Claire LaZebnik - Knitting Under the Influence

She knew the angel was right, but it was the devil who intrigued her. Sometimes, when she said goodbye to Jason at the end of a session, she'd meet his eyes and see the pleading there and wonder what it would be like to give in to it and go out with him and follow the whole tangle through to the end-and then crush him. And sometimes she'd wonder what it would be like to follow it through to the end and not crush him. And that's when she would give herself a good mental shake and listen to the angel and keep herself well out of it.

There was one day when Jason was wearing a blue shirt that lightened the color of his eyes until you just wanted to stare at them forever. At the end of the session, he asked Sari if she had time to have a drink with him, and she had to struggle to say no.

That night, she ran home and got down her high school yearbook and made herself study it.

The page devoted to the Resource Room, a page on which Charlie appeared three times-once with a chef's hat on and a big smile, because they had been making cookies in class that day and Charlie loved cookies more than anything else in the world-left her throat and eyes aching with tears that wouldn't come all the way out.

After that, the pictures-page after page after page-of Jason Smith on every sports team, a smirk of athletic superiority and social dominance always on his face, successfully rekindled her anger and her determination not to be swayed by a pair of blue eyes.

Back at the clinic, it was once again easy to tell him no when he asked her out and it stayed easy-no, she didn't want to have coffee, no, she wasn't interested in seeing a movie, no, she was rushing off after this session, no, she was busy, no, she had work to do, no, she had other plans…

At some point, he'd have to give up, she figured. But she also knew that the one blue-eyed day she had hesitated before saying no had given Jason Smith reason to think that maybe there was hope. He took her reluctance as a challenge, and, instead of giving up, he tried harder.

She couldn't have strung him along any better if she'd been trying.

She could guess what he thought-that it was their professional relationship that made her pull back, that she was worried she was breaking some kind of unwritten (or maybe even written) clinic law. He probably assumed things would have been different if they'd met at a party instead of as client and professional. He probably told himself stories of people who overcame an awkward business situation to find love and romance together. The thrill of the chase probably made it all the more interesting to him. He was that kind of guy.

And meanwhile there was Zack, who was improving almost daily; Zack with the crooked grin who would one day stare at Sari uncomprehendingly when she tried to teach him to say, “I want a cookie,” and who would two days later come walking up to her and point to the cookie jar and say, “Want cookie,” as if he had always said it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to utter a two-word sentence; Zack, who now crawled into her lap the second she picked out a book to show him, who grabbed her hand when she arrived at his house and pulled her outside where he would say, “Ball?” and then walk her over to the basketball court; Zack, who was calm almost all the time now, who hardly ever screamed anymore, who learned by leaps and bounds and with whom she found herself more in love every day.

With him, at least, her relationship was uncomplicated and satisfying.

The next week, Jason asked Sari if she could stay after Zack's session that coming Friday and have dinner at their house. “Denise wants to meet you, and she's free that evening.”

The problem with being as confused as Sari was about everything having to do with the Smith family was that she didn't even know anymore what her normal response would be to something like that. If any other father had said to her that she should stay for dinner to meet the child's mother whom she had never met before and who really should be given a chance to consult with her… would she feel obliged to say yes? Or would she have every right to say no?

When feelings of anger and desire and revenge and attraction didn't get in the way of a decision like that, then what would the decision be?

It was paralyzing, this confusion.

Jason misinterpreted her hesitation. Or, quite possibly, he interpreted it correctly. “You don't have to worry about being alone with me,” he said with a tight smile. “Denise and Maria and Zack will all be there. You won't even have to talk to me if you don't want to.”

“It's not that,” she said. “I was just trying to remember if I had plans that night.”

“Do you?”

“I don't think so.” She made up her mind. “I’ll stay.”

His face lit up, but all he said was, “Denise will be pleased.”

Denise was late. They waited for her from five-thirty until almost seven. She called four times to say she was just about out the door. After the fourth call, Jason offered Sari a drink. Sari declined-as she had the previous two times he'd offered-but he continued to have better luck with himself and filled his own glass for the third time.

So he was definitely a little drunk by the time Denise finally made her appearance at the house with a bang of the front door and an entrance into the living room that included a cheery, “Hello! Here I am!”

Sari rose to her feet, but Jason didn't get up, just raised his glass in a brief salute and said, “Welcome.”

“I’m so sorry I kept you guys waiting,” Denise said.

“No, it was good,” he said. “Gave me time to work on my show pitch. Want to hear it?”

She was still smiling brightly. “Jason-”

“No, no, it's great. Listen. An attractive young therapist moves in with an autistic kid and his family, and hilarity ensues. I mean it just ensues.”

“Ha,” Denise said. “I’ll suggest it to the network.” She strode forward to greet Sari. “Sari Hill. I can't tell you how excited I am to finally meet you. Zack has blossomed since you started working with him. It's beyond incredible.” She took Sari's hand and squeezed it warmly. “I can't ever thank you enough. There are no words.”

She had long blond hair, a perfectly toned body, and cheekbones you could trip over. She was dressed in a sleeveless silk top and a pair of carefully tailored black pants that showed off her tight ass and toned legs.

“So,” she said as she released Sari's hand and looked around.

“Where is my little Zacky, anyway?”

“That's a kind of chicken,” Jason said. He hadn't gotten up from the chair he'd been sitting on when she arrived-had, in fact, slumped even deeper into it.

“Excuse me?” she said.

“Zacky Farms. They make chickens. He's with Maria having dinner in the kitchen.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll go say hi in a sec. Do I get a glass of wine, too?”

“The bottle's over there,” he said, indicating the wet bar.

“Lovely,” she said. Sari couldn't tell if she were being sarcastic or not. “Sari, would you join me in a glass of wine?”

“No, thanks.”

“What about dinner?” Denise walked over to the wet bar, slid a glass out of the hanging rack, and poured wine with the ease of someone who knew where everything was. “I’m starving. What's the plan?”

“Ah,” Jason said. “Here's the thing about dinner. We were waiting for you to order. You were late. Therefore, we have not yet ordered.”

“Have you at least offered our guest something to eat while she's been waiting?”

“No, because you kept saying you'd be here any minute.”