“Make sure you get a good doctor there. Until then, we’ll see how far we can get together. We’ll pick up here next week,” the doctor said, his tone a clear indication of finality. “I know it’s not the easiest thing for you to do, but I want you to think about what you know about your mother, and what you want from her.” “What does it matter?” Dylan said, more harshly than he intended. “Whatever I want, I’m not going to get it.” “That doesn’t matter. Just think about it, and we’ll discuss it next time. In the meantime, I’ll email you a list of good psychiatrists, and you need to make an appointment with one of them as soon as you can. See you next week.”
# # #
Dylan opened the front door of his shared apartment to find a strange woman sitting on the couch, her back to him. Her long black hair, with a little bit of gray mixed in, cascaded over her back, and even sitting down he could tell she was uncommonly tall. “Um, hi,” he said, uncertain, as he closed the door behind him. “Are you a friend of Roger’s? I think he’s still at . . .” The woman stood and turned around, and all Dylan’s words drained out of his mind, leaving only incoherent sputtering. “Dylan,” the woman said, crossing her arms while briskly eyeing him up and down. “You’re looking well.
Made with FlippingBook - Online magazine maker