Although Mitch spent most of his life afflicted by an aversion to taking care of himself, his decision to pursue therapy proved to be a good outlier. The session after Vermont was productive, even if he spent it word vomiting about the future and its uncertainties. Of course, most of the advice dispensed by Ann was a rephrasing of the questions that he asked out loud -how therapy often worked, after all- but at least he felt more sane than when he walked into the office as a tangled mess of fibers which needed to be teased apart.

He found himself no closer to a decision about moving, but after what had happened with Avi (which wasn’t even Avi’s fault, it was his own for looking too closely, and Ann applauded him for coming to that conclusion), he weighed the pros and cons out loud. Ann’s insight was split into two tracks of thought: yes, having his own space would undoubtedly be healthy for him, but would he be avoiding a situation simply because he was uncomfortable with it? “Not that there’s anything wrong with having to do that,” she’d added. “But is that what you actually want?”

He didn’t have an answer for her, but he promised that he would think about it. It was the first session that he left and didn’t immediately go for a cigarette, or sit in his car and sob, which must have counted as progress in someone’s book.

Then again, he smoked a little less since he and Toby started talking again.

Toby was a topic that stayed inhumed for the time being; not discussed with Ann, and certainly not with Jodie. Mitch remained aware of the disservice to himself, and one may ask what the point of trying to make improvements to a house, only to turn around and sell the land it was built on, then schedule it for demolition. But he operated better when he had some type of vice to privately indulge in; the higher the potential that it had to ruin him, the sharper he functioned. Was it due to stakes and odds? Or that a dose of sin made it easier to be virtuous? More likely than not, it was a cut and dry case of masochism.

But his issues with Toby were his own, and not anyone else’s burden to shoulder. They shared too complicated of a history for an outsider to grasp, not that Mitch held the fact in high regard. And he was still infuriated that this motherfucker slept with his ex, may never get over that particular offense, but a sick part of him understood why things went down the way they did; not to excuse it, but what was done was done.

Again, a situation understood by no one other than them; not even by Calvin, despite his role in it. Besides, had Toby not slept with Calvin, the catalyst which led to the breakup may not have been so definitive. In the end, Mitch desperately needed that to get over any further delusions.

And, regardless of whatever transpired and all of the grievances, Mitch enjoyed talking to Toby and being in his company. Toby was an artsy guy, and they both had music and drugs in common. Mitch usually kept his geeky inclinations under tight wraps, knowing full well that most people did not want an in depth historical lessons on garage rock and grunge; Toby not only welcomed it, he matched with equal enthusiasm. They’d go to record shops together and spend hours digging through bins as a date, then get stoned and sprawl out on an area rug, listening to their purchases. It was a nice departure to geek out with someone rather than at them.

Back when Grindhouse first opened and everyone was still on good-ish terms, Toby was one of its first supporters. He’d been the one to encourage Mitch’s brief foray into burlesque, and was generally supportive of adventure and spontaneity; at the current juncture that he stood at, Mitch needed someone like that in his life.

Maybe this time they could remain strictly friends, and keep the mess and the baggage in the past. He figured that as long as he kept Toby at arm’s length in the meanwhile, he could figure out a way to maintain balance. Also, they weren’t in their early 20s anymore, and who had the energy to be so petty?

When he got home, his phone vibrated. Through text, Toby attempted to coax him to lunch, but Mitch made up an excuse to decline since it was still much too soon to meet in person; however, he insisted that they’d get together sometime in the near future. Maybe it was a lie, or maybe it wasn’t. Either way, the notion of being pursued for the first time in god only knew how long made him giddy.

“You’re in a good mood,” Jodie stated from her station at the kitchen table, surrounded by the ever-present stacks of paper.

“What makes you say that?” asked Mitch as he made a beeline to the fridge.

“You’re whistling. Sad people don’t whistle.”

“Huh.” Mitch pondered that, then rooted around for a seltzer. “It was a good session, I guess.”

Jodie appeared satisfied by the explanation, and Mitch didn’t expand any further.