Page 95 of At First Smile
“I’m so glad you’re popping your therapy cherry!” she squeals, clapping her hands together. “I can’t wait to process your first session.”
“Do social workers just sit around watching therapy scenes from movies on YouTube?”
“It’s our porn.” Her husky voice drips with sassiness. “Seriously, though. I’m so proud of you. I think talking about everything that happened with Alex will be cathartic for you. Not to mention just having a regular therapist to check in with for a mental tune-up is just smart. You know how much I adore Dr. Senesac.”
Brushing my hair behind my ears, I nod. I hadn’t been to a therapist since I was a kid.
With my RP diagnosis, my mom had me meet with the school psychologist weekly with a focus on vision-loss adjustment. Although, the school’s psychologist had little experience with disability, so they had me go through the five stages of grief and talk about my dead dad.
“Moving on… Have you decided how you’ll wear your hair for the fundraiser?” JoJo almost vibrates with excitement.
“I’m thinking up, but I’ll decide that day. Trina has scheduled appointments at the hotel’s spa for makeovers.”
“Jealous! I can’t believe Trina and you are going to a fancy-pants, celebrity-filled fundraiser without me.” An audible pout punctuates her words.
Neither can I, especially that Trina’s going. She’ll be driving up to attend as Finn’s plus one. To support his brother, he bought two tickets. By support, he plans to heckle while Rowan is auctioned off and Trina plans, with champagne flute in hand, to join right along. Rowan’s growing on her like a fungus she enjoys mocking.
“I know Trina is engaged and they’re just friends—” she makes air quotes. “—but have you noticed she giggles with Finn? Like full-on teeny-bopper giggles.”
With a smirk, I shake my head. “Leave it alone, JoJo. You always think there’s something where there’s not.”
“But I’m seldom wrong… Also, if she drops her dud fiancé for sexy Boy Brontë, it would make my life much easier.”
My nose scrunches. “How?”
“Double wedding. Row-Pen and Fit.” She waves her hands like aPrice is Rightshowcase model.
I snort. More about the idea of Trina abandoning her life plan to run off with Finn, rather than the idea of a future with Rowan.
Since the MVP event, he and GB have pretty much moved in. On the days when JoJo has chauffeur duty, it’s nice coming home to GB, tongue lagging, at the front door and Rowan in the kitchen preparing dinner. It’s even nicer to snuggle in his arms, an audiobook playing, as we drift asleep, only to wake up still curled into him in the morning.
“Will Trina be at the meet the mom brunch?”
“Nope.” I take a bite of cake.
“How about grump brother?” The eye-roll is evident in JoJo’s dismissive tone.
“Yeah. Rowan’s mom wanted it to be a family thing.”
“I’d say good luck, but I’m pretty sure Rowan will destroy Oscar the Sexy Grouch if he looks at you wrong.”
I bristle. “I have the ability to speak for myself.”
Reaching across my desk, JoJo squeezes my forearm. “That you do, but it’s also okay to let people who care about you speak up on your behalf. As long as they don’t speakforyou.”
“What’s the difference?” Face scrunched, I tilt my head.
“On behalf of isn’t doing it instead of you. It’s just cosigning or supporting you.Foris not letting you speak. Alex spoke for you. Rowan speaks on your behalf. Big difference—” Arms wide, she says loudly, “Huge!”
JoJo’s wordsecho through my brain as Rowan and I stand in front of the reception desk of the downtown Toronto hotel. For the next seventy-two hours, the fancy hotel with its marble floors, trickling fountains, and jasmine-scented lobby, is our base camp.
The receptionist, their head tipped my way, asks, “Will she want a key too or just one for you?”
Rowan says nothing. His hand rests on my lower back, fingers stroking gentle circles. The action reinforces that he’s got my back but is waiting for me to speak. Just as he’s done all day. Between the TSA agents, airline staff, customs officials, servers at the LAX restaurant we’d had an early dinner at, and taxi driver from the airport it’s been a night full of asking aboutshewithout speaking to theshein question.
Forehead pinched, I grumble, “She’ll haveherown key” My tolerance to play the nice blind girl is nonexistent.
The receptionist clears their throat. “Very good.”
