When I consider this, I have to agree… it makes sense. Still doesn’t mean I want to talk about it, because it takes time and the rehashing of wounds I’d rather just let hurry up and close. Still, I truly don’t have a choice.
Not if I want to continue working at Jameson.
“All right.” I make a show of giving in by settling back in my chair, casually propping an ankle on a knee. “Might as well get this started.”
“Excellent,” she replies with a sparkling smile, poising her pen over her pad. “Today’s going to be pretty boring, actually. Background information… where you grew up, relationships with your family members, choices that led you into this career, etc.”
“Got it,” I reply. This would be the easy part.
Leaning an elbow on one of the armrests, she says, “Tell me about your family, Malik. I understand you have dual citizenship with the U.S. and Canada?”
I nod. “My dad is a French-Canadian doctor. My mom’s an American public-speaking coach. I was born and raised in Montreal, and I have two brothers and a sister.”
“Where do you fall in line among your siblings?” she asks.
“Let’s see…” My face scrunches slightly as I suck at birthdays and shit like that, but I do love my siblings, so it eventually comes to me. “Max is the oldest, and he’s twenty-nine now. Then Lucas is next… he’s twenty-eight. Then me—I’m twenty-six—and, finally, Simone is the baby at twenty-three.”
“And I seem to remember your first time here at Jameson when we had a meeting in the big conference room… Cage went bananas when he learned your brothers play for the Cold Fury as that’s his favorite hockey team.”
I can’t help but laugh. Cage had been hilarious at that meeting when I’d first been introduced, and he’d made the connection I had two famous brothers. “Yeah… Max and Lucas both play for the Cold Fury.”
Her head tilts. “Did you play hockey, too?”
“I did. Both Max and Lucas will tell you that I could have gone pro, too, but it just wasn’t my passion. I wanted to join the Marines, and nothing could sway me from that.”
“A French-Canadian kid who wanted to join the U.S. military. Interesting.”
“It’s in my blood. My grandfather was a Marine, and I loved hearing his stories growing up.”
We continue to talk in the same vein, all background information. She prods into my personal life and about whether I’ve had any serious romantic relationships in the past. That was a negative answer, not because I’m averse, but more of a timing issue. In that I never seemed to have time. Between working Special Forces in the Marines, and now with Jameson, it’s been a bit hard to even date someone seriously. Not to mention the whole being-held-in-captivity-for-five-months thing.
And to my surprise, the hour is over before I even realize it. I’m shocked at how fast the time went by. I had assumed every minute of this meeting would be torture, but, to the contrary, it was easy talking to her.
I knew what was to come wouldn’t be so easy.
Before Corinne ushers me out, we move to the calendar on her desk to make the next appointment. I wanted to come again tomorrow, because if I had to complete “therapy” before returning to active duty with the company, I wanted to get it knocked out.
“I’m good anytime tomorrow,” I say.
She bends over her calendar—one of those flipbooks, surprising me that she’s not digital—and smirks. “How about Monday?”
Frowning, I point out, “But that’s four days away.”
“Correct,” she replies as she glances up. “There’s a thing called a weekend. When I took this job with Kynan, I told him I absolutely won’t work weekends.”
“But what about tomorrow… Friday?” I press.
Corinne straightens, inclines her head in an understanding way, even as she lays down the boundaries that will keep me on a slower track. “You need time in between sessions to process and decompress.”
Muffling a growl of frustration, I nod down to her book. “What time Monday?”
“Eight?” she inquires.
“Fine,” I grumble.
Apparently, this amuses her because she laughs. “Have patience, Malik. This is the best for you. And who knows, if you come into this with complete honesty and transparency, I could cut you loose pretty quickly.”
Easier said than done. I know damn well she’ll want me to confront the feelings of guilt I have, but to do that implies I’m not cut out for this type of work to some extent, which isn’t acceptable to me. Perhaps I can do a good job of convincing her that I’m fine, though.
Corinne pencils me into a slot, then walks me to the door. Her hand comes to my shoulder to stop me from walking out. I’m forced to turn to her. “You may not believe me now, but I actually think you and I are going to do just fine together. You’ll be back out in the field in no time at all.”