A few days later I find myself in a stare-down with Doctor Miller. Her pen hovers over the page of her notebook, awaiting my response to her question.
I sigh heavily, realizing she's not going to move on.
"I'm fine,"
She doesn't blink. "That's not what I asked, Avery."
I pick at an imaginary thread on my pants. "I don't know how to answer that."
"Honestly would be nice." She tries to lighten the mood. "I just need to know if you think this," she gestures between us. "Is it helping you at all?"
I weigh my words in my head before answering. "I guess so. It's become part of my weekly routine, which I like. I like having a routine. It keeps me busy – doesn't allow for much idle time."
Idle hands are the devil's playthings.
"Well, that's good," Doctor Miller nods and writes something down. "What else do you do during the week?"
I give a small shrug. "Not a lot, really. I hang out with Dad when he's home. Sawyer and I do more together: run errands, go on walks, or sometimes I'll go with him to practice."
She nods again, still writing. "And what about you and your mom?"
I sigh. "She's busy."
Doctor Miller puts down her pen. "You're telling me that in the past month since you've been home, you and your mother haven't done anything together?"
I pause, thinking back to the handful of times my mom and I have been alone together. I shrug again. "I mean, we've run errands together if that counts. She drags me along grocery shopping."
"Aside from errands," Doctor Miller pushes.
I shake my head.
"Is that upsetting to you?"
Another pause. Is it upsetting to me? Do I really care if Mom wants to spend time, one on one, with me? We were never that close, to begin with. She's always favorited Sawyer – taking him to sports practices or attending his school functions. Dad's always been the one to show up for me in the past.
"No," I answer plainly but Doctor Miller doesn't seem convinced.
"You're not the slightest bit upset that your mom isn't spending time with you?"
I shake my head. "No, it's not any different than before all this happened."
"All this?" She questions.
I wave my hand in the air, gesturing to nothing in particular. "You know . . ."
She nods once and starts writing again. "Well, I think it's time that changes."
"You want me to be upset by it?"
"No," she states. "I want you and your mom to do something together this weekend that isn't chores or errands. I want you both to spend some quality time with one another. Have a chance to really talk."
I chew on my bottom lip. The track record of Mom and I talking usually ends in a disagreement or a lecture. And that's not something I willingly want to put myself through.
"It's mandatory," Doctor Miller states when she notices me overthinking it. "I believe most of your . . . triggers," she chooses that word carefully. "Stem from your relationship with your mom."
"Which is exactly why I avoid situations like this," I say without thinking. "If that were the case."
"Next week I want you both here for our session." She says as she stands, rounding her chair and approaching her desk. "I've already drafted an email to your mom stating so, and I expect her here."
I shake my head. "She's not going to agree, she usually works late."
Doctor Miller types away at her keyboard, giving extra effort on the final key. "The email is sent. She has a week to prepare herself. Neither of you can keep avoiding this."
I roll my eyes. Wonderful.
"Fine," I say with a sigh and stand up. My feet are asleep from sitting so long in the same spot. "But, don't blame me if she declines your invitation. And don't be offended if she says she's coming and then doesn't show."
Doctor Miller just watches me as I make my way to her office door. Her expression is neutral.
"I'll see you both next week." She says.
I give her a small smile as I step through the door, closing it behind me.
Don't hold your breath.