Okay. I seriously need to find a way to de-sexualize Vivian. I can’t be having these kinds of unprofessional thoughts while counseling someone.

Patient’s mother, patient’s mother, I chant in my head.

“Please take a seat wherever you’re most comfortable,” I say.

Vivian eyes the sofa with disdain. “I’m not sitting on the cuckoo couch.”

“I’m a psychologist,” I clarify. “Not a psychiatrist. Struggling couples hardly qualify as cuckoo.” Although that might not apply to all my cases, to be fair.

“Still not sitting there,” Medusa says, slumping in one of the armchairs facing my desk.

I drop my briefcase on the floor and sit at my desk. Time to switch to professional mode and forget my grievances with this woman. If my forehead were a screen, the words mother of a patient in need would be flashing across and hopefully sink into the brain behind.

“Thank you for being here,” I say.

Medusa raises a skeptical eyebrow, as if to say, “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“I know you’re uncomfortable discussing Tegan’s father,” I continue, “and it mustn’t be any easier to do so with me, but I can assure you our personal history has nothing to do with what I am about to say. Nor will it influence in any way my advice.”

Medusa still stays silent; the only giveaway she’s nervous comes from the shoe—black patent leather, red sole, stiletto heel, too sexy, too distracting—she keeps tapping on the floor.

“As you know, Tegan sought my help after the vodka incident—”

“Did she tell you why she did it?”

“Yes, but I’m not at liberty to discuss—”

“She must like one of the boys. A mother can tell…”

“As I said, I can’t share any details besides what Tegan has given me permission to divulge.” Medusa scoffs. I ignore her and move on. “Anyway, while we were discussing the vodka debacle, Tegan brought up her father—”

“Really, how? What’s the connection between the two?”

I swear, if she interrupts me one more time… I pinch my nose and try to remain calm. Air in. Air out.

“I asked what her dad thought about the incident, and Tegan told me she doesn’t know who her father is, which unraveled a whole new discussion about how you refuse to tell her who he is.”

Medusa gives me a long, piercing stare. “So, technically, you brought up Tegan’s father.”

I might be sitting on the chair behind the desk, but Vivian is making it clear she’s in charge and handling me like a hostile witness.

“It doesn’t matter how the topic came up, what matters is—”

“I disagree. Seems to me that if you hadn’t stuck your nose into things that are none of your business, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”