Page 166 - In Five Years

I laugh. The alcohol has made everything loose. I feel the emotions there,
right on the surface, not tucked and tidy where I normally keep them.
“I’m not sure I’m a good person,” I say. I didn’t know that’s what was inside
my head, but once I say it, I know it’s true.

“Interesting,” he says. “A good person.”
“My best friend is very sick.”

“Yes,” Aldridge says. “I know that.”
“And we’re in a fight.”
He takes a sip of scotch. “What happened?”
“She thinks I’m controlling,” I say, repeating the truth.

At this, Aldridge laughs, just like Dr. Shaw. It’s a hearty belly laugh.
“Why does everyone think that’s so funny?” I ask.

“Because you are,” he says. “You were quite controlling tonight, for
example.”
“Was that bad?”

Aldridge shrugs. “I guess we’ll see. How did it feel?”
“That’s the problem,” I say. “It felt great. I loved it. My best friend is—she’s
sick, and tonight I’m in California, happy about some clients at dinner. What

kind of a person does that make me?”
Aldridge nods, like he understands it, now. Gets what this is about. “You are
upset because you think you need to quit your life and be by her side.”

“No, she won’t let me. I just shouldn’t be happy doing this.”
“Ah. Right. Happiness. The enemy of all suffering.”
He takes another sip. We drink in silence for a moment.

“Did I ever tell you what I originally wanted to be?”
I stare at him. We’re not exactly braiding-each-other’s-hair besties. How
would I know?

“I’m assuming this is a trick question and that you’re going to say lawyer.”
Aldridge laughs. “No, no. I was going to be a shrink. My father was a
psychiatrist, so is my brother. It’s a strange career choice, for a teen, but it

always seemed the right one.”
I blink at him. “Shrink?”
“I would have been terrible at it. All that listening, I don’t have it in me.”