“I’m glad you feel safe with your dad. I’m sure that gives everyone a good feeling, but you need to know this—if your mom feels you’re unsafe, that’s her job.”
“I know. My mom would never do anything bad to me,” Priscilla said, then crossed her arms over her chest. “Except make me come here.”
“Of course she wouldn’t, and somewhere deep inside, she must believe this will be helpful. Like when you sayyou know, what does that mean?”
I closed my eyes for a beat, wanting to transport myself to a desert island somewhere, fearful of what might come out of Priscilla’s mouth.
“It means like ... this girl in my school ... you don’t know her, but her dad had a girlfriend. While he was married, and my mom did too. Not a girlfriend, but you know what I mean. Mick. But I don’t blame her, and I’m not mad at her. My mom wasn’t happy with my dad. Neither was I. What I mean is ... my mom should be happy, and now she is. With Mick. We learned in English class about choices and making the best choice using situational awareness. This is like that.”
“I understand,” Dr. Schroeder said, encouraging her while nodding.
“So, we don’t need this.”
Priscilla moved to stand up, but Dr. Schroeder stopped her.
“Not so fast. I understand you want to leave, but let’s hear from your mom.”
This only earned Dr. Schroeder an eye roll, which she ignored.
Clearing my throat, I gathered my thoughts. “I’m sorry. Sorry to you, Priss. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you thought I was in danger, or knew I was. I’m sorry it took the whole scene at the hospital to move things along. I really am sorry. I’m also sorry that you need to know this about Mick, and how he came to be in our lives. It’s too much adult stuff for you to know.”
“Mom, it’s fine.”
I glanced at our therapist, hoping she could make this right.
Dr. Schroeder leaned forward in her chair toward Priscilla. “I think your mom needs this. She needs to figure out how to say good-bye to the past and the things she’s sorry for. It’s called closure, and while it may feel like you have it—and you may have—we need to do this for your mom.”
Somehow this seemed to resonate with Priscilla. She sat quietly, and a lone tear slid down her cheek.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” she muttered. “I’ll do this, it’s just I want to put this behind me. I want to be normal with my friends and have fun. Play soccer again.”
“You will do all that. This is one hour of your time and will mean the world to me,” I said, and it was sealed.
We talked a bit more with Dr. Schroeder. I tried to avoid the affair conversation, but knew it was coming soon.
A week later, I sat at Mick’s kitchen bar, sipping a glass of wine.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I murmured into my glass.
“Mar,” Mick said, coming around my back and kneading my shoulders. “There’s no one tougher than Priss, and I’m not just saying that. She knows right from wrong, and she’s not going to allow anything wrong to happen.”
“I know,” I said, still not fully satisfied with the truth, glancing at sweet little Tito asleep in his crate.
“It’s a terrible burden. I know that too.” He moved to the side of me, hip to the bar, in dark jeans and an untucked black dress shirt, open at the collar. His hair tousled the way I liked, still damp from his shower after his workout. “Look, it’s not fair, but she’s at her dad’s because she has to be. Soon, she’ll be able to say whether she wants to be there or not. It sucks, but it’s going to be over soon.”
Sighing, I said, “The therapist said not to pounce when she gets home. To let her process.”
With his palm warm on the nape of my neck, underneath my hair, he held my gaze. “Then that’s what you will do. Have your wine and relax. I’ll take you home later, and you’ll go take a warm bath and let Priss process, yeah? I can even bring Tito, and she can play with him.”
“Okay.”
“Good. Now, let me tell you about my day,” he said while his hand slid to my earlobe.
“I want to hear.”
I meant what I said. I’d become enthralled with Mick’s business dealings. The way he became so entrenched in an industry, studying it, and yet relinquishing his power when he didn’t know something.
He fiddled with my earlobe, standing close enough that I could smell his soap. Man and pine was what it brought to mind.
