I didn’t know what I expected from my final appointment with Dr. Foster. We’d known each other for too long, and it was the oddest feeling, to consider I would no longer return to that house. In the end, our final session was also our longest. It was mostly her giving out advice, looking back at how I’d been when we first met as opposed as to how I was then—that sort of thing. It was weird and final, and though I thought I’d have some trouble with it, I did feel oddly ready to move on.

“How are you adjusting to your new dosage?” she asked me.

“Fine, I guess,” I told her absentmindedly. “I’m throwing up a lot.” I raised both eyebrows.

She chuckled. “That doesn’t sound fine.”

“It’ll get better. I always react like this.”

“Are you eating before taking the drugs?”

“No. I’m throwing up a lot, remember?”

“I know you don’t have breakfast, but you should at least drink some—”

“—milk,” I said, nodding. “Yeah, I know. I will.”

“It does help.” She got comfortable in her seat. “Do you want a cigarette?”

“Oh, God, why?” I asked back, anticipating another revelation I wouldn’t be able to cope with. Maybe she was Summer’s long-lost aunt no one had remembered to tell me about or something.

She chuckled. “We only have a few more minutes, and this is the last time we’ll be doing this. I think you’ve earned it.”

I sighed in relief, reaching for my bag, and took out my pack. Before I could ask if she wanted one, she leaned forward and extended her hand, smiling as she waited for me to hand her a cigarette. I gave her one and placed the other between my lips, lit hers up before mine, and sat back on the couch.

She inhaled and took her time before letting out the smoke. “The boy I met three years ago, how has he changed?”

“Longer hair, definitely,” I said, smirking.

“Thomas,” she warned me, clearly not amused.

“What do you want me to say?” I paused to inhale. “I dunno.” I shrugged.

“Are you excited about college?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.”

“So, you’re still not making plans?” She raised a single brow and flicked her cigarette on the crystal ashtray at her side.

“I was, but—” I realized I couldn’t finish that sentence without bringing him up. “I’m still trying to.”

“Had you been? Before you two stopped seeing each other?”

“I can’t answer that, can I?”

“Why not?”

“I’d have to talk about him. And we can’t talk about him,” I reminded her as I let the room be taken by white smoke.

“I’m asking about you, not him.”

“Yes, but…just trust me, I can’t say.”