Page 5 of Not My Friend
“Walk us through the journey of one of your clients please, Gina.”
I spared Kimberly a quick look, then focused back on her coworker.
“Most of our clients are referred to us from the family homeless shelters. They’re typically either long-term homeless, survivors of domestic violence, or both. Due to their bad experiences they almost always have PTSD, anxiety, and depression in addition to other mental health diagnoses. They all have ACE scores of at least four, but most come in at six or higher.”
“ACE scores?”
I paused to answer Mary’s question.
“Adverse Child Experiences. It’s a test to evaluate things in people’s childhood that put them at greater risk for things like health or behavior issues. High ACE scores are associated with diabetes, alcohol or drug dependence, impaired executive function, even cancer. Part of what we do in this program is help clients navigate toxic stress and heal.”
I could feel Kimberly watching me, her gaze warm, almost proud, before she schooled her expression.
“We start working with families while they’re still homeless,” I continued. “We help them move into transitional housing where we work on income, employment, getting kids caught up in school, and both individual and family counseling. We take a person-centered approach, and the families set their own goals for when they leave transitional placement and move into permanent housing. Once in permanent housing, we have a housing retention rate of ninety-six percent after one year, the highest of any family program in the county.”
“Here are our post-program survey results,” Rochelle added, pushing copies of the report across the table. “We conduct them anonymously, so people feel comfortable giving us honest feedback about their experience in the program.”
By the time we broke for lunch, I was exhausted. After agreeing to meet back in the afternoon, our auditor guests left to find lunch, and I went back to my office to eat my own lunch and do some meditation to help me get through the afternoon.
The break-up with Kimberly along with my subsequent job loss had been devastating. I’d spent a solid month on my couch, eating M&Ms, drinking whiskey out of the bottle, and watching bad TV while crying. Finally a couple of my friends had intervened, coming to my apartment, forcing me to get dressed in real clothes, and giving me some tough love.
“You need therapy,” my friend Joan said firmly.
“You need to get outside and breathe fresh air,” Susan, the friend who’d introduced me to Kimberly said. “Enough with the moping.”
They’d been right, of course.
I spent a lot of time over the next six months working on myself. Getting healthier, including resuming a running routine that I’d let go when I was with Kimberly and getting into the habit of weekly food prep so I wouldn’t rely on take-out. And I started therapy, both a support group and individual therapywith someone who specialized in working with people who were victims of childhood abuse.
I learned a lot about myself, and how I acted in both personal and professional relationships. Eventually I came to the understanding that it was highly likely that I’d falsely accused Kimberly of cheating. It had been a stunning revelation that rewrote my understanding of our relationship. Wanting to make amends, I’d texted her asking to talk, but she’d blocked my number.
When I saw that I was also blocked on social media I figured it was all for the best. I couldn’t undo what happened, and even if I could, I wasn’t in a place for a serious relationship anyway. Not until I worked on myself.
But now that Kimberly was here, I really needed to woman up and do the right thing. I wasn’t expecting her to forgive me or anything, but I did want to apologize for the pain I’d put her through. At the end of the day I decided to be brave.
“Kimberly, can I speak with you privately before you go?”
“Is it about the audit?” Kimberly asked, her voice carefully neutral.
Her colleague looked between us curiously and I cursed myself for not trying to get her alone first.
“No. It’s… personal.”
She gave me a look that could freeze fire. “Then it’s not appropriate for us to talk.”
She grabbed her stuff and stalked out of the room, Mary hurrying to catch up with her. Sighing, I headed back to my office and texted my therapist to see if she could work me in for an emergency session. Seeing Kimberly had brought up a lot for me, and I’d learned over the years that the best way to move past difficult feelings was to work through them.
The next morning the four of us were back in the good conference room. Today I was wearing my ‘court’ outfit -- the one I wore when I was called to testify in client custody cases – black dress pants, a simple blue blouse, and a lightweight black knit cardigan.
Allison stopped by to say hello to the auditors, bringing muffins. While Kimberly didn’t partake, the rest of us did. Baked goods were a treat we didn’t get too often working in a non-profit. According to the schedule, Rochelle and I would only be with the auditors in the morning and the last hour of the day. In the time in between they were looking through our program files.
“I know it’s short notice, but is it possible for us to interview any of your clients tomorrow?” Mary asked as we ate our muffins. “Even one would be good, but two would be better.”
Client interviews hadn’t been on the list they’d sent us, but I wasn’t surprised by the request. The last minute request and presumption that our clients would be available rankled though.
“Are you going to pay them?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“Pay them?” she repeated, like she was confused.
