
“Cate.” Gabriel’s voice was very quiet. Very controlled. The kind of controlled that meant he was absolutely losing it internally. “Maybe we should…”
“—but the MOST interesting part,” I continued, because apparently I had a death wish and was determined to see it through, “is that I think the ninja might represent my fear of inadequacy. Or possibly my attraction to dangerous men. Or maybe just my general anxiety about everything. It’s hard to say. Dreams are very complex. Very symbolic. Very—very full of meaning that requires extensive analysis.”
I was spiraling.
I could feel myself spiraling.
But I couldn’t stop.
“Like, in one dream, he was teaching a cooking class. With the butter knife. Which doesn’t make sense because you can’t really teach cooking with just a butter knife, but he wasvery confident about it. Very authoritative. And shirtless. Still shirtless. Always shirtless. I don’t know why my subconscious is so committed to the shirtless thing, but it’s very consistent about it.”
Ms. Rodriguez was writing furiously now.
Gabriel’s jaw was so tight I was worried he might crack a tooth.
His hand was still gripping mine, but now his thumb was rubbing small circles on my palm.
Either a comfort gesture or a “please stop before I have a stroke”gesture.
