Page 219 of Unexpected Heroine

Tina plants herself in front of me and grips my arms. “Lettie, you did save us.”

Poor little dingus believes her lies. She’s more delulu than me. Bless her heart.

I mockingly rest the back of my hand against her forehead. “Are you runnin’ a fever, child? You’re delirious.”

Tina hits me with those puppy dog eyes. “It’s true. They wouldn’t have come for us if you hadn’t been there. Without you, I’d still be in Hell.” She looks around the room, and I do the same. Some of the faces are familiar. Some are new. “Lots of us would still be there.”

Then she hugs me.

And I let her. Because goodness gracious, I need a hug after that.

Resting my cheek on the top of her head, I squeeze her tightly and breathe in the innocence of her belief, content to let it fortify my soul.

After we break apart, I mutter my way through some chit-chat with Amber, the friggin’ billionaire. I can’t be sure what all we discuss because my head is swimming in heavy emotions, so thick and chunky I have to concentrate on breathing.

Fortunately, I was blessed with the gift of gab and can ramble through small talk with the best of them. However, I’ve likely over-shared and can’t wait to relive all my verbal blunders as I try to sleep tonight. And every night.

Pretty sure I thanked her for whatever she does to fund this place. Can’t recall her response.

On the bright side, I’ll have another chance to talk to her again after the session when I’m not mentally impersonating a cornbread that’s not baked in the center. She asked to meet with me and said she’ll be waiting when we’re done. Not sure what that’s about, but whatever the reason, it’ll give me a chance to make up for however I may have embarrassed myself during our first chat.

Everyone takes their seats when the meeting is called to order by another therapist—this place is crawling with them. This one is older with shoulder-length gray hair that’s tied at her nape with a wispy scarf. Her voice is soothing and tranquil. I bet she can sing the dickens out of some good ol’ Patsy Cline.

Oh. Random squirrel thought. I should ask Tomer if his boss can sing. I mean, if my father can sing. Sheesh.

If I’m not mentally correcting myself for calling him James instead of Tomer, I’m doing it because of my new dad situation. My poor brain can only handle so much before it surrenders.

A laugh bubbles up and out at the humorous yet intrusive mental image of my little squirrel waving a white flag from its perch on my frontal lobe.

A few people glare at me, so I disguise the laugh as a cough. No question; I nailed it.

Making myself focus on a presenter when they’re doing their thing is... well, it’s hard. Nay. Virtually impossible. I’m sure this therapist lady leading the session has a great message. Lots of good vibes and all that shit.

Sadly, it’s all wasted on me. Being forced to sit quietly in a room with this many people is an act of torture. And this has nothing to do with the horrible thing that sent me here to start my healing journey. I’ve always been this way.

Lectures and ADHD are a match made in the bowels of Hell.

Sure, ADHD gives me superpowers. For example, I can listen to audiobooks at two-point-five speed while doing a puzzle and writing a shopping list. Beat that, neurotypicals.

However, group presentation hyperfocus isn’t one of those magical skills.

Here I sit, trying with all my might and both tits to concentrate on what this sweet, velvet-voiced therapist is spouting. Only, I hear everything except her words.

Every. Single. Sound. Around. Me.

Except her.

A cough.

A deep breath.

Someone sniffling.

Eww. Why are they sniffling so much? Get a tissue.

Someone three chairs away is bobbing her leg up and down like that part of her body believes it’s in a fight to the death with Jackie Chan.

Directly across from me is a woman with very shiny bangle bracelets. A lot of them. And my squirrel loves shiny things. Who doesn’t?

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