COVERT : Spencer Reid (II)

07

I managed to squeeze in the biannual presentation before I'm packing to go with my siblings to Shenandoah again. It never is as difficult as I think it will be. Telling Reid all about the new condo before he was whisked away again was easy too. Of course, I didn't tell him about Mary. Her task for me was the hardest anyway, and I had bitten off more than I can chew there.

She gave me a list of cognitive distortions. Now, I pride myself on my ability to interpret things. I clearly do not engage in mind reading or fortune telling, or emotional reasoning. They are ridiculous. If it weren't for one of the ones she highlighted, next to the bottom of the page, I wouldn't even give them a second glance.

SHOULD STATEMENTS

While could is definitely a different word, Mary would ask me if I actually think the difference is negligible. I don't, anyway. So, I try to catch myself doing it over the next four days. I might even try to do it in front of my siblings over the weekend. This is something that I do end up hiding from Estelle.

Stéphane is picking us all up in town, since none of us have access to our own vehicles in DC. Caro's going to be flying into the airport soon. While I know we're all going to meet her there, I'm not sure if Stéphane will swing by Bastien's place first or if I'll be the first he'll grab. Despite Estelle's nagging, I have not told him about what happened to Bastien. It would be easier if he rolled up with Bastien in the car, so I wouldn't have to make a decision.

Unfortunately, when I step down to meet him, the exhaust from his car cloudy like my breath in the cold, Stéphane rolls down the window and pats the empty seat next to him.

Damn it.

I throw my stuff in the trunk and sit beside him. It's Friday shortly after rush hour. The traffic is nuts, and I'm not entirely sure of the address of Bastien's place. The military has put him up temporarily since he's in and out of the country. Stéphane's been to his place, but I haven't.

"How are you?" he asks.

"Good," I manage, looking him over. "I bought a condo."

He mocks surprise, and I can tell Estelle told him over text. The worst. The car still parked, he leans over and gives me a hug.

"Congratulations!" he says. "You've decided to stay for a PhD then?"

I shrug, "I'll be here for at least a year and a half. I'm not applying anywhere right now, anyway. But if I do go somewhere else, it won't be abroad. Maybe UPenn, or something."

He lets go, squeezing my shoulders with his hands before turning back to the wheel. We roll out. It's easy enough to ask him about his life. His girlfriend got him an alto sax for his birthday.

My eyes widen, "oh, so she's like rich rich then?"

"It was from some online funeral sale," Stéphane laughs. "So, cheaper for an alto sax. I'll need to refurbish it."

He hasn't played in a long time, as far as I know. We've got time to talk about Bastien now, I suppose, but he's in a good mood. Somehow, I'd rather tell him about me, and how therapy has been going. I explain the cognitive distortion thing. I don't know that I'm entirely on board with the whole thing. I guess I personalize a lot, but most things in my life are my fault.

"My girlfriend says CBT is rooted in neoliberalism," Stéphane says. "I think you might understand that, but I don't."

It's easy to laugh. My brother and I fall into natural patterns together.

Snow is dusting the windshield now, melting as soon as it hits the roof of the car. We pull into Bastien's lot, where he is already downstairs. He's holding his bag, a puffy coat on so I can't tell if he's got padding or anything over his ribs. He squeezes into the back, pressing his knees into my seat. The guy is too big to be sitting in the back, so we agree to do a switcheroo at the airport.