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I didn’t need anything distracting me from putting Finley first.
After that day, we went right back to our usual friendly—but flirty—banter. It was almost effortless, the way we both pretended like nothing had happened between us. We playfully roasted each other in front of the kids—I teased her about her terrible drawing skills during one of her lessons, and she dragged me for telling cheesy dad jokes during small group time. And as the days passed, we further nailed our routine, sometimes communicating across the classroom without saying a word at all.
And it was like we now had an understanding—this is all we are. This is all we ever can be together.
But there was something different, just beneath the surface. Those stares that lingered a few seconds longer than they would have before. The knowledge that I’d made her come twice—it wasn’t like either of us could just forget it. I thought about it every time her fingers grazed my arm. Daydreamed about it when she slipped her foot out of her boot to perch it on the opposite thigh like a flamingo at the front of the room. I knew now just how flexible she really was—how far those legs could bend toward her body.
At least I got to have her once.
**
The walls in Dr. Janelle Lyons’ office were painted a peaceful, muted shade of blue, and in lieu of fluorescents, there were a couple of lamps providing a calming warm light. The walls were decorated with colorful canvas photographs of rainforest animals and framed children’s artwork displayed in a gallery-like manner. The room didn’t feel the least bit sterile or clinical—Dr. Lyons did everything she could to make her young clients feel comfortable.
I sat in a cushy leather chair facing her desk while Finley played with a Lite Brite in the adjacent room, separated by a soundproof window. Dr. Lyons often spoke to me first, and then spent some time with the two of us together before having some one-on-one time with Finley.
“Go ahead and update me on what’s happened in your lives in the past few months,” she said, folding her hands on her desk. Dr. Lyons’ hair was styled into a natural afro, and she was wearing a button-up shirt with vertical black and white stripes. Her pink glasses added a playful touch to her professional appearance. “She started kindergarten, right?”
“Yeah, she did. She’s loving it, too—she’s made a lot of friends.”
“That’s good to hear. Do you know who she talks to or plays with the most?” Dr. Lyons picked up a pen and pulled a yellow notepad close to her.
“Elijah, probably,” I answered. “He’s, um—he’s selectively mute, I guess? But Finley talks enough for the both of them.”
Dr. Lyons chuckled as she wrote something down. “I bet she does. And what about her teacher—does Finley like them?” My stomach fluttered.
“Yeah, she does. Finley adores Ms. Devin—that’s her name. She’s…” I shook my head to get my hair out of my eyes and gazed up at the photograph of a toucan on the wall. I pictured Kendall’s smile and the way her eyes sparkled when I said something stupid. “I couldn’t have handpicked a better teacher for her.”
“That’s wonderful. Is she aware of Finley’s situation?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Dr. Lyons wrote down something else. She took a deep breath before looking up at me again. “So, I’m guessing there’s a reason you’re here. I know you moved back home, and it probably took some effort to make it here today. What prompted you to make this appointment?”
I sat up a little straighter and folded my hands between my knees. “I just came to the realization that I’m not handling this very well, and I thought that she was okay—that she was starting to get over it—but I think I’ve been unintentionally forcing her to suppress her emotions. I saw the way she never mentioned her mom as a good thing, but now I know I was wrong. So wrong. Because it all sort of spilled out at once.”
Dr. Lyons nodded. “Like a volcano of emotions.”
“Yes, exactly. It was all bubbling just beneath the surface, and I—” I stopped to take a breath, turning to watch Finley build a LEGO house through the soundproof window. “I couldn’t even see it. I assumed she was fine. I’ve been failing her.” I stared down at my lap.
“It takes a lot to acknowledge we’re struggling as parents. And struggling isn’t failing, Mason. You recognized she was having some challenges, and now you’re here. That’s a significant first step. You’re doing a great job.”
I chewed on my lip, allowing that validation to sink in. She said it all with so much confidence, I almost believed her.
“Can you remember what Finley said during this volcano of emotions?”
I nodded, and then I relayed the entire conversation Finley and I had in my room the night I came home from the festival, even mentioning Finley’s fear that I could die. I told Dr. Lyons how Finley was still blaming herself for her mother’s abandonment. “I hate Whitney so much for putting her through this.” I’d never spoken those words out loud, like I wasn’t allowed to say them. But that thought had been brewing just beneath the surface for some time, much like Finley’s worries and fears.
“It’s completely natural to feel angry and resentful. Whitney’s actions have undoubtedly caused a lot of pain in both of your lives.” I picked at the seam of my jeans as she spoke. She put her pen down on the notepad and leaned back. “It can be difficult to navigate these conversations when they come up, but the most important thing is to reassure her how loved she is by the adults surrounding her now.”
This was even more validating—because that’s exactly what I had done. I ran my pointer finger along my bottom lip and nodded, watching Finley again. It looked like she was singing to herself as she played. And as though she somehow knew I was watching her, she turned toward the window and froze for a second before making a silly face. I made one right back at her.
Dr. Lyons laughed. “Should we bring her in now?”
“Sure.”
She retrieved Finley from the playroom and brought her in. Finley sat on my lap, and Dr. Lyons talked to us together, keeping the conversation casual the entire time. She asked about school and Elijah and Ms. Devin. She let Finley talk about what she was going to be for Halloween—a jellyfish—and listened to her carry on about the fall festival. I could tell the goal was to get reacquainted with Finley after not speaking with her for five months, and I was somewhat relieved she didn’t dive into the deeper stuff right away.
“We’re running out of time now,” Dr. Lyons said, looking at her watch, “but we’ll get to talk and do an activity by ourselves next time, okay, Finley?”
