So, no matter how much it sucks, I pick up the proverbial hat in my hands, grab my keys, and reopen the door I so-dramatically slammed shut not a minute ago.
In the landing, a pretty redhead in a light-blue dress and beaded sandals is being escorted into the offices of Inceptor Magazine by that nice Indian woman who welcomed me into the building on move-in day—Indira, I think her name was? Next to each other, the two women make for an odd couple. The redhead looks like she just glided off a catwalk in Milan, while Indira is in her usual all-dark grunge clothes and Converse sneakers. Their attitudes are as different as their outfits. Indira is sporting a cocksure grin, while the redhead looks like someone who just entered a madhouse and isn’t sure why. I hope they didn’t overhear my unprofessional exchange with Medusa.
The metal and glass doors of the startup close behind them, and I have no more excuses left to put off the inevitable.
I walk to Medusa’s door, take a steadying breath, and knock.
Miss Attorney comes to answer right away, and when she finds me on her doorstep, her eyes narrow.
“What do you want?” she says coldly. “Come to dispense some more of your cheap psychology?”
Steady, Luke, keep calm. Don’t fall into the trap a second time. She’s your patient’s caregiver. Treat her like you would any other parent.
I take another long, pacifying inhale before I speak. “I’m here to apologize.” Medusa’s eyes go wide, like she’s too stunned by my declaration to retort, so I say my piece in one breath before she can cut me off. “Earlier, you attacked me, and, given our history of dysfunctional interactions, I behaved unprofessionally, and, frankly, just plain rudely. I was wrong, and what I said wasn’t fair, on any level. I had no right to critique your parenting or imply in any way that you aren’t an excellent mother. For that, I’m deeply sorry, and I apologize.”
Medusa is clearly flabbergasted, but her feisty personality quickly shines through the stupor. She crosses her arms over her chest and regards me with a satisfied pout.
“That said,” I continue, “Tegan came to me seeking help. Your daughter told me she needed someone to talk to and that you’re averse to psychoanalysis and would’ve never let her see a professional—”
“That’s not true,” Medusa interrupts. “I encouraged her to seek the support of her school counselor, who is nice and trustworthy. Contrary to you.”
I raise my hands in a not-so-quick gesture. “Tegan felt you wouldn’t have supported her if she told you about the matter she really wanted to discuss.”
“Which is? Does she have other problems besides vodka-fueled lunch breaks?”
“Yes.”
“Like what?”
“Like the mystery father whose identity you refuse to reveal.” Medusa’s jaw drops, but I continue, undeterred. “She has allowed me to share some details of our conversation with you. We should schedule a session to examine the issue in a more peaceful context than our landing after an altercation.” I take a business card out of my suit jacket and offer it to her. “Call me whenever you feel ready to discuss the matter in a civilized way.”
The expression of satisfaction adorning her face after my apology has been wiped out, and her coloring is veering toward a shade of red brighter than the soles of her Louboutins.
I take that as my clue to leave now, before her fuse blows. “Given the peculiar circumstances, I won’t be charging you any fee,” I conclude. “I wish you a nice day.”
Her eyes blaze with suppressed anger, and in my head her haywire locks of hair have turned to actual snakes hissing at me for how enraged she looks. It seems my offer to provide free mental health care has sent Medusa off the cliff of her patience, so with a polite goodbye nod, I escape to the safety of my office.
Once inside, I rest my back on the door, closing my eyes and tilting my head up toward the ceiling. I’m already sporting the first symptoms of an incoming headache. If I could go back in time, I’d agree to pay my old landlord double rent, just so I wouldn’t have had to move here. This place is causing me more stress than financial instability ever could.
The thought has barely left my brain when an incessant pounding makes the door behind me tremble.
I swear, if she’s looking for another apology…
“First off, I don’t need anyone’s charity,” Medusa declares, the moment I open the door. “Second, you’re going to tell me everything Tegan said about her father, and not just some details of your conversation she’s allowed you to share, or I’ll sue your ass faster than you can say ‘malpractice.’ And you can take this back”—she gives me a candy-coated-poison smirk and tucks my business card back into my pocket, then pats my chest—“and stick it up your… Well, use your imagination. And a nice day to you, too. Come see me whenever you are ready to discuss the matter in a civilized way.”
Medusa turns on her heel once again and sashays back to her office. I let her go. I’ve had enough of that infernal woman for one day.
The moment I close the door, I pinch my nose to prevent the headache from spreading and count to ten to calm down. When I reach seven, another knock, this time gentler, makes me jump.
What now? I was just trying to help someone, universe, why am I being punished?
I open the door. “Something you forgot?”
Medusa is standing on
