“Okay, done.”
My phone buzzed with a text. “I better go. My mom is probably asking for fresh fruit and a cappuccino.”
“She’s been a difficult patient?”
She’s always difficult, I wanted to say.But now she’s difficult and in pain.“She’s been fine,” I said instead, because that’s what I did: I protected my mom from outside opinions. I was the only one who got to judge her.
My phone buzzed next to my ear again, and I pulled it away to see if the text that came through was something I needed to talk to Raya about. It wasn’t. It was from Tara.How did the first therapy session go? Did she guess that you were strangers? Please say she guessed.
“I think that’s it,” I said, back to Raya. “Unless there’s anything you need to talk about.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Tell Selma hi for me.” Selma was her fiancée.
“Sutton says hey,” Raya said.
I heard a soft voice in the background.
“She says hi back and that she hopes your mom feels better soon.”
“Me too,” I said. “Talk to you later.”
“Okay,” she said. “Bye.”
My phone buzzed again as I was hanging up. Tara. Again.
Can I take you to brunch right now? So you can tell me everything.
I’d just helped my mom settle down for a nap in her room. Her meds made her sleepy, and she’d probably be out for three hours. And even if she wasn’t, I’d put her cell phone next to her in bed, so she could call me if she woke up and I wasn’t there. Like she always did.
I really needed to talk to Tara face-to-face if I was going to cancel this nonsense with the therapist. And I was.
Yes, send me an address and I’ll meet you there now.
I wasn’t exactly a hugger, but Tara was, so I returned one as we met in front of the Kountry Kitchen in Old Town.
“I think I was a little tipsy the other night when everything went down,” she said. “But have I said thank you?”
“You have,” I assured her. “A lot.” Which was making it hard to tell her that I couldn’t do another session.
“Good, because seriously, thank you for doing this. I know it’s weird.”
“Just a little,” I said, sarcasm heavy in my voice. “Do you guys do stuff like this a lot?”
“Make strangers go to therapy?” she asked.
“Or something comparable.”
“Michael is a prankster, but no, this is a new level. But if it’s how I’m going to get him in front of a professional, it’s worth it.” She laughed as she said it and turned toward the door.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Then followed her inside.
It wasn’t very busy and we were seated right away. After the waitress took our drink orders (I stuck with water instead of the mimosa Tara ordered so I wouldn’t agree to testing the priest and wedding planner next), I opened the menu.
“It’s not that I think Michael needs a therapist,” Tara said suddenly, bringing my eyes up from where I was trying to decide between an omelet and French toast. “I mean, I think everyone could benefit from talking through their past andhaving tools for their present. It’s more about me, really. It will give me peace of mind to know we have our communication dialed in before taking the leap. You know?”
“Are you worried about your communication?” I asked.
