Laura started to answer, then remembered Maggie was a therapist. She heard her mother’s voice loud and clear: People with mental and emotional problems need to get busy and stop indulging themselves. Everyone has problems, Laura, people can’t just roll over and give up. Even as a teenager Laura was sure her mother was wrong about this, but arguing with her was pointless. When Laura had fallen apart after the accident, her mother had struggled for weeks to find a physical cause for her constant crying and panic attacks, and in the end had to accept that some things simply couldn’t be reasoned away or ignored to death. But she hadn’t liked it, and she’d argued Laura out of seeing a therapist.

“They’re not even PhDs,” she’d scoffed. “Psychotherapy isn’t real science.”

Now, sitting in a kitchen thousands of miles away from home and fully free of her mother’s influence, Laura wanted to talk to Maggie about how she felt but could feel old habits dying hard. Nobody wants to hear you whining. Pull it together. Luckily, there was one thing Laura’s mother had been right about: Psychotherapy isn’t simply a science. It’s also an art, and Maggie could read Laura’s closed face like an open book.

“So,” she said, getting up to make tea and not eye contact, “what do you think of Los Angeles so far?” She filled the kettle and kept talking. “Apart from your apartment building catching fire, which could have happened anywhere.” She smiled at Laura, and lobbed an easy opening. “You’ve had a challenging couple of years, right?”

Laura shrugged. “I guess.”

Maggie shook her head. “For most people, a major car accident, a cross-country move, graduating college, a broken engagement, a house fire—these are once-in-a-decade or even lifetime events.” Her tone was remarkably cheery, as if she were discussing the weather. “You’ve had all of those in the last couple of years.”

Laura unconsciously shook her head. “It’s fine.”

“Great,” said Maggie, watching the kettle. “So, what happened with Bob the other day?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Laura carefully. “Someone knocked his side mirror off.”

“Yeah, I saw,” said Maggie, putting tea bags and sugar in the mugs. “I wish I could say that rarely happens, but actually little fender benders like that happen all the time here, largely because we’re all in our cars so much.”

“Not me,” said Laura, without thinking.

“No,” said Maggie neutrally, “not you.” She looked over at Laura and pushed a little. “It must have been shocking.”

Laura nodded and said nothing. Maggie waited patiently.

As if sensing his presence was required, Oliver the cat sauntered in and jumped onto the table, taking a circuitous route across the top in order to demonstrate his mastery of foot placement and tail arching. Laura visibly relaxed, reaching out to pet the plush and friendly head.