Della turned to face her therapist, resting her butt against the glass, the sun warming her back now. Selena Sanchez was calm and lovely as always, her smile encouraging. The red of her blouse complemented her bronzed skin and the sleekness of her dark hair which, two years shy of forty, was showing no signs of any gray.

“Come on, Selena. Don’t psychobabble me. I’m asking you what you think.”

“Okay…are you going on Tinder to date or to find a husband?”

“God no.” Della shook her head vehemently. “Not to find a husband.” Who knew how many years of therapy she’d need to get that far. “Just to…have some fun.”

“Do you mean sex?”

“Well…yeah. I mean, not necessarily a minute after meeting someone, but yeah, I’d like to start exploring that part of my life. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

Selena smiled. “Of course. You’ve done a lot of hard work, and this past year I’ve watched you really come out of your shell. I think you’re a young woman with wants and needs and desires the same as any other young woman, and it’s encouraging that you’re wanting to experience them again.”

“You told me I would.” Selena had assured her in the beginning that she would feel sexual again, even though she hadn’t cared at the time—had shrunk from it, even. But somewhere deep inside, Della had also clung to that promise of normality. “You’re annoyingly right about things.”

Selena’s smile was self-deprecating. “It doesn’t mean there won’t be challenges. There could be flashbacks, palpitations, anxiety attacks. The important thing is you take this slowly.”

“You think Tinder is rushing it?”

“I think Tinder, or any other online platform, is a place where people often misrepresent themselves, and you should be cautious.”

“Arlo’s worried.”

Selena laughed. “Color me surprised.”

Arlo had sat in on many a therapy session in the beginning. At Della’s insistence. Therapy had terrified her, and he’d been the oil lubricating the process for a long time. “You think he’s too protective of me?”

“I think Arlo has been exactly what you needed him to be and he will continue to adapt to what you need from him. It might just”—she smiled—“take him a little while to adjust.”

Nodding, Della pushed away from the window and wandered back to the low tub chair placed opposite Selena. “There’s an eighty-year-old woman at the old folks’ home who has a vibrator.” She sat down. “She’s a widow.”

“Good for her,” Selena murmured.

“It was…unexpected.”

“Being sexual doesn’t stop because of age or death of a spouse.”

“I know, I guess I just…didn’t think there were women in aged-care facilities with more exciting sex lives than me.”

“Ah.” Selena nodded. “I see.”

“Do you?” Because Della sure as hell didn’t.