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“Your living situation,” the therapist continues in a smooth voice. “You mentioned in previous conversations with me that you hardly saw Harlow more than— what? — once a month?”
“Okay?” I drawl. “So?” I’m trying to follow his train of thought, but I’m not quite sure what the older man is getting at.
Dr. Izzard shrugs. “Well, from my understanding, you never went to school events or spent any time with Harlow. You didn’t share a family meal of any kind, even while she was technically under your care.”
“It’s hard to see how you’re not just bashing my character at this point,” I grouse in a dry tone. “You make me sound like some kind of deadbeat dad.”
To my surprise, he chuckles lightly in response. “Well, ‘deadbeat’ may not be the right word, but something along the lines of ‘not present’ or ‘non-parental’ would be more logical. After all, the only real relationship that’s ever existed between you and Harlow is the one that you’re in right now.”
I pause, considering this line of thought.
“Maybe,” I concede.
The doctor presses forward.
“Not to mention, you’re forgetting someone who also deserves to have a very important voice in this conversation.” Dr. Izzard laces his fingers together and rests them against his chin.
“Who?” I ask him.
“Harlow,” he states simply.
I nod slowly. “Okaaaay. So where does that leave us then?”
He nods calmly.
“Well, it depends on both of you because Harlow is an adult woman, and from what I hear of her, she’s one who isn’t scared to speak her mind. So why don’t you ask Harlow what she wants, when you’re ready to have that conversation? But I think it’s safe to say that despite your concerns about the optics of it all, the two of you have something pretty good together.”
My eyebrows fly up.
“So you don’t think this whole thing is wrong and that we’re going to hell in a hand basket?”
The doctor says something that surprises me then.
“Actually, it doesn’t matter what I think, Sam. What matters is whatyouthink, and whatHarlowthinks. That’s what needs to become clear. After all, you’re not breaking any laws, and there was never a parental relationship between you. Plus, the age gap is nothing,” he adds. “So really, it’s up to the two of you to figure things out.”
At that, I nod slowly.
“I suppose you’re right,” are my slow words. “Well, this has definitely gotten the wheels in my head turning.”
Dr. Izzard cracks a smile then.
“Good, because I’m afraid that our time together today is over. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Sam. Nothing is impossible, and I have faith that you’ll make the right choices.”
I shoot him a wry grin.
“I certainly hope so. But with that said, I appreciate your time, Doc.”
Then my appointment ends and I stride out onto the streets of New York, the sunlight dazzlingly bright. Yet, I don’t notice other passerby, or the cars honking on the street. Instead, I’m merely ruminating on my therapist’s words. Could he be right? Am I really over-stressing about things that don’t make a difference? I don’t know, but I have to find out.
11
Harlow
“Where did I leave that scarf?” I murmur while sifting through a massive pile of clothes on the bed.Where did this pile even come from?I muse while staring about my old room.
After all, now I basically live in Sam’s suite upstairs, so my room seems oddly quaint and childish. The pale peach walls are feminine and girly, and the white bedspread looks like something fit for a high school girl. Come to think of it, Iwasa high school girl until recently, although now, I’m very much a woman with a woman’s life.
But autumn’s nearly here, so I need to swap out some of my summer stuff to replace with a warmer wardrobe. I sigh while looking about the room. This place has a lot of memories and it’s cute, really. It’s filled with old knickknacks, worn stuffed animals, and of course, my clothes and copious amounts of makeup.
