Suddenly, all of his anxiety seemed to melt away, his nervous expression replaced by the biggest of grins. He stood and ran into the arms of an elderly lady with lustrous gray hair. As he disappeared into what must’ve been the warmest of embraces, I turned around and slowly made my way to the couch, feeling as though watching for another second would somehow be intrusive.

“What happened today?” Dr. Foster asked.

“I saw Marcy,” I said, sitting in my usual spot.

“You did?” she asked, with an unreadable expression on her face.

It wasn’t surprise, neither was it intrigue. Maybe, amazement?

No, that wasn’t it.

“She apologized,” I told her.

Perhaps confoundment?

“For what?”

“Not paying attention.”

Dr. Foster looked a bit flummoxed. That wasn’t difficult to decipher.

“That’s…that’s good, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I scoffed. “It’s great.”

“Why say it like that?”

“I have a problem with convenience.”

“You think she didn’t mean it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Do you think she shouldn’t have said it?”

“I’m saying it changes nothing.”

“What would it change?”

I refused to repeat myself. Instead, I let my eyes wander the room until finding a lithograph of Virgil addressing the centaurs. Dr. Foster had a thing for Dante, and although she had several lithographs from the Divine Comedy, this was one that always struck me as being particularly beautiful. Not to mention it was kind of interesting for a psychiatrist to have more lithographs of Inferno than Purgatory and Paradise combined.

“Thomas.”

“What?” I asked, annoyed.

“Why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad,” I lied.

“Who’s playing dumb now?”

“Ah, so you admit it?”

She smiled, raising both eyebrows.

“I can’t hurt him,” I confessed.

“What makes you think you will?”

I took a deep breath. “I always do.”

“Isn’t he different?”

“Yes,” I was quick to say.

“Maybe, so are you.”

“Three years…” I mumbled, slightly shaking my head. To myself, more than to her.

“It’s a long time.”

“What does that mean?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Does he know about Liam?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“Enough.”

“More so than the others?”

I nodded.

She stared for a second before continuing. “What are you doing Saturday?”

“I dunno. It’s still Wednesday.”

“Humor me.”

I sighed. “I, uh—I’m staying in, I guess.”

“Alone?”

“With him, if possible.”

“Will you tell him what Saturday means?”

“I’ll have to. I don’t want him thinking there’s something wrong.”

“But there is something wrong,” she reminded me.

“Not with him, there isn’t.”

She smiled, but I wasn’t really sure why though. “What about Marcy? Will you tell him about her apologizing?”

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“Will you tell him anything that makes you appear vulnerable?”

“What does that even mean?”