Probably sensing the house is finally free of canine invaders, Priscilla saunters through the living room and moves into the kitchen for her first meal of the day, while her lowered ears and scorned attitude ensure we understand how deeply offended she still is.
Well, Missy, today we all had to deal with unpleasant shit. Welcome to the club.
Unable to bear another minute of waiting, I ask Tegan, “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
Tegan turns the ring on her middle finger. “Actually, I’d like to hear your side of the story first. Can you tell me why you didn’t want me to meet him?”
I tell her everything. That I fell in love with my professor, got pregnant, and that he blackmailed me into changing schools.
Tegan nods along, her eyes getting watery as she listens to the story. When I’m finished, we’re both crying.
She hugs me again, saying, “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Don’t be, honey, it wasn’t your fault.”
“No, I know, but whenever you said my father wasn’t worth my pinky toe and I was better off without him, I thought you were exaggerating, that you were angry. But you were right. He’s not worth our grief.”
“Oh, baby, what happened today?”
“He denied everything. Claimed you were obsessed with him and must’ve invented the entire story. Then he added that he was sorry, he didn’t know who my father was, but it absolutely wasn’t him.”
I’ve meant no one harm in my entire life, but that man is getting dangerously close.
“And how did you respond?” I ask, trying to keep calm, fighting the urge to rent a car and drive to Boston in the middle of the night to punch the bastard in the face.
“All I could think was that our eyes are the same color. It was freakish to stare at him; like looking in the mirror.”
“Yes, you have the same eyes.”
“Do you hate to see him in me?”
I push a lock of hair behind her ear. “No, sweetheart, I love everything about you. You’re the only good thing that man ever gave me.”
“I called him a liar,” Tegan admits.
“How did he react to that?”
“He said the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and that I was just as crazy as you, and then he threatened me. Told me never to apply to Harvard and that, if I did, he’d make sure I wouldn’t get in.”
Man, he’s lucky he’s two hundred miles away from me right now.
“I’m sorry he said those things, honey. But I promise you, if you want to go to Harvard, we’ll find a way. Don’t be scared.”
“I’m not scared, Mom, I’m angry. He blackmailed you and threatened me. My father is a bully, and now he’s in a position of even more power. What if we’re not the only women he’s mistreated?”
“What are you saying, baby?”
“I want you to go public with what he did. Even if what he did wasn’t strictly illegal, it must’ve been unethical.” The fire of injustice burns in Tegan’s eyes as she talks. “I’m sure Harvard wouldn’t keep such a scum person on their faculty, and I don’t want him to ruin anyone else’s life.”
Lucas was right. Tegan is strong, independent, and empowered. And she’s also right: her father has bullied his last victim.
Twenty-four
Lucas
Mid-session with a new couple, the Friedmans, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I discreetly check the screen, in case it’s an emergency, and discover it’s Jennifer from Listen to Your Heart. I let the call go unanswered. The last thing I need on a Monday morning after the tough weekend in Boston is to talk to my Dating Specialist. And since I’ve learned her tactics the hard way, before she can try my landline, I excuse myself and unhook the receiver on my desk.
“Sorry about that,” I tell my patients as I sit back in my armchair. “Where were we?”
Today, I’m dealing with a distinguished couple in their late fifties, who have shown each other about as much warmth as two ice cubes so far.
Mr. Friedman replies first. “I was telling you how my wife betrayed me.”
“I did no such thing,” his wife snaps. “He’s just sore because he lost his seat in the council.”
“Yes, because I wasn’t willing to sell my soul to get elected!”
I clear my throat. “Are you in politics?”
“We both used to sit on the Lackawanna City Council,” Mrs. Friedman explains, “until last year when he wasn’t reappointed.”
“Because you conspired against me,” the husband cuts in. “She sabotaged me to get a spot for her best friend.”
The wife raises her chin, proud. “I did what I thought best for the city.”
Before Mr. Friedman can spill more venom, I raise my hands to calm their spirits. “Okay, okay, so you’re having a very specific conflict related to this election. Is that when your conjugal problems started?”
The couple blinks at me, as if I’d just asked them to please dance on the couch naked.
I rephrase the question. “How long have you been having issues as a couple?”
The wife scoffs. “When haven’t we had problems?”
“Why choose therapy now, then?”
Mrs. Friedman replies again, “He’s a sore loser, and his constant whining has become unbearable.”
I try a different angle. “Let’s talk about other aspects of your relationship. How is your sex life?”
“Excellent.” The husband surprises me with his answer, but then he adds, “I never take it home.”
The wife doesn’t even flinch.
I sigh and close the scratchpad I was taking notes on. I recognize a lost cause when I see one. “Mr. and Mrs. Friedman, I’m sorry, but my professional opinion is that you’re past counseling as a couple.” And I surprise even myself when, next, I add, “If you need a divorce lawyer, I can recommend a wonderful attorney. And you wouldn’t even have to change buildings; Miss Hessington works just next door.”
Once I’ve shown the Friedmans to the door, I sit at my desk and replace the landline receiver. Then I check my phone for messages. None. But there are three missed calls, all from Listen to Your
