“Who finds out about this evaluation?” I ask.
“It’s completely confidential. We encourage you to share the results with your child’s pediatrician and teacher so they can be a part of the progress monitoring that’s put in place to support your daughter’s needs. But if you prefer to keep it private, you can turn down the form.”
I addturn down the formto the mental pros column.
“And what exactly will we be committing to by having the evaluation done?”
“Nothing yet. The first step is to simply find out if she qualifies for services,” she says.
Making this phone call felt like admitting she already needed them. I hadn’t considered she might not even qualify. The tension in my neck and shoulders eases with her answer.
“If she does qualify, there are a few things that determine how often she’ll be seen here. It will depend on how manyvisits in a calendar year your insurance covers and the severity the evaluation uncovers. Most of our kiddos come once a week. If you are open to it, I can send you the preliminary paperwork by email to get started while we wait for the referral from her pediatrician. You’ll need to fill out the forms to the best of your ability before her evaluation.”
“Okay.”
“We have some availability next Monday. Would that work for you?”
A week to change my mind about this.
“Yes,” I agree.
She asks for my email address. I give her the fake one I use whenever a situation warrants discretion as well as the pediatrician contact information before we end the conversation, and then I pick up an incoming call.
“You’ll never guess who came into my office.”
I rip up the business card, toss it in the trash, and pick up my guitar.
“Em, I don’t exactly have time for gossip right now.”
Appearances have always been important to my sister. Not in the same rich-obsessed way as her boyfriend or the having-it-all-together way as me. She cares about being in the know and what people think of her.
“That gal from Quinn’s birthday party… Summer? She interviewed with me this weekend.”
I sit up taller and abandon my instrument. That was not what I was expecting her to say.
I contemplate a light response. Act interested for her benefit, when in reality, I’m trying to figure out Summer for myself. She’s recently divorced, living with a friend, and up until this weekend, was gunning to be my nanny. Now she’s working with my sister?
“You’re interviewing?” I ask. This is the first I’m hearing about this. I didn’t realize Emma’s assistant quit. What was her name…? Gloria?
“Yeah. It’s been… yeah.”
Well, that’s a lot to go on.
“How did it go?” Maybe that question will encourage details.
She squeals. “She’s so amazing! I hired her in the first five minutes.”
I clutch the phone a little too tight. My hand cramps.I found her first, the stupid voice in my head argues.
“Like full time or…”
“I mean, you know my hours. They’re all over the place. She didn’t seem to mind though. I got the impression she could use the work, and I love that I get to help someone who needs the money.”
“She needs money?” I ask before thinking. That’s why she’s been offering to help me.
“Wow. What’s with the twenty questions? Are you into this girl or something?”
“You were the one who called me about this. I’m making conversation,” I argue.
