“Emilia told me to go out and get fucked,” Cashe announced, dropping onto the fraying fabric of the Pokemon Center’s couch. Dr Atwood looked up from where she sat in her familiar, plush chair, greeting Cashe with a patient smile.

“Good afternoon, Cashe,” she said, “I take it you two had another disagreement?”

“No, I meant literally.” Cashe said, clasping his hands together and kneading the ridges of his knuckles, “She thinks I should call a groupie.”

“A groupie?” Dr Atwood raised an eyebrow.

“That’s a term for people who follow bands around with the intent of, uh, getting to know them better.” Cashe said.

“I know what a groupie is, Cashe,” Dr Atwood said, tapping her notepad with her pen as she spoke, “I am wondering if that is the correct use of the term, here.”

“I, uh,” Cashe scratched his head in mild embarrassment, “No. Probably not.”

“Do you feel uncomfortable using the word ‘sex’ to describe the act of intimacy?”

“Oh, no,” Cashe said, shaking his head, “I’m around a preteen all the time. I’m used to censoring myself somewhat. Especially now that he is maybe getting hormonal.”

Dr Atwood raised an eyebrow at his response and jotted down a quick line of notes, “It is understandable.”

Cashe nodded and looked down at his hands, waiting for Dr Atwood to continue. She did not, letting the silence between them grow. Cashe shifted in discomfort as the worn fabric of the old couch scratched against his skin.

“Cashe,” Dr Atwood finally said, her tone warning.

“I know,” Cashe said, “I am just trying to figure out how to say it.”

“Why don’t you start from the beginning? I usually find that is the best place to start.”

“Okay,” Cashe leaned back on the couch and sighed, organizing his thoughts into something comprehensible, “I met someone when I was going to the gym for my match today.”

“And this would be the ‘groupie’?”

Cashe winced, “Yeah. She’s actually the liaison for the gym. Kind of like the handlers for the trainers and media and everything.”

“I’m familiar with the position,” Dr Atwood said, “I would hardly describe someone in that role as a ‘groupie’.”

“I realize that was diminishing,” Cashe said, “I’m sorry about that.”

“I am more concerned with why you chose to present a woman who maintains such an important position that way.”

Cashe shifted in his seat again, “She made it obvious to me that she liked trainers. Especially after I won my match.”

“Congratulations,” Dr Atwood said with a genuine smile, “The Alola region is supposed to be tough right now.”

“Thank you,” Cashe nodded in easy acceptance, “Anyway, she gave me a way to contact her and suggested I should use it. Outside of business hours.”

“So you two could have sex.”

Cashe bit his lip, “She didn’t say that.”

“But you described her as a groupie.”

“It was heavily implied.”

“And that made you uncomfortable? What did she say when you denied her?”

Cashe swallowed and looked away.

“Cashe, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. This is a space for you to speak your mind and work out your thoughts in a place free of judgment. You don’t have to say anything if you are uncomfortable, but I encourage you to try.”

“Why? You know what I’m going to say.”

“I think it would be better if you heard yourself say it.”

Cashe scowled, “I didn’t deny her.”

Dr Atwood didn’t even bother to feign surprise, “Why not?”

“Because I liked it,” Cashe said, “Because I didn’t want to deny her.”

“You’ve expressed discomfort at your attraction to Emilia previously,” Dr Atwood said, “We’ve talked about this at length.”

Cashe fell silent at the unasked question, glancing at Dr Atwood. She smiled at him and folded her hands over her notebook, waiting with the patience of death.

“You already know why it’s different,” Cashe grumbled.

Dr Atwood raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t feel discomfort,” Cashe said. “That’s it. I didn’t feel like anything was wrong.”

“Well,” Dr Atwood smiled, a small spark lighting up her eyes, “I suppose congratulations are needed, again. This is a very good week for you.”

Cashe blinked. “What?”

“This was the reason you started seeing me, was it not? To get over the loss of your wife, and, if I may make a presumption, much, much more?” Dr Atwood’s smile widened by a couple of molars, “Congratulations, Cashe. This is what acceptance feels like.”

“I still feel guilty though,” Cashe argued, “I should be feeling guilty that I didn’t feel uncomfortable with Moni’s flirting!”

Dr Atwood leaned back in her chair, “What do you mean by that?”

Cashe frowned, scratching his chin and looking away, “I feel like I should feel uncomfortable. Like it’s a betrayal to enjoy the attention without feeling awkward about it.”

“You feel that you are betraying your wife by not being uncomfortable with flirting, but not because you want to follow through on the acts the flirting imply?”

“Well, it sounds silly when you put it like that,” Cashe said.

Dr Atwood smiled, “That was a genuine question, not a criticism. Why do you think you feel that way?”

“I don’t know,” Cashe shrugged, “I just do.”

Dr Atwood nodded and flipped back a page in her notebook, “Let’s change gears for now. Can you do something for me? I want you to imagine yourself in the future.”

“Okay,” Cashe frowned at the change of pace, “I’m doing that.”

Good,” Dr Atwood smiled, “Now imagine that future self in a life where you are happy. What do you do? Where do you live? You don’t have to tell me, just imagine it.”

Cashe nodded and a minute passed as Dr Atwood let him visualize the future.

“Now,” Dr Atwod said, “How do you feel imagining that?”

“Hopeful,” Cashe said, “And nervous.”

“That’s good,” Dr Atwood said, “Are your pokemon with you?”

“Of course they-” Cashe paused mid sentence, realizing the implication of the question, and the answer, “Oh.” He looked at his therapist, “Did you know this would happen? What I would imagine?”

“This is an exercise to help understand your frame of mind,” Dr Atwood said, “I won’t know what you imagined until you tell me.”

“You said I didn’t have to tell you.”

“And you don’t, if you’re not comfortable with doing so.” Dr Atwood said.

Cashe frowned for a moment before speaking, “I didn’t imagine being a banker or living in the city where I was born. I was in a house with my pokemon. I was a trainer or something that worked with pokemon.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“That’s good,” Dr Atwood said, “I think it’s particularly encouraging that you feel hope and nervousness around this future instead of guilt or anxiety.”

“You think it means I’m ready to move on,” Cashe said.

“I think you’ve already started.”

“Should I be moving on? It’s only been,” Cashe frowned and paused, counting for a moment on his fingers. A confused look passed over his face, “Half a year? What the hell?”

Dr Atwood gave him a significant look.

“That’s still not a long time,” Cashe huffed.

“The amount of time it take for a person to recover varies greatly between individuals,” Dr Atwood said in a with a small, encouraging smile, “There are many things that can help a person recover from loss, like a good therapist-”

“I don’t know if I would say ‘good’,” Cashe grumbled.

Dr Atwood’s smile broadened, “Just like there are many things that can make it more difficult. Reminders of past relationships, like favorite locations and memorabilia, often extend the healing process as we hold onto those memories as sacred.”

Cashe lay down on the couch. He understood what Dr Atwood was getting at. Despite what he said, he did have a good therapist. And he didn’t have anything but his own memories to remind him of his past. And certainly nothing to hold onto. He had received the freshest of fresh starts. From a certain point of view it could almost be seen as a benefit instead of a curse.

“My advice to you is to think carefully about what you want to do, and do it,” Dr Atwood continued, “It’s perfectly normal to not want to go out, or to want to be alone, or to just spend all day training with your pokemon. But do those things - or don’t - because you want to and not for any other reason.”

“You think I should call Moni,” Cashe said.

“If that is what you want to do and if that is what you are comfortable with,” Dr Atwood said, “I don’t want you to push yourself into anything you are not ready to do.”

“It feels like I shouldn’t.”

“Then you shouldn’t.”

“But I want to,” Cashe said.

Dr Atwood folded her hands on her lap, “You’re of two minds.”

“I want to,” Cashe said, “I just don’t know if I’m ready for…everything.”

“You are looking at this like an all or nothing proposition,” Dr Awtood said, “Does it have to be?”

“I either go out with her or I don’t.” Cashe said, “Not a lot of middle ground there.”

“If you want to call her, you can call her. If you don’t want to do everything, you don’t have to do everything. You can see how you feel in the moment.”

“But what if she’s upset?” Cashe said, “It’s obvious she has certain expectations.”

“Do you want to be with a woman who gets upset that you are taking your mental health into consideration?”

“No, of course not,” Cashe shook his head.

“Well, then that solves that problem, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does,” Cashe chewed on his thoughts for a moment. He sat up, glancing at Dr Atwood, “What I don’t understand is why she wants me to do it.”

“It was my understanding that she was very much attracted to victorious trainers,” Dr Atwood raised an eyebrow at him.

“Not, Moni. Emilia,” Cashe said.

Atwood returned his glance with a wry look, “I’m your therapist, Cashe, not your friend’s. You are in a much better position to guess the reasoning behind any of her actions than I.”

“You have an idea, I bet,” Cashe said.

“Even if I did, which I do not, I would not say so. We are not here to gossip, Cashe,” Dr Atwood said, “Now, why don’t we talk about young Lindon? You say you’ve been censoring yourself around him? Does that extend to swearing?”

***

Cashe didn’t know what to expect from the date. Or he did, Moni had made her intentions very clear. He didn’t know what to expect of himself.

He stepped into the small restaurant, immediately thankful he had dressed up in his only suit. The place was small, dimly lit, and upscale. The tux from the True Rookie Tournament may have left him over dressed, but it was not by much. It was magnitudes better than the alternative of a tracksuit or jeans and a tee-shirt.

Like all the restaurants Cashe had been to in the last six months, the space was small and intimate, with a few dozen or so tables sitting in the rough shape of a square throughout the room. It was late in the evening and the place was nearly full, with most of the guests finishing or halfway through their meals. An older gentleman with a thin mustache, a crop of dark, styled hair, and wearing dress pants and a vest greeted Cashe as he walked, showing only the barest hint of surprise at his outfit.

“Good evening, sir,” the host said with a small nod of his head, “Do you have a reservation this evening?”

Cashe nodded, “It should be under Hale.”

The host didn’t have to check a list or anything, nodding as he heard the name and giving Cashe a small smile, “Very good, sir. Miss Hale has already arrived. That would make you Mr Cashe?”

“It would,” Cashe said, returning the smile.

“Wonderful. Right this way, sir.” The host waved his hand, beckoning Cashe to follow and leading him through the restaurant floor.

The walk was short, but the aroma of food wafted up from the tables as they passed, filling the air with delectable scents that left Cashe’s mouth watering. The host stopped beside a table for two in the corner of the restaurant, gesturing with an open arm to Cashe.

Moni was seated at the table, taking a sip from a glass of dark wine. A second glass was sitting in front of the empty seat, already filled with the same red wine. Moni glanced over, hearing their approach and smiled. Her lips were painted dark red, from lipstick or the wine, Cashe wasn’t sure - it was too hard to tell in the dim light of the restaurant.

“You made it,” Moni stood, offering Cashe a light hug in greeting. She was wearing a strapless black dress that hugged her figure tightly and looked much less out of place than Cashe’s formal tux, fitting the atmosphere of the restaurant perfectly.. She took a step back, patting down Cashe’s chest and straightening his jacket, her eyes lighting with amusement, “You took me seriously when I said to dress up. I didn’t think there was a single tux in this entire town.”

“It’s the only thing I own that aren’t swim shorts or traveling clothes,” Cashe admitted.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind if you showed up shirtless, but I think poor Ronald would have a fit.” Moni teased.

“Ronald?”

“The host,” Moni explained, “He can be a bit formal.”

“I didn’t see his name anywhere,” Cashe said.

“I’m a regular here, my parents own the restaurant. That’s my dad, cooking in the back.” Moni said, waving over her shoulder to the blank wall that separated the restaurant floor from the kitchen.

“Oh,” Cashe said. He took a sip of the wine left out for him. It was good. He took another, “So how are you?”

Moni watched him for a moment and burst out laughing, her hand coming to her chest in her amusement, “You can relax. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Sorry. Was it that obvious?”

“You look like you’re waiting for your medical results and you expect it to be bad,” Moni said, taking a sip of her own wine and brushing back her long, dark hair behind her shoulder. “Spending time with me isn’t that bad, is it?”

“Sorry,” Cashe said again, feeling himself blush slightly, “Of course not. This is just a step out of my comfort zone.”

“You’ll have to get used to it,” Moni said, wiggling her eyebrows at him, “I think there will be plenty of people like me if you continue to battle the way you did against Kiana.”

“It’s not that. It’s just been a rough couple of months,” Cashe rubbed his eyes, sighed, and shook his head. He caught himself and smirked in a self deprecating way, “Sorry. Some date I am. Maybe I should ask you if you have any dead pets while I’m at it.”

“You know, I was worried I was going to make things awkward, fangirling all night,” Moni said with a wide grin, “But I can see you are a true gentleman and decided to cover the uncomfortable topics for the evening yourself.”

“Please save me by fangirling,” Cashe chuckled, “It would be a nice boost to my ego.”

“Who said I would fangirl over you?” Moni said with a playful wink, “I’m a big fan of the Oaks. We all are; most trainers leave the islands after getting famous, not join them. What’s it like traveling with Emilia? I bet you have all sorts of stories.”

“Oh my god, you have no idea,” Cashe said, leaning back in his chair and beginning to relax, “The absolute nerve of that woman, and I mean that as a compliment! She has a backbone like you wouldn’t believe…”

***

Emilia glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. For the third time. That shouldn’t be possible.

“Emilia,” Lindon complained, “It’s late, I want to go to bed.”

“Just one more game, then you can get some rest,” Emilia said, eyes moving to the hotel room door. It was still locked. Still silent. Like it had been since Lindon got back, four hours ago.

“We still haven’t finished the game we started when you said that last time,” Lindon said, “It’s been your turn for twenty minutes.”

“It has?” Emilia pulled her eyes off the door, returning her attention to the board. She was losing. Badly. Against a twelve year old. She moved a piece. “There. Your turn.”

She glanced back at the clock. Almost midnight.

“Why did you tell him to go out if it's going to bug you so much?” Lindon said as he made his move.

“It doesn't bug me.” Emilia snapped. She checked the door again. What was taking him so long?

“Then why are you chewing on your fingers?”

Emilia glanced down, catching herself doing exactly that. She yanked her thumb out of her mouth. “Shut up! It was your idea to suggest it in the first place.”

“You asked me what I thought you should do!” Lindon whined, “How is this my fault?”

“I don’t know why I listened to you,” Emilia said, ignoring the question, thumb returning to her mouth to get chewed on again, “I should have known he was desperate to get away.”

“He’s not desperate, he just needs to remember what it's like to have fun!” Lindon argued, “My mo- I mean, I think-”

“I should have told him to take us out.” Emilia said, her words muffled by her thumb, “That would be fun.”

Lindon sighed, “I’m going to bed. You should, too, Emilia. Your match is tomorrow, right?”

Emilia checked the clock again. Midnight. Lindon muttered something and disappeared. Emilia pulled her eyes away from the clock and focused back on the door. Lindon was right. She should get to bed.

She took out her phone and scrolled down to Cashe’s number. She should call him. Or text. He might be hurt or lost. He was new to the city, after all, and without his pokemon. He might even be in danger. She would check on him.

She tapped the screen of her phone to type out a message, when she was greeted with another one, typed out in the text box for sending messages:

‘Emilia, do not send a message. You are only going to embarrass yourself. Whatever excuse you thought of is dumb and you know it. Love, Emilia from a few hours ago.’

Emilia scowled at her phone. Obviously she did not know what she was talking about. He could be getting jumped by strangers right now! A text could save him! Yes, this was too important to listen to her past self. She slammed her finger down on the delete button.

And accidentally hit send.

Oh no.

Emilia flopped over on the couch, burying her head in a pillow.

*****