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baggy T.
    Once at the Hollywood Bread building, I took the elevator to room 312. Only Ann, the group facilitator, had arrived so far.
    “Hey, Judy, did you have a good week?”
    “Ups and downs. The usual. Yourself?”
    “I’m close to finishing my supervised hours and hopefully, I’ll be able to set up my own counseling practice soon.”
    “That’s very exciting. Are you planning to stay in the area?” I wondered aloud.
    “My husband and I haven’t decided yet. We’re considering staying put or moving closer to my parents.”
    “That could be good or bad, depending on your parents,” I said, laughing.
    “So true.” She laughed with me.
    Two other women strolled in and took seats in the circle of chairs. The non-descript room, with grey walls and carpet, did nothing to inspire joy, but we managed anyway. I checked email on my phone to fill the time before the group started.
    I looked over at Ann, who glanced at the clock on the wall.
    “Okay, let’s get started,” she said, smoothing her skirt over her thighs.
    Seven of us awkwardly glinted at each other. No one seemed to want to start. I never planned to speak at these gatherings, but Ann usually coaxed me to do so. When the silence became too acute, I blurted out, “I sort of met someone.”
    “How do you sort of meet someone?” Charmaine demanded as she breezed into the room.
    Did she time that on purpose?
    Her name didn’t suit her at all. For me, Charmaine elicited images of a sophisticated, petite, French woman. The real Charmaine reminded me of my junior high school gym coach. She wasn’t unattractive, but the hard planes of her face and body reminded me more of a body builder. However, her appearance definitely reflected her personality. Hard as steel.
    After she sat down, she crossed her legs and leaned in toward me. “Well?”
    “He’s not at all my type, and assures me he’s only interested in friendship.”
    “What a crock of shit!” Charmaine exclaimed empathically. She looked around the group for support.
    Ann spoke up, “What part are you referring to, Charmaine? I’d also like to see you sit back in your seat and consider your words.”
    “Right,” she acquiesced, sitting up straight. To me she said, “Men never want to be just friends. Even if you’re gay. They think they can convert you.”
    She’s gay? I raised my eyebrows in curiosity.
    “Not that I’m gay,” she continued and shifted in her seat. “Also, I doubt Miss Prissy’s feigned disinterest is real. If that were the case, she wouldn’t have mentioned him.”
    Ann turned her body toward Charmaine’s seat. “I think this is a clear example of you assuming too much without listening to what she has to say. Asking questions is a much better way to get at the truth rather than jumping to conclusions.”
    “Yeah, yeah,” she clucked, waving her off. “That’s what you keep telling me. She just gets under my skin. Miss Perfect who hates men giving her attention, when all the rest of us wish we were so lucky.”
    “Empathy is a very necessary skill to be an effective manager,” Ann explained to Charmaine. “We can discuss that during your time. Judy, would you please continue?”
    “His name is Tate and I met him ... through a friend of mine, Cat. They showed up unexpectedly at my work, and Cat thinks we should be friends. He is hard to read, though. But something he said has stayed with me.”
    Suzie, sitting just to my right, asked, “Is he hot? Do you have his number?”
    I glanced at her and then spoke to Ann, “I told him he wasn’t at all my type, and he said that I was judging him like people judge me all the time without getting to know me, which you know I abhor.”
    “Was he right?” Suzie asked.
    “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I’m not sure where you draw the line between learning from the past and being prejudiced in the future.”
    “Nicely put,” Ann said. “So did you agree to see him again?”
    “I’m toying with the idea of inviting