Aha. Bite the bullet, Mr. Ripped Pants.

Three

Lucas

Monday morning, I’m all settled into my new office and have opened up shop. This office, besides being more affordable, is also smaller than my previous one. But since my beloved secretary, Agatha, retired, I’ve switched to a virtual assistant, saving money and space. Like most New Yorkers, I’ve had to cut square footage down to the bones. It’s the philosophy of this entire building, with a shared concierge and communal waiting area on the ground floor.

My first clients are the Newmans, a couple in their late thirties who I’m meeting for the first time. From how they’ve been talking to each other so far, I’ll be seeing a lot more of them in the upcoming weeks.

“You know, Doctor,” Mr. Newman says, “that women on average use three times as many words as men.”

“We shouldn’t make this a battle about gender,” I say, as Mrs. Newman rolls her eyes and retorts, “That’s because we have to constantly repeat ourselves!”

“Oh, sorry,” Mr. Newman snaps, “it must be my brain filtering you out in a valiant attempt to protect me from your yapping orders all day long.” He mimics the blah-blah-blah hand gesture. “Yap, yap, yap.”

“How? You’re never around,” Mrs. Newman seethes, then turns to me. “You know what he does, Doctor? He pretends he has to work late every night, but I know he’s lying. He can’t be having a crisis every single day, it doesn’t make sense. Unless he’s having an affair, of course. Last week, I called his secretary, and she said he’d left already, but he didn’t come home until two hours later. No traffic is that bad.”

Mr. Newman completely disregards the accusation and stares at me with a satisfied grin. “See, Dr. Keller, I won this one.” He makes the hand gesture again. “Yap, yap, yap… It never ends.”

I take a deep breath. “Mr. Newman, this isn’t about winning. You and your wife are on the same team. If she loses, you lose, too. Part of counseling is to go back to a win-win mentality. But before we can do that, we need to re-establish trust. Mr. Newman, please respond truthfully: Are you having an affair?”

The husband scoffs, clearly offended. “No.”

I sigh in relief. Without a third person involved, my job will be a lot easier.

“Okay,” I say. “Are you pretending to work late to avoid being at home?”

He hesitates.

“Please be honest,” I encourage. “This is a safe space to share.”

He nods. “Yes.”

His wife turns on him, mouth gaping open, ready to attack, but I silence her with a raised hand.

“Thank you for being forthright, Mr. Newman. Now we finally have a starting point. Could you please explain to us, in your own words, why you don’t want to spend time at home?”