Five tests

Five tests

Susan, 34

Therapist

Profile photo

A tall woman with buzzed short hair and her toy poodle recreating the Titanic scene, with the ocean and sunset in the background.

My bio

☕️

About me

gay

liberal

postgraduate degree

atheist

My interests

Reading

Star Wars

Journaling

My favourite quality in a person is

scepticism. 🔍

Swipe right if

that's not your political direction.

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Laura, 29

Abstract painter

Profile photo

Edvard Munch’s The Scream

My bio

Love me or leave me, just don't deceive me.

About me

gay

liberal

agnostic

smoker

My interests

Arts

Star Wars

Blues

Instead of drinks, let's

play 🎱

One thing you need to know about me

I’m the anxious disordered attachment type ☹️

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Wednesday, 10th January, 8:02 p.m.

Although Susan didn't know what Laura looked like, she didn't have trouble finding her; they were the only women in the pool bar.

Laura was petite, with dark shoulder-length hair and wispy bangs. A cigarette hung from her lips as she chalked her cue.

“You must be the Shrink,” she said playfully when Susan approached her.

“And you must not be”, Susan returned the banter, “Otherwise, you’d know there is no such thing as an anxious-disordered attachment.”

“Indeed, I’m not. I’m Laura.” She offered her hand.

Instead of taking it, Susan reached for her cue. “Not tonight, you're not. In ancient Rome, they only crowned winners with laura.”

Laura withdrew her hand, playing hurt. “So, you know some Latin and a bit of history. But how good are you at pool, Susan? Or can I call you Sue?”

Susan theatrically placed the cue ball on the table. “Call me Laura.”

“Like in this movie that comes out soon - Call Me by Your Name. A gay movie.”

“It’s a movie about gays, not a gay movie. It’s never both, unless it’s total bollocks.”

“Just like in real life.”

Susan broke the rack—a dry break.

Laura raised her eyebrows. “Solid.”

“Thanks.”

“No, I meant I'm solid. You are striped. Watch and learn, my young Padawan.”

Laura went for the 7-ball—a straight shot—but missed and scratched.

They both giggled.

“I am solid,” Susan said as she pocketed the seven. “How often do you play pool, my Padawan?”

“Not too often, Master. Only on my first dates.”

“You always bring your new chicks here?”

Laura shrugged. "It's a time saver. If they can get past how much I suck at pool, they can handle anything."

“And has anyone passed the Pool test so far?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“And what happened then? They failed the Snooker test?”

Laura missed her clean shot at eleven. “That’s cheating, Shrink. Prying on my detachment trauma while I'm on the move. That's the Beer talk, not the Pool talk.”

Although Laura’s tone remained playful, Susan felt she’d touched the nerve. Idiot, she's your potential girlfriend, not your patient.

“If I tell you that I already passed this test, can we skip to the beer straight away?”

A smile resurfaced on Laura's face. “Nice try, Shrink, but not till I kick your ass.”

She pulled off a bank shot on the eleven, dropping it into the corner pocket.

Susan couldn't remember the last time she laughed so much. Nor did she know at exactly what point in the game she realized that she liked Laura.

***

Everything was going as planned; Laura kicked Susan’s ass and the beer got served.

Laura initiated the Beer talk. “Joke aside, I have to warn you, I do have this anxiety, and the closer we get, the more I'll be afraid to lose you.” She took a gulp straight from the bottle.

“I work with many people who have the same thing.”

“I may test your love in many ways.”

“I think I can handle it.”

“Trickier than the Pool test.”

“I will do my best.” Susan reached out and grasped Laura's hand.

Laura squeezed hers in return. “Oh, and you should also know I'm not out yet.”

Susan gave her a therapeutic smile. “That's also fine by me. I came out only a couple of years ago, and only to my closest friends. Is that why you don't have a photo on your profile?”

“Yes. And because of my husband.”

Susan choked on her beer.

But Laura didn't laugh.

“Wait, you serious?”

Laura bit her upper lip.

“Okaaay…” Susan said slowly. “I'm gonna need some elaboration here.”

Laura took another swig out of the bottle. “Welcome to the Second test: I am a closeted lesbian married to the man I'm seeking the courage to leave. I know, what a cliche. Are we through?”

“I'm sorry, Laura, but it seems to me that perhaps you need a therapist, not a lover.”

She knew it was a mistake as soon as she said it. She’s not your bloody patient. Laura withdrew her hand from Susan's and gave her a tearful look, all the playfulness gone from her face. “You trying to sell me your services now, Sue?”

Susan didn't know what to say. She did like Laura, yet cheating was not an option. And yet, she hadn't felt this happy with someone since divorcing her husband seven years ago.

Eventually her therapeutic instinct kicked in and she said: “Love me or leave me, just don't deceive me.”

It was Laura’s Tinder bio.

Laura smiled through her tears. “So, which one will it be, Shrink?”

“I really like you and don’t mind being your platonic girlfriend for now. And if you leave your husband someday, we can reevaluate the situation.”

“So, you will neither love me nor leave me?”

“But nor will I deceive you. How does that sound to you?”

“Like a toast.”

Before they parted ways, Laura invited Susan to her exhibition on Saturday. They embraced as they said their goodbyes.

Saturday, 13th January, 10:16 am

Over the next few days, Susan often caught herself replaying parts of her dialogue with Laura. Flashes of Laura's pool shots, her smile, and the tearful eyes kept resurfacing in her mind, unbidden.

But it wasn’t until she saw Laura’s paintings that she fell in love with her.

Laura wasn’t just an artist; she was an Artist, with a capital A and an exhibition at Tate Modern.

When Susan entered the museum, she spotted Laura talking to a group of people on the other side of the lobby. They exchanged curt nods—the only sign of recognition they would allow in public—before Susan went upstairs.

Susan didn't know what she'd expected of Laura's paintings, but it certainly wasn't this. All the paintings contained only a tiny, crude object—a sword, a cross, a triangle—and were dichromatic, with the object in one color and the background in another. The coloring technique was poor, like a child playing with crayons.

Susan was disappointed. She was way more impressed by Laura's pool skills than her painting.

At least until she noticed the face of a boy with curly hair.

It was subtle, its contours hidden by what she’d considered amateur coloring. But it was always there, if you knew to look for it—its expression of terror above the cross, confusion below the sword, tranquility in the triangle.

But no painting touched her as the one with the hollow circle. The boy’s face was around the circle; inside it, where his nose should have been, there was only emptiness. His eyes stared blankly at the void, his jaw dropped in silent resignation.

She couldn't explain what moved her so much. Wiping away the tears, she moved on.

As they exchanged nods on her leave, Susan felt a warm tingling she thought had abandoned her solar plexus forever. The butterflies.

Wednesday, 31st January, 6:51 pm

Nothing was going as planned. Their relationship blossomed faster than any in Susan's life, and it was more beautiful than she had ever dreamed.

The Beer talk gave way to the Wine talk—at Paint & Wine, they drew the whole class's attention to themselves by laughing at the brush-based mayhem on Susan’s canvas. Then came the Tequila talk, which led to their first kiss at the gay club, throwing Plato out the window. The Cocktail talk cost Susan some stomach acid after the Stones concert, and the Whiskey talk cost Laura a hundred quid the following evening, when hungover Susan called her bluff at poker night.

Eventually, they converged on the Coffee talk, filling each other in on the daily updates. Susan didn't disclose anything about her patients, and she noticed that Laura avoided talking about her husband, which she didn't want to pry into. But other than that, all the topics were fair game and a source of tons of laughter.

Over the three weeks, the spark in Susan’s stomach turned into a full-blown flame that gave her a deep calm she hadn't felt in years—a kind of calm that accompanies the hope of a bright future.

This inner peace made her immune to everyday annoyances. Even to narcissists, like the one she was just having her first session with. His name was John, and instead of a casual introduction, he was showing her a PowerPoint presentation of his broker career as if he were on a job interview. The cross dangling from his neck was bigger than the Pope's—at least the current one’s.

Susan knew the type. He would either stay long for a deep dive with his Mommy and Daddy issues, or give up therapy pretty soon. Probably the latter.

So, who’s gonna take him? She asked Jesus on his chest. You or me?

She had no idea that in ten seconds, this guy would put her into the biggest dilemma of her career. It happened instantly, as her eyes innocently slipped from Jesus onto his final slide, featuring a picture of John and his wife.

And there they met Laura’s gaze.

Susan's heart rate skipped through the roof, and she did her best to remain expressionless as they summed up the session. He was going on a trip to the States, and they agreed to meet upon his return.

As soon as she let him out, Susan went to the kitchen to pour herself a massive glass of wine.

Thursday, 1st February, 10:37 pm

An excerpt from Susan's journal:

What are the odds of this happening?

God, are you putting my absolute lack of faith to the test?

You gave me a beautiful balloon only to pop it into my face; a stunning bouquet hiding thorns; a lovely puppy harbouring terminal cancer.

You get the gist of it—it’s a bitchy move!

So, what are my options?

I. I tell Laura that her husband is seeing me, thereby violating my patient’s privilege. Over my dead body!

II. I tell John that I can't see him, because I'm having an affair with his wife. Haha! A good one!

III. I terminate a relationship with him on some pretense. But which? He ticks all the boxes: The two of us don't have a prior history, and I’m not seeing anyone he knows, at least professionally.

Neither is he a homicidal maniac. Unfortunately.

IV. I maintain both relationships, making sure neither knows about the other. And then I nudge him toward their divorce, which is in everyone's best interest.

You knew I would opt for number four even before breaking this hell upon me, didn't you, God? Because that's the only one that gets me to pray to you.

Well, guess what—you win!

Please, please don't let him tell her. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.

Don't let me lose her.

Please.

Tuesday, 6th February, 8:43 pm

Forty-three minutes into Call Me by Your Name, Laura had a full-blown panic attack. Susan heard her rapid breathing even before she went for the exit, stumbling over people's feet. Alerted, Susan went after her.

She found Laura atop the fire stairs, knees clutched to her chest and shaking violently. Without hesitation, Susan got down and wrapped her arms around her.

“I'm sorry,” Laura said, once her breathing had returned to normal.

“It's okay.”

“It’s just… this movie reminded me of someone I knew.”

Susan remembered the boy with the curly hair, but said nothing. They’d never talked about it.

Laura continued, unprompted. “His name was Peter. We were neighbors; my dad was a nephrologist, and his was a shrink, like you. Our families spent Sundays together since we were babies—the whole package: breakfast, church, lunch, tea. Afterwards, Peter and I would go out and play in the garden or, when we got older, smoke pot in the woods.

“He was the only one I came out to—only because he came out to me first. I took him to the ER when he overdosed after his first breakup, and he carried me home after my first drinking. He always encouraged me to let more people in, saying the world is not as bad as I thought.”

Laura looked Susan straight in the eyes. “At seventeen, he came out to his parents. A year too early—they sent him to a conversion camp. He hanged himself there a month later.”

“Jesus.”

“There’s no such thing,” Laura sniffled. “He would be thirty next week. Could’ve been happy like Ellio and Oliver. Or you and me.”

Susan tightened her grip around Laura without a word.

“On our first date, you told me I needed a therapist. And I do. But I can’t stand the lot of you, because of him. How can you do that to your son?”

“I’m so sorry.”

They cuddled in silence, Laura’s head on Susan’s shoulder. As they rose back to their feet, Laura said, “Wanna go to my place? My husband is on a trip.”

I know he is. “Laura, don’t get me wrong. Kissing you was one thing, but…”

Laura’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “No worries, Shrink. I was just testing you.”

“Sure you were”, Susan said, then added to cheer her up: “Was that the Third test now?”

Laura gave her a wry smile. “The Fourth.”

Thursday, 8th February, 11:24 pm

After finishing her journaling that evening, Susan opened her Tinder, the origin of this whole affair. She smiled, seeing she’d put skepticism as her favorite quality.

Easy to be skeptical when miracles like this don't land in your lap. Or rather, anti-miracles.

As she was about to close her journal, a single line caught her eye.

“Well, guess what—you win!”, she had written to her nameless god.

She paused. The Romans had a special crown for their winner, a crown that may also suit hers. Perhaps her god wasn’t nameless after all.

Glad that the butterflies hadn’t eaten all of her skepticism away, Susan opened her laptop.

Friday, 9th February, 6:00 pm

The man who called himself John knocked on the door of Susan's office at nearly the same moment Susan knocked on another door across town.

No one opened to the man, but Susan’s knock was soon answered.

“Hi.” Laura was in her bathrobe, her hair wet.

“Can we talk?”

Laura hesitated only for a second. “Sure. You want some tea?”

When they settled in the living room with steaming cups of tea, Susan asked: “Your husband still on a trip?”

“Yes, but…” Laura hesitated.

“But—”

”But not in the States, as you think.”

“Oh, I don't think he’s in the States. I think you never had a husband.”

Laura stared at her feet for a while. When she spoke, her voice was sad. “Time for the Tea talk, I guess.”

Susan waited.

Laura heaved a deep sigh. “From the start of our relationship, I have never told you a single lie.”

“No, you hired others to do it for you.”

”Everything I told you about me was true. I do have a husband, and his name is John. But that's not the man who visited your office—he’s a professional actor, David, as I guess you’ve deduced.”

“I googled him.”

“So I figured.”

“Where is the real John?”

“In Canada. He’s been there for the past four months with his lover, refusing to divorce me so he can keep draining money from my dad’s company. I will divorce him—the court process is underway.”

Laura rose from her armchair and settled beside Susan on the couch. “But that doesn’t explain why I haven’t told you that right away, does it?”

“I figured the rest myself”, Susan said, turning to face her. “You hired David to see if I was a good girlfriend or a good shrink—whether I was like John or like Peter’s dad.”

Laura’s eyes watered, but she said nothing.

“And I passed that Third test, right? As well as the Fourth, which checked if I would be faithful to you sexually as well as spiritually.”

Laura burst into tears. “You’ll never forgive me, right?”

When Susan didn’t answer, Laura’s sobs escalated into violent whining. Slowly, her cries quieted again, leaving the two of them in silence.

When she finally spoke, Susan’s voice trembled with emotion. “Seven years ago, I had a miscarriage, but I lied to my abusive husband that it was an abortion, so he’d leave me.”

“Jesus.”

“No such thing”, Susan said with a sad smile. ”It’s the worst thing I’ve done in my life. I know what it means to be hurt by the ones closest to you, and what we are capable of doing to shield ourselves from that pain. I understand your distrust. And I forgive you.

“But I also need to know I can trust you. Test me all you want, but please no more deceptions, okay?”

“I promise—to try.”

“I cannot ask for more.” Susan brushed away the last tear from Laura’s cheek. “Then you’ve officially passed the Fifth test—the honesty test.”

“So, we good now?” Laura asked anxiously.

“Come here.”

Susan pulled Laura into a tight embrace.

Then she whispered into her ear: “But there’s always room for improvement.”

“Like what?”

“Feeling ready to annul that Fourth test?”

Laura's smile melted all the anxiety from her face. Instead of answering, she started to untie her bathrobe.