I hug her back, smoothing down her hair, then push away with a smile. “Easy, tiger,” I say. “I’ve just started the process, and there are no guarantees it’s going to work.”
“If it worked for Lee and Garrett, why shouldn’t it work for you?”
“Good point, let’s stay optimistic. And nice try, but I haven’t forgotten we were talking about you, not me.”
Tegan grins, a bit sheepishly. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
I laugh. “I guess not. Honey… It’s hard to talk about this kind of stuff. I get that. But if you don’t want to tell me exactly what happened at school, you still need to discuss it with someone. How about Mrs. Simmons? You’ve always liked your school counselor.”
“Don’t worry, Mom, I’ve already talked to someone.”
“I meant an adult; your friends don’t count.”
“He is an adult.”
I frown. “He? Who’s ‘he’?”
Tegan lowers her gaze, and I brace myself for another horrible revelation. Did a perv on the internet string her along? I don’t even know what I’m dreading to hear when she says, “My therapist.”
At first I’m relieved. Then my thoughts start to whirl. Where on Earth did she find a therapist on such short notice? Or has she been seeing him for a while? And how is she paying for this therapy? Has she been giving all her savings to someone who spouts comforting nonsense and creates problems where none exist? How much? A professional can’t be cheap. Where did she get the money?
I want to fire all these questions and concerns at her, but I sense I’d better tread carefully. We’ve reached a fragile balance where she’s talking to me again and giving me a peek into her secretive teen life; I don’t want to spook her into closing all communication channels. And even if I’m not a fan of shrinks, I suppose it’s still a positive sign that Tegan reached out to one… especially considering this brand-new, law-breaking side of her I had no idea existed.
“A therapist,” I repeat, making my voice as calm and untroubled as possible. “I see. What’s his name? Is he part of some free counseling program offered by the city or the school? Or am I going to panic when I see my next credit card bill?”
Tegan lowers her gaze again, making my heart jump in my throat. Oh gosh, why the guilty expression? What’s about to hit me this time?
Tegan looks up with a curious set to her jaw, like she’s steeling herself to say something. “No, Mom, he isn’t part of a special program. He’s just a normal therapist that you hire. And he’s kind of doing it pro-bono.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Who’s he, exactly?”
“Luke. That nice man with the office next to yours?”
My brain takes a few extra seconds to figure out who she’s talking about, because nice man doesn’t fit my mental characterization of the ogre next door.
Oh, burning hell, no! Of all the people Tegan could talk to, she went to Shrek? Shrink Shrek? And how dare he talk to my daughter without asking for my permission? I’m going to have his license revoked faster than he can—
“And Mom, before you go ballistic—Luke is a wonderful therapist.”
I scoff in my head, so I keep hearing.
“He helped me see things from a different perspective…”
“Really, which prospective?”
“Yours.”
I pause, momentarily thrown. “Is that why you apologized to me today? Because he told you to?”
“No, Mom, he didn’t tell me. Luke made me see it was the right thing to do.”
Tegan’s answer is so annoyingly perfect and impossible to retort to, it makes me want to strangle someone. A very specific blue-eyed, curly-dark-haired someone.
Twelve
Lucas
Early on Thursday morning, a loud, angry pounding on my office door distracts me from the computer. I don’t have any sessions planned for at least another hour, so it’s probably not one of my patients. When the banging continues, I get up from my chair and warily approach the door.
The moment I open it, Medusa barks in my face, “I’m going to have your license revoked!”
Medusa is so worked up, even her bun isn’t as composed as usual. Instead of the sleek curtain of hair glued to her scalp, haywire locks are escaping in all directions. The new hairstyle makes her look more human, even, dare I say, cute. Pity that it’s framing a face so enraged it has lost all cuteness.
“According to New York MHY 33.21,” she rails at me, “in providing outpatient mental health services to a minor, the important role of the parents or guardians shall be recognized. That’s me.” She jabs her thumb against her chest for emphasis.
I know I should keep calm and be reasonable, seeing as this is a professional matter, but this woman has the extraordinary power of pushing all my buttons quicker than an arcade champion playing Space Invaders. How dare she storm in here and threaten my career when I was just trying to help?
“Instead of worrying about having my license revoked,” I retort, “you should ask yourself why your daughter came to seek my help. And while you’re at it, have a good look in the mirror.”
Outrage marks her features now. “You have no idea the amount of trouble you’ll find yourself in if you don’t stop meddling in my daughter’s affairs.”
“Well, someone has to deal with her problems, since you clearly don’t! All Tegan needs is for someone to listen to her.”
Indignation turns to hurt, then switches quickly back to fury. Without another word, Medusa pivots on her heel, stomps off into her office, and slams the door shut. I follow her example and slam my own door equally loudly.
And now I feel like shit.
I swear that woman brings out
