We Are All Completely Fine Read Free

all agreed that what is said here stays in the strictest confidence.”
    No one spoke. Harrison stole a glance at the others, and they were all concentrating on the doctor.
    “Think of this place as a lab,” said the doctor— Jan . “You can experiment with honesty, with sharing your feelings, even really negative feelings. If you try that out in the real world—well, watch out. Feelings get hurt, there are misunderstandings—”
    “You end up in the loony bin,” Stan said.
    Jan smiled. “But here, it’s your job to give real feedback, and to take it. There’s no other place where you can be so honest, yet still have people show up every week.”
    “A dinner party for gluttons for punishment,” Harrison said.
    No one laughed. Uh oh, he thought.
    “Why don’t we go around the room and introduce ourselves,” she said.
    “They already started,” the man in the sunglasses said to the doctor. “Introducing themselves.”
    “That’s understandable,” Jan said.
    “My name is Stan.” The old man coughed hard and then cleared his throat. “You probably already know who I am—can’t hide these stumps.” He grinned, and his teeth seemed too big and too white. “So . . . yes. I’m the man who survived the Weaver family. ”
    Harrison thought the man’s age was about right for that. Barbara, to Stan’s left, nodded. The man in the sunglasses said, “I’m sorry, who?”
    Stan twisted in his chair. “The Weavers ,” he said, louder. Still Mr. Sunglasses didn’t respond. “The Arkansas Cannibals?”
    “Never heard of them.”
    Stan looked exasperated. “The Spider Folk?”
    “That was a long time ago,” Harrison said. “He may be too young.”
    “1974! And you’re as young as he is,” Stan said. Harrison thought, no, actually. The sunglasses man was probably five or ten years younger than Harrison, mid-twenties maybe, though that pudgy body made him look older. Or maybe Stan just couldn’t judge the age of black people.
    Stan mumbled something and pushed the oxygen mask to his face.
    “I’m sorry,” Mr. Sunglasses said. “I just don’t—”
    “It was the biggest story of the year,” Stan said. He’d pulled down the mask again. “I was on Merv Griffin. ”
    “Maybe you should go next,” Harrison said to the man in the glasses. He still hadn’t taken them off, despite how dark and bulky they looked. They looked more functional than fashionable. Was he blind? Maybe Harrison should be nicer to him. After too long a pause, Harrison added, “If you don’t mind.”
    The request seemed to flummox the sunglasses man. “She’s next to him,” he said, indicating Barbara. “It’s not my turn.”
    “Oh, I can go,” she said.
    Harrison looked at the man in sunglasses and thought, Really? You need to go in order ?
    Something must have shown on Harrison’s face because the man said, “My name is Martin.”
    “Hello, Martin,” Barbara said. She held out her hand, and he took it hesitantly.
    “Do you want me to talk about my history?” Martin asked Jan. “Why I’m here?”
    “Whatever you’re comfortable with,” the doctor said. “You can—”
    Martin jerked in his chair. He was looking over Jan’s shoulder with an expression of shock. The doctor turned.
    The blonde girl stood in the doorway. She seemed to feel the group’s gaze like a harsh light. She endured it for a moment, then walked into the room, eyes down and face closed, and took the last seat, between Harrison and Dr. Sayer.
    “Thank you for coming in,” the doctor said.
    She lifted her eyes from the floor. “I’m Greta.”
    Harrison, Barbara, and Stan responded in AA unison: “Hi, Greta.”
    They went around the room, introducing themselves again. When it was Martin’s turn, he could barely speak. He seemed unwilling to look at the new girl.
    Stan said, “Have you ever heard of the Weavers?”
    Greta moved her head a fraction. Nope.
    “Jesus Christ,” Stan said.
    The next hour was filled with the polite