The Antagonist
Using a tokkuri, Dave poured sake into the small cylindrical cup before me at the sushi bar. He then
handed me the vessel, expecting me to do the same for him. In Japanese culture, pouring your own sake is
considered rude, and he felt compelled to honor the tradition at one of our favorite restaurants, Shibuya. I
was happy we’d gotten seats so close to the holidays, given that Kim and Kanye were famously forced to
wait a good thirty minutes for a table when they dined there. That was five years before, and the restaurant
had only gotten more popular since. “To babies,” I toasted with him as we waited for our perfect pieces of
bluefin toro nigiri to arrive. I wasn’t going to miss alcohol during what I hoped would be an imminent
pregnancy, but my newfound love of sushi was a whole other matter, and I was trying to pack it all in
while I still could. There was an older man beside us dining alone, and I wondered whether that would be
Kent in ten years. I asked Dave how he would have felt if I had suddenly stopped seeing him because I
decided he “wasn’t worth the drive.” “You’re talking to the guy who used to only date women on the West
Side,” he playfully reminded me.
“True.” I’d forgotten how much he and Kent really were alike. “But in dating me, you realized you could
explore a new part of town, you had somewhere to crash on the way home from work—” “Yes. Because I
liked you,” he clarified. “Liked?” I scoffed. “You were crazy about me.” Humor aside, I supposed he had a
point. If Kent had been crazy about the Gardener, he wouldn’t have minded driving to her—but from the
sound of it, his feelings toward her had been overshadowed by the woman he was yet to get over. At least
now there’d be more of a focus to our sessions. I was also feeling optimistic about Callie, as she was still
seeing Rachel, a set designer I’d introduced to her earlier that month. I was proud of her. Not only had
Callie agreed to meet Rachel in the first place, despite bumping on her description (Rachel had two cats,
and Callie had previously asserted she was only open to one), but she’d also given her another chance after
Rachel had seemed a little too quiet on their first date—something old Callie would have classified as an
“irrecoverable mistake.” “Maybe she prefers women,” Dave teased when I gave him the update (he didn’t
know Callie by name, just some basic facts, and my frustration about her journey). Before I could respond,
I clocked an eerily familiar-looking blond at another table. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I muttered.
Meera, who was sitting across from the guy, caught my gaze and froze, midlaughter. I watched in
fascination as Trevor shoved a piece of sushi into his mouth, licking his fingers afterward. Gross. “Who’s
that?” Dave interrupted my stare. “Oh, no one important,” I said coolly. “Just two people I’m surprised to
see here.” I didn’t feel like getting into the specifics yet, as I was too busy processing the scene. Meera had
emailed me they broke up. Did she continue seeing him anyway? Or did something change, and she forgot
to update me? Was she ever going to update me? And why am I reacting like I just got cheated on? Get it
together, girl! I averted my gaze and imagined Meera doing the same. I was reacting like a jealous
girlfriend, which was absurd. I was angry, even though I didn’t have a
right to be. I’d laid out the perfect road map to happiness for Meera—something she’d been paying me
good money to do—and there she was, choosing to ignore it. But why? Did she enjoy feeling hurt?
Couldn’t she see Trevor was just going to hurt her again, and likely soon? Within seconds, my anger
turned to shame. I didn’t create a safe enough space for her, I decided, so she wouldn’t feel judged for
returning to him. But that didn’t excuse her not telling me, a person who’d been trying to help her, who
only had her best interests at heart... “Hello?” Dave politely reminded me of his existence as I continued to
spiral. “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “You know how awkward I am when I run into clients.” As a general
rule, I try treating a client encounter the same way I would a stray dog: I don’t engage with them unless
they approach me first. I doubted Meera would do that tonight. As my outrage subsided, I felt compassion
take over for the sweet, de epfeeling, and forgiving Meera, who desperately wanted nothing more than to
feel loved. I narrowed my eyes, watching as the object of her affection scrolled through his phone while
she meekly tried to get his attention—and, for a moment, I contemplated chucking my kanpachi across the
room at him. I didn’t cause a scene, though. Instead, I silently wished him food poisoning.
Meera had been tough to nail down in the New Year, but when she finally got around to booking another
session with me, she was glowing. She and Trevor had spent a lot of time together over the break, and it
seemed any chance I might have had to convince her to slow down with him had passed. She was riding
the holiday high and focused solely on her potential with him now. We hadn’t spoken yet about our
encounter at the sushi restaurant: just because I had wanted to process our accidental run-in didn’t mean
she did. My therapist taught me that three major questions lie at the heart of all major relationships: Do you
see me? Do I matter? When I reach for you, will you be there? (Core considerations in EFT, or
Emotionally Focused Therapy.) As I considered those questions now, I wondered how they applied to my
coachclient relationship with Meera. Until then, I had been overly preoccupied with
being “right” about their future—as if their having some sort of tumultuous breakup would prove my
worth to her as her dating coach. Perhaps I’d been so intent on convincing her of the relationship’s
inevitable demise that I hadn’t been supporting it, or her, the way I really needed to. So I decided to make a
shift. I’d been seeing her, but was I really acc epting her? When she reached for me, was I there
unconditionally, or only when she was following my advice? I started by apologizing for ever having made
her feel like she couldn’t come to me about Trevor—for making her worry I would judge her for doing
something different from what we had discussed in our sessions. She stopped me before I went further,
saying that while she appreciated my concerns, she’d never once felt judged by me. “I didn’t tell you we
were still seeing each other,” she shared, “because... well, it felt stupid to do it. And it felt good to feel
kind of stupid for a while, you know?” And then it dawned on me. Sometimes the safest space for anyone
is the one that feels the most familiar. Healthy or not, that’s what Trevor was to her. “It’s never stupid to
follow your heart,” I assured her gently. “That’s a great quality.” Meera saw the best in people, even those
who might hurt her. She was the only one who’d have to live with the consequences of her decisions, and
all the joys that came from them too. “I’m just someone who wants what’s best for you, and who has a ton
of really good material for a speech at your wedding one day.” I smiled. “That is, if you end up inviting
me.”