But I know he thinks Samwill agree with him, and that I'll listen, because Dr.Schallthinks I listen to Sam more than anyone.That I trusthim.
And sure, he's not wrong,I do trust Sam.But I also know he is both protective and defensiveof me, and so his opinion isn't exactly unbiased.Even so, Dr.Schall won't force a conversation this way.Because Ididapologize to Sam.And so I remind him of the note we discussed the week after Iarrived back home.
But Dr.Schall shakes hishead."Doesn't count.You apologized for abruptly ending therelationship.Not for unintentionally leading him into danger andputting him at risk."
"Semantics," I argue,though I know he's right.I didn't apologize for getting Sam intotrouble.Just for how I handled things—for hurting him.
But it's irrelevant,because it's not like there's a chance in hell of me going up toSam—who most days resembles more stranger than best friend—and askhim if he blames me for something I know to be my fault.
I know I didn'tintentionally put Sam at risk.But that's not the point.The simplemath is, if it weren't for me, Sam wouldn't have gotten into thosealtercations.Wouldn't have spent his spring break getting intofights and nearly getting arrested.I don't have to be a whiz incalculus to know that he's better off without me thanwith.
Dr.Schall makes that"hmm" sound he always makes to let me know he's reserving hisopinion.It's his way of not reserving his opinion at all, and Iroll my eyes.
Schall hands me an emptyjournal and asks me to start writing down my dreams.He wants adetailed log of when they happen, and their content.He wants me torecord if I do have any dreamless sleep, or sleep withoutnightmares, and tells me to particularly pay attention if there'sanything out of the ordinary.He says if that happens I should tryand think what was different about the day that preceded such anoccasion and record that, too.
Noproblem, I tell him, since it won'tactually fucking happen.
I stifle another yawn.I'mso damn tired.
Dr.Schall tries to hidehis disappointment in my negative attitude, but I catch it.Hetells me to let him know if I ever ask Sam about what he thinksabout the whole matter.If he blames me for almost getting him hurtor arrested.I offer him a faint, sardonic smile and let the gooddoctor know I will keep him in the loop.He smiles then, and I feelless hurt over his disappointment.
Dr.Schall's intercombuzzes and the receptionist announces my mom's arrival.They shakehands before she joins me on the sofa, rubbing my upper arm ingreeting.I'm immediately put on edge.I don't know why, either.Maybe it's the change in the doctor's demeanor, subtle as it maybe.Or perhaps it's the nervous energy I feel emanating from mymother.
Then again, her nervesaren't exactly unwarranted—these family sessions haven't exactlygone smoothly, historically speaking.I think of our first sessionafter Miami, and how I was talking about my confusion over howRobin knew I'd be there.How he said my father had mentioned it,and how I couldn't understand howheeven knew.I hadn't spoken to myfather in nearly a year, and I'd been under the impression the samewent for my mother.
I remember my growingawareness of the tension in the room, and how it's source—mynervous, suspiciously guilty-looking mother—sat beside me bouncingher knee in what I've recognized since childhood as a sign of herown anxiety.
I knew before she evenspoke that she was my father's information source.I listened aspatiently as I could to her explanation thatof courseshe still speaks to myfather when necessary, andwhere didIthinksheobtained the extra money to pay for the trip?
The truth was Ihadn'tthought about it.I knew money was tight, but when she agreed that I could go, I wasmore concerned with the logistics of handling the trip itself, andif I'm honest, looking forward to spending the time with my friendsand Sam, than trying to figure out how she funded thetrip.
But learning she was insporadic contact with my father took me by surprise.Moresurprising?The fact that he agreed to give her the money, knowingit was for me.But then again, maybe he'd been plotting to set meup to be cornered by Robin from the get-go.He probably believedRobin would do nothing more than beg me to dissolve the restrainingorder and take him back.Again.After all, my father still believesthat I'm a crazy liar who fabricated Robin's abuse for attention,or vengeance, or whatever excuse he's adopting today.He neverbelieved Robin would hurt me.He never will.
I wasn't exactly angrywith my mother; however, it was clear she was more than angry withherself.Despite my father's previous betrayals, she never thoughthe would tell the Forbeses where I'd be, or maybe neither of themthought Robin would blatantly disregard the restraining order.Buthe has a history of getting away with violent crimes, so why wouldhe believe that the words on that worthless piece of paper actuallyapplied to him?
Then again, neither ofthem know him like I do.No one does really, and I hope to God thatno other girl ever has to.
I take a deep breath,trying to shake the memory of that revelation.I peek over at mymother, sitting stiffly, formally, her legs crossed at the anklesas she watches Dr.Schall as if awaiting something.
"Thank you for joining us,Amy," he says.
"Of course," she replies,and I sit there, unable to shake the feeling like the other shoe isabout to drop.
"We don't have a lot oftime, so I won't beat around the bush.There are a couple of thingswe'd like to discuss," Dr.Schall says matter of factly.
This isn't surprising, ofcourse.That's why she's here.But for the first time I get thedistinct feeling that I don't want her here.That she's intrudingon some private matter.It's ridiculous, I know, but there arethings I discuss with my therapist that I could never, would never,discuss with my mother.And now I wonder if they plan to talk aboutsomething I'd rather them not bring up.
I feel my pulse race, andthough I try to ignore the fine sheen of sweat on my brow and focuson taking even breaths, I know they both have noticed myanxiousness.Of course, they're both tuned into it, conscious of myevery reaction, and so I try even harder to suppressthem.
Because I'm eighteen, Dr.Schall can't bring up things we've discussed in therapy without myexpress prior consent, so it's always on my mom to ask questionsshe wants to ask, and she's usually reluctant to pry.But today,there's a determination mixed with her nervous energy, and I wonderat it.
"Honey, I wanted to talkabout school.I know it's almost over, but I saw that C inGovernment, and—"
"Why don't we first talkaboutwhyyouthink Rory's having trouble in school," Dr.Schallinterjects.
I deflate.I literally saginto the sofa like a petulant child.This isn't a conversation Iwant to have, but at the same time it's kind of a relief.Because Iwas imagining it would be something worse.
"Well, she—"
