She lets go, and I study her bright smile, perplexed. I hadn’t been sure what to expect when I told her, but such boundless enthusiasm hadn’t even crossed my mind as a possibility. I have to admit, it feels nice to have my daughter’s whole-hearted support—especially after the blow-up we had yesterday. Tegan’s the most important person in the world to me, and I hate it when we’re at odds.

I hug her back, smoothing down her hair, then push away with a smile. “Easy, tiger,” I say. “I’ve just started the process, and there are no guarantees it’s going to work.”

“If it worked for Lee and Garrett, why shouldn’t it work for you?”

“Good point, let’s stay optimistic. And nice try, but I haven’t forgotten we were talking about you, not me.”

Tegan grins, a bit sheepishly. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

I laugh. “I guess not. Honey… It’s hard to talk about this kind of stuff. I get that. But if you don’t want to tell me exactly what happened at school, you still need to discuss it with someone. How about Mrs. Simmons? You’ve always liked your school counselor.”

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’ve already talked to someone.”

“I meant an adult; your friends don’t count.”

“He is an adult.”

I frown. “He? Who’s ‘he’?”

Tegan lowers her gaze, and I brace myself for another horrible revelation. Did a perv on the internet string her along? I don’t even know what I’m dreading to hear when she says, “My therapist.”

At first I’m relieved. Then my thoughts start to whirl. Where on Earth did she find a therapist on such short notice? Or has she been seeing him for a while? And how is she paying for this therapy? Has she been giving all her savings to someone who spouts comforting nonsense and creates problems where none exist? How much? A professional can’t be cheap. Where did she get the money?

I want to fire all these questions and concerns at her, but I sense I’d better tread carefully. We’ve reached a fragile balance where she’s talking to me again and giving me a peek into her secretive teen life; I don’t want to spook her into closing all communication channels. And even if I’m not a fan of shrinks, I suppose it’s still a positive sign that Tegan reached out to one… especially considering this brand-new, law-breaking side of her I had no idea existed.

“A therapist,” I repeat, making my voice as calm and untroubled as possible. “I see. What’s his name? Is he part of some free counseling program offered by the city or the school? Or am I going to panic when I see my next credit card bill?”