Dr. Bright was full of those things: “trust the process,” “trust your instincts,” “listen to what your body is telling you,” et cetera, et cetera. I want to be annoyed by those platitudes, but they don’t feel like platitudes when she says them, somehow. She seems to really have the whole therapist role nailed—even when the session was over, she rose in this calm and fluid manner that I’d noticed she did every movement with—like even her own physical actions could be a way to soothe a patient.

“Call me if you have any concerns,” she said as she gently ushered me to her door, and then something happened that I don’t think is supposed to happen when you’re in a therapist’s office midsession—the door opened before we could get there.

A man, about ten years older than me, maybe, walked through, mouth already open like he was about to say something, before Dr. Bright jumped in with a—

“Mark!” She sounded genuinely surprised and the quick change in tone gave me the weirdest whiplash. She sounded … human. Not the perfect therapist that she’d been in the few hours I’d spent with her over the past month. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop by,” the man—Mark, I guess—said, looking between Dr. Bright and me. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you had a patient.”

“We just finished up, actually,” Dr. Bright told him before turning to me. “I’ll see you in two weeks?”

She said it like a question, back to the polite, neutral doctor, but her eyes were apologizing for the intrusion, the tightness around her mouth telling me that she didn’t like surprises. I could relate.

“Sure thing.” I nodded and I could feel a small smile lift the corners of my mouth, somewhat pleased at the fact that, maybe, my therapist’s life was sometimes as chaotic as my own. “Thanks, Dr. Bright.”

“Bye, Rose,” she said as I stepped through the doorway into the reception area. I gave another nod and smile as she closed the door behind me, a beat of silence before I could hear low voices as she and the man talked.

I wonder who he was—a boyfriend? Husband? I didn’t notice a ring on Dr. Bright’s finger as I watched her hands sit in her lap throughout my session, but that’s not necessarily an indication. But thinking back on it … I only saw him for all of a minute, but Mark had the same high cheekbones and warm brown eyes as Dr. Bright … a brother maybe? I wonder if he knows about Atypicals, if Dr. Bright shares that part of her life, the fact that she works with people who can do remarkable things. I wonder if her whole family knows, if they talk about it. If they talk about everything.