Step Seven
In purely objective terms, Dr. Foster's career was making an excellent start. Working for the FBI wasn't exactly what she had planned for when she began her degree, but she liked it better than she had anticipated. The way she saw it, not only was she helping people who wouldn't normally go to a psychiatrist, but she was helping the people who served her country. There had to be a certain honor in that. Besides, she found that she was quite good at it. Once, she had been a woman who thought she would spend her life just getting by. Now, it seemed that Uncle Sam had a bright future in store for Dr. Foster.
Alec, on the other hand, had more of a struggle ahead of him. It was through the stories told over their macaroni dinners that she learned how truly vicious politics could be, especially to a man who got his foot in the door by campaigning for the losing side. Still, he went bravely off to battle every day, and she was ecstatic when heard that her husband had finally gotten a promotion. With the new income, maybe they could afford to go out every once in a while. Mrs. Foster was more than happy with macaroni and cheese, of course, but a steak dinner every once in a while would be nice. It seemed that they were one step closer to having a home life that matched their wardrobes, the life that Alec had promised her the first day she had stepped foot in the apartment. She wouldn't mind living like this forever, but a step up the ladder might be nice.
And it was nice, for a while. But the new job meant new responsibilities, and new responsibilities meant longer hours. As proud as she was of him, she wasn't used to spending her evenings alone while Alec went to meetings and shuffled papers. When she grew sick of coming home to an empty house, she decided that her time would be better spent doing research and publishing more papers. She would never say it aloud, but even though her hard work was getting attention, Dr. Foster still missed the hours she used to spend being Mrs. Foster.
The irony was that the work functions, the kind that had scared Gillian to tears, had turned into something that Mrs. Foster looked forward to. As stuffy and formal as these events were, they gave her the precious opportunity to spend the entire evening on her husband's arm if she felt so inclined. On a more professional note, it was also very productive for networking. And the food wasn't too bad.
It was at one of these functions when she had managed to secure a rich chocolate mousse and was eating it happily while she waited for Alec to come back from the restroom. She plunged a spoon into the soft, silky mass and brought it up to her lips. The moment her tongue met the concoction, the buzzing of the room disappeared, and she found that all of the worrying she'd been doing over her patients melted away. With a second bite, she arched her back and let out a very contented sigh.
Behind her, a throat cleared. "Gill?"
She turned around quickly to see that her husband had returned with two strangers in tow.
"Gillian, this is Dr. Cal Lightman and his wife, Zoe. Dr. Lightman works with my department on occasion."
She eyed the couple for a second before putting down her spoon and reaching to shake hands. The wife was tall, with dark, wavy hair and a snarky expression. The husband stood a few inches shorter than his spouse, hunched over in a rumpled dark suit with eyes that pierced right through her.
"It's nice to meet you," she said, uncomfortable making eye contact with either. "Dr. Lightman, I've heard about your research in lie detection. It seems fascinating." When she finished speaking, he leaned in and looked right into her eyes.
"You really mean that," he said. She hadn't realized that he was English.
"I, uh, of course I mean it." She gave an embarrassed smile. "Why would I say it if I didn't mean it?"
He rolled his eyes. "Because you're a liar." He smiled at her confused reaction. "Oh, don't worry—everybody is, especially at parties like this one."
"Oh." Was it really possible to be less comfortable than she was? And when would he stop staring at her?
"Ah, well. I'll catch you in a lie some time, Dr. Foster. Until then, cheers."
With that, he nodded to Alec and walked off to the bar. His wife managed to mumble an annoyed apology before following suit. As the Fosters watched the Lightmans walk off, Alec smiled at the mousse that was still on the table.
"Why is it that whenever I come back to you, you're eating sweets? Not that I don't approve," he said, flashing an amused smile, "but if you ever need a twelve-step program to get off of that stuff, I think I can help you."
"If that's what it takes to spend more time together, then it might be worth it." She stopped smiling when she saw that the expression on his face had grown dark. "Honey, is something wrong?"
"I, uh, I've got another meeting tonight."
"More work?"
"No. It's a . . ." He looked around to make sure their conversation was private. "I'm getting a new sponsor. She lives in Restin, and this was the only time we could meet. I'll cancel if you want me to."
"No," she said, affectionately straitening out his suit coat. "I know how important that is. Wait, you said 'she?'" She waited for him to nod in response. "I thought having a sponsor of the opposite sex was against NA policy."
He shrugged. "She's the daughter of the professor who got me into the program, so they bent the rules a little."
"When can I meet her?"
"I don't know, hopefully soon. Anyway, it's a nice night out. How about we take a walk before I have to leave?"
She smiled and, finishing off the last of the mousse, she took his arm. As they entered the hallway on the way out, she caught something in the corner of her eye that turned out to be nothing other than Dr. and Mrs. Lightman kissing quite passionately in the shadows. She thought she saw him unzip his pants before they disappeared into a room.
"What?" Alec asked when he heard her giggle.
"Oh, nothing. Just observing some intriguing human behavior."
That night, she managed to find a copy of Dr. Lightman's dissertation and read the entire thing cover to cover before Alec got home.
Step Eight
It was on their fourth anniversary that Alec managed to get the entire day off to spend with his wife. They had spent a lazy morning in bed when Alec got an envelope out of a drawer in the nightstand and waved it playfully in front of Mrs. Foster's face until she snatched it.
"What is it?"
"Why don't you open it and find out?"
She wasn't quite sure what to make of the contents: two round-trip tickets to Durham, of all places.
"We couldn't go see a Broadway show?" She smiled to make sure he knew that she was more confused than disappointed.
"I thought that after four years, we could go back to where it all started. I thought we could have dinner at Luigi's again."
It was at that moment that Mrs. Foster grabbed her husband by his undershirt and pulled his mouth onto hers, only thinking of the hour they would spend in very close quarters on their way to memory lane.
The restaurant was just as she had remembered it, from the lighting to the live music. She was especially thrilled to reacquaint herself with the dessert cart. At Alec's insistence, they once again ordered dessert first, and once again, he chose an excellent bottle of wine. This time, the only real difference was that she knew for a fact how good the wine was going to be. The whole evening was perfect, especially when, between sips, Alec put his arm around his wife and whispered gently into her ear.
"I have some really good news for you, Dear."
"Oh? I can't think of anything that could possibly be better than this."
He laughed. "I can." She could feel his free hand take hers. "What if I could tell you that we're going to pay off all of our student loans by next month?"
She turned to him in shock. "Alec, really? I didn't know we were that close."
"Yup," he answered, kissing her hand, "I did all of the math. Can you imagine the income that we'll free up?"
"So, you're saying that we can start trying?"
He paused and turned so he could make eye contact. "Trying for what?"
"Trying for a baby. We agreed that after we got out of debt, we could start a family."
The arm that was around her neck retreated, and there seemed to be a sudden chill in the air.
"Gill, I don't know about that. I was thinking that we could use the money for a bigger apartment, maybe another car."
"I don't care about cars or apartments. I want to start a family." She looked at him as if she'd never seen him before. "I thought you wanted that, too."
"I do, I do, it's just . . . I don't think that it's the right time yet. Children require attention, and unless one of us is willing to quit and stay home, we'll have to hire a nanny. Is that what you want?"
"Is that what we can afford?"
"I, uh, I don't know. We'll have to run the numbers." He looked at his lap, then back at her. "You really would want someone else to raise our child?"
"I'm willing to do what it takes to have a child, Alec. All you seem to want to do is make up excuses." Suddenly, she found that the food she had ordered wasn't as good as it was five minutes ago. The trickles of tears that had found their way onto her plate had ruined the taste.
"Gillian, please don't cry."
"I'll appreciate it if you don't tell me what to do."
"Sorry, I just—I just don't see how it's practical, that's all. It's a big life change."
"It's a promise that you made me when I agreed to marry you, just like you promised that you wouldn't use again. Remember what I told you I'd do if you broke those promises?"
Alec sighed and lowered his head. "You said that you'd leave me." It wasn't until he raised his head again that she saw the hint of anger in his eyes. "Are you going to leave me, Gillian?"
"You promised me that we would start a family after we were done with the student loans."
"I know, but . . ."
"And you can make up all the excuses you want, but I know the problem is psychological."
"Hey, don't start shrinking my head!"
Now, she sighed. "Of course I'm not going to leave you, Alec. But I want to be a mom, more than anything in this world. I'm not going to let your insecurities take that away from me."
A stunned Alec watched her throw down her napkin and retreat into the woman's room.
The flight home was a quiet one. At one point, she caught him muttering something about how if this was how the fourth anniversary went, the fifth would be a doozy. She didn't dignify it with any sort of acknowledgement.
When they finally got home, he went straight to bed while she went to the side of the apartment that was most like a kitchen. After a fight like this, the two desserts she'd had at dinner just weren't enough. She frowned at the almost empty cupboards, thumbing through boxes of macaroni and ramen until she found a box of instant pudding and sighed.
Before her marriage, Gillian would have said that pudding was just a poor man's ice cream. When they had to afford two professional wardrobes and pay off student loans, Dr. Foster was willing to trade ice cream and chiffon cake for pudding and slushies. As she poured three cups of milk into the bowl and grabbed a whisk, she mentally cataloged everything Alec had said or done during dinner, growing frustrated when a psychological explanation didn't come to her. By the time the pudding had set and she'd dished herself a generous serving, she pulled a chair up to the bed and watched her sleeping husband as if doing so would give her clues.
With an empty mixing bowl in the sink, Dr. Foster, or Mrs. Foster, or Gillian grabbed her calendar, crossed off the date, and frowned. There had to be a better way to spend the tenth of September.