Going Mental: Part Two

She took a long sip of her vodka tonic and checked her appearance in the mirror behind the bar as she waited for some friends to join her. Running her fingers through her hair, she fluffed it out at the roots to try to give it more body and volume. Usually, she was never so dressed up on a Tuesday evening, but it was her friend’s birthday and there was no way Brandy was going to wait for the weekend to celebrate the milestone known as the Big Three Oh.

“Renée, you’re early!” the birthday girl hollered, making a loud entrance. Not that anyone would be able to miss her anyway, since she was in a sparkly tiara and bright pink sash.

“Am I? Or are you late?” she responded, turning in her seat and standing to hug her friend. Her left knee buckled under her weight, but she grabbed a hold of the edge of the bar and caught herself before she stumbled. It was barely noticeable by anyone who wouldn’t know to look for it.

“Um, I’m the birthday girl—which means the party doesn’t even start ’til I get here.”

“Good point,” Renée chuckled, sitting back down. She tried to nonchalantly massage her sore knee. “Who did you come with?”

“John’s parking the car, he just dropped me off so I could get my drink on.” Brandy called out to the man at the other end of the bar. “Bartender! We need drinks! A cosmo for me, a Canadian for my boyfriend, and another one of whatever she’s having.”

Renée finished off her drink in preparation for her next one, and then she adjusted her top that had shifted when they had embraced. After working all day, she wanted to be comfortable in jeans and a cotton shirt; however, Brandy had insisted that they celebrate in style for her big milestone, so she had stayed in her black dress slacks and had changed a nicer blouse. A little more vodka would be sure to help put her at ease.

Once her fresh cocktail arrived, Renée took a sip and asked her friend, “So, what’s the plan for tonight, by the way?”

Brandy set her drink on the bar. “Well, since I’m now thirty, I figure it’s time to start acting like an adult, right? So tonight will be a sophisticated night out. You know, mixed drinks and witty conversation.”

“Oh, so it has nothing to do with the fact that we all have to go to work tomorrow morning and can’t get totally smashed tonight?”

“Maybe only a little something to do with it,” Brandy chuckled.

Renée stirred her drink. “Hmm, thirty. How does it feel?”

“Amazingly, it feels just like twenty-nine. It’s the knowing that it’s not twenty-nine anymore that makes you feel like shit. I was thinking about buying myself a fake I.D. as a gift to myself.”

“What do you need a fake for?” Renée asked, confused.

“I’d get it a year younger, so I could still pretend to be in my twenties.”

“Oh, come on, Brandy, you’re acting like it’s so bad. You have so much to look forward to this year: your wedding and that fantastic honeymoon in Hawaii. None of that would be happening if you froze your life at age twenty-nine.”

“Stop, stop, you’re analyzing me. I hate when you do that.”

“I’m not ‘analyzing’ you. Not even close. I’m being realistic here. This is such a big year, and if you look at the positive aspects—”

“Ugh, this is what I get for having a psychologist as a best friend.” Brandy took a long swig of her drink. “Change of topic, please.”

Renée appeased her friend and picked a new subject. “Where’s John? Does it really take this long to find a spot?”

“Well, he might be waiting for someone.”

“Someone? Who?”

Brandy took a long sip of her drink, presumably to draw out the suspense. “David Montgomery.”

“David who?” Renée asked, feeling like she should have known who her friend was talking about just by the way she said his name. After repeating the name in her head a few times, she remembered. “Wait. No.”

“Yes.”

Renée cocked an eyebrow, and Brandy shrunk back with a giggle. “Oh, no, the eyebrow! Don’t give me the eyebrow!”

“I’m gonna give you a lot more than that. Brandy. I told you already that I didn’t want to be set up with him.”

“It’ll be fine, Renée. Don’t worry, you’ll like him, I promise.”

“Just like you promised that I’d like Ronald McDonald, and that we were gonna get married and have tons of babies? Brandy, please, I beg you—”

“Okay, first of all, his name was Donald McElroy—”

“Doesn’t matter, he was still a clown.”

“—and you two would have been perfect together. How was I supposed to know that Don was afraid of heights, and that you were going to take him up to the press box to watch the game?”

“You know, he still hasn’t paid to replace my shoes that he ruined that night. And the janitors still complain that they can’t get the puke smell out of the box.”

“All right, fine. But David’s different. He works with John, and he complains about how hard it is to find good women in this city.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course he does.”

“Just listen, before he gets here. He’s thirty-four, divorced, no kids, and most importantly no alimony. Lives in this super nice place in Kerrisdale. He’s cute. Oh yeah, and I told him that you were just dying to meet him.”

“What? No. Brandy, no.”

“Come on, Renée. It’s my birthday, and I just want to have a fun night with my friends—and if a little romance gets sparked, well, who am I to interfere?”

“Interfere? You interfered as soon as you lied to him, saying that I wanted to get hooked up with him. Not cool. I didn’t even get a chance to Google him or look him up on Facebook.”

“Don’t worry, I already vetted him for you.” Brandy tapped her with the back of her hand. “They’re coming in now. So pretend like you’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

Renée begrudgingly faked a smile, but she was seething on the inside. While she could rationalize that her friend was trying to do something good for her, she hated that Brandy wanted to pair her off. When they were single, they did everything together and always had a blast; as soon as she met John, though, she began to spend the majority of her time with him instead. That didn’t bother Renée for the most part, because she had enough on her plate to keep her occupy her time—but what irritated her was how Brandy thought that, just because she herself was in a relationship, that Renée needed to be in one, too.

She swiveled in her seat to see her blind date. She recognized John, who looked nice with his dark blue pants and baby blue button down shirt, tucked in and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had dark, auburn hair that was cut short and the start of a beard across his face.

Next to him was David, who was taller, leaner, and darker. Hotter. His hair was so dark brown that it almost looked black. He was cleanly shaven and dressed simply in black dress pants and a freshly pressed white shirt. As soon as Renée met his gaze, he smiled and flashed perfectly straight teeth that must have taken years of orthodontic work.

“I forgive you,” she whispered to Brandy, impressed with her friend’s taste. She wasn’t naïve enough to expect him to be the perfect package—after all, something had to be wrong with him if he was divorced—but at least he would be eye candy for the night. She brought her hand up to her face to push up her glasses since that was one of her nervous tics, but then she realized that she had her contacts in.

Brandy laughed at Renée’s reaction and then stood up to hug her fiancé. While they were otherwise occupied, David moved beside Renée.

She spoke first and awkwardly held out her hand, not knowing what was appropriate for their first meeting. “You must be David. Hi, I’m Renée.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” He took her hand and squeezed it, instead of shaking it, and then leaned in to kiss her cheek. “And please, call me Dave.”

Renée was trying to decide if Dave was being aggressive or smooth when Brandy suggested that they grab a table. Dave slid into the booth first, and Brandy and John took the other side, forcing Renée to sit beside her blind date. Not that she minded, but it still felt weird to her to be so forward on a first date; it was worse that she hadn’t even had any warning in order to mentally prepare and psych herself up for it.

While they all perused the tapas menu, Brandy nudged Renée under the table. Once she had her attention, she mouthed, talk to him. Renée felt nervous because she had an audience. “So, uh, Dave, Brandy told me that you work with John?”

“Yeah, I work in development for EA, innovating some new technologies for their games. We’re already working on NHL 13.”

They continued with their small talk, and Brandy and John chipped in as needed in order to keep it going. Dave proved to be very gentlemanly, maintaining enough distance in the booth so Renée didn’t feel crowded or like her personal space was being taken away. Still, she was nervous, so she sipped on her drink and finished it before their food arrived. The alcohol made her warm and slightly tipsy. Renée found herself relaxing and enjoying the night—including the company.

Which was why she was surprised when she decided to scan the scant crowd in the bar and her mood began to sour. Maybe it was the alcohol that made her more emotional, or perhaps it was just residual anger bubbling up to the surface. It was probably both.

Dave noticed that his date was distracted. His arm snaked around her shoulders and he leaned close to her ear. Brandy and John were talking about something, so they didn’t hear him ask, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m fine.” She smiled at him and turned her attention back to the table. She didn’t even mind that he kept his arm around her.

He checked the section of the room where her line of sight had been fixed, spotting what had sidetracked her. “Oh, Mason Raymond. Man, it sucks what happened to him last season. Think I should buy him a beer?”

“No,” Renée responded firmly. “Definitely not.”

Dave scrunched up his face, wondering why she had suddenly become so cold.

John tried to explain, “Renée works for the Canucks.”

“Oh.” Dave was silent for a moment, until the puzzle pieces finally clicked into place. “Brandy said you were a psychologist. You mean, you counsel them?”

Renée didn’t like talking about it. She assumed that it was common knowledge that teams would employ a team therapist since the job was so high-pressure, but that didn’t mean that she could disclose anything about it—including how much of role she played or didn’t play in the players’ lives. Her emotions got the best of her, and she picked up her napkin from her lap and placed it on the table. “I’m sorry, will you excuse me for just a minute?”

Before they could answer, Renée was up and heading to the bar. She took a few deep breaths and then sat on the empty barstool to his left. “Hi, Mason.”

His reaction was a little delayed. He turned his head and carefully squinted with bloodshot eyes. Mason knew he had been drinking heavily, but he must have been seeing things. “Dr. Carlyle?”

“What are you doing out here at the bar?” she asked, none too pleased when he shrugged and then pointed at his almost empty beer glass. “Well I can see that. Why are you here? You shouldn’t be drinking during your rehab. And not alone. What about your homework?” The words fell out of her mouth, loosened by the vodka.

“So what? It’s not like you care,” he slurred. He put his elbows on the bar and leaned into his hands. “You just sit there anyway, with your pen and paper and your glasses and your fuckin’ eyebrow. You....” He squinted again. “Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me. Mason, this is not how you’re supposed to be dealing with this. This isn’t going to help.” Renée reached for his phone. “I’m going to call you a taxi, and you are—”

He grabbed her hand and said, “Listen, doc, I get it. I mean, what you say. But you don’t really get it, so I don’t care what you tell me to do.”

Renée lost it. She kept her voice down, speaking through clenched teeth. “That’s all you say, ‘no one gets it.’ No one can possibly understand what it is you’re going through. Not your parents, your friends, your teammates, and certainly not a psychologist who not only studied the human mind for years, but also played hockey—and did it well, for your information—until she got sidelined due to injury.” She broke the boundaries of keeping her personal life out of their relationship, but only because she was too mad to care.

She continued, “I don’t think you understand the chance you have to get better and stronger before you go back out there and play. And all the resources you have to help you along the way—you just waste it all. You’re acting like a whiny crybaby when you need to just suck it up already and move forward. So you know what? Fuck you. Go ahead and dick around instead of taking this seriously like you should, and good luck making it back by the Boston game, because at the rate you’re going, it’ll take a miracle.”

Standing up, she left him at the bar and hurried back to her table for her purse. Brandy, John, and Dave had just seen a short exchange and hadn’t heard any of what had been said. They were surprised when Renée said, “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Is everything okay?” Brandy asked, concerned. She thought her best friend had been having fun, so she couldn’t figure out why she was suddenly so quick to call it a night.

“Yeah. Uh,” she struggled for a good excuse. It wasn’t as simple as saying she was now pissed off because her work had obviously been all for naught and how pissed off she was at that realization. Mason wasn’t any better off, and while she knew that they had only had two sessions, he was actively blowing off her assignment to him in favor of drinking than talking it out. “Talking to him made me remember that I have some things I have to get done for work tomorrow. I’m sorry, Brandy. Happy birthday.”

“I mean, if you have to go...” Brandy said sadly.

Dave spoke up. “Can I take you home?”

“Oh, I drove. Sorry.”

“Well, I’ll walk you to your car,” he offered, standing up before Renée could tell him not to bother. “I’ll be back, guys,” he told John and Brandy, and then he followed her out of the bar and into the night.

“I am sorry, Dave, to cut our night short.”

“Oh, no problem. It is getting late, I guess. You’re sure everything’s okay? And you’re okay to drive?”

“Yeah.” She smiled at him, and she tried to mean it. With the windows down and the music blasting, she figured she’d be fine. “I had a good time, though.”

“I did, too. I’m not gonna lie. I was worried about this when Brandy suggested it, but I’m glad that I came out tonight.”

“Yeah, me too. Oh, this is my car here.” Renée unlocked her car but hesitated before getting inside. The awkwardness had returned.

“I’d like to give you my card, so you can call me sometime.”

She took it and checked it quickly. It was a nice business card, from what she could read in the dark. “Thanks.”

“Do you, uh, have one?”

“No, I don’t actually. I mean, I have cards, just not with me.” She shifted her weight. “But I’ll call you.”

Dave grinned. “Okay, good.” Even more awkwardly, he leaned in. Renée wasn’t sure if he was going to kiss her or hug her or what, so she stood still rather than to go in for the kill and accidentally be wrong. He did, in fact, make the move, and he pressed his lips to hers for a goodnight peck. “Be careful driving home, Renée.”

“Thanks, Dave. Goodnight.” In order to not appear too overeager, she sat in the driver’s seat and quickly pointed her car in the direction of her home. It didn’t take long before the high of infatuation faded away and she began to wonder what the hell she was going to do about her job. If she was even going to still have a job after that outburst.