The Expansion of the Universe

Interlude

She didn't like Doctor Tate. The woman was just so . . . plastic. She was young, which Liza normally wouldn't hold against another person, but in this case, what choice did she have? The woman seemed so arrogant, as though her young age and recent designation as "doctor" meant she had all the knowledge and determination to fix Liza.

But all Liza got out of the few sessions she'd bothered to attend (it was surprisingly easy to ignore the ringing of her phone) was the feeling that Doctor Tate was becoming frustrated by the fact that Liza's issues were not as easily solved as a textbook would indicate.

When Liza finally gave in and answered the ringing phone, still tucked safely within her bedroom, she pressed it to her ear with a cautious, "Yes?"

Rather than hearing Doctor Tate's voice, lined with thinly-veiled annoyance, a different, older woman's voice crackled through the line. "Is this Elizabeth Garner?"

She stiffened, her fingers tightening painfully over the phone. "Who is this?" A reporter? Oh, God, she'd scream if it was another reporter. She was sick of their stupid calls.

"This is Dana Whitney. I'm colleagues with Doctor Tate." She rattled off a list of credentials, followed by the name of the private practice that Liza had been using.

Liza frowned, her anxiety rising as her mind begin to go consider just how suspicious the situation was. "Why isn't Doctor Tate calling? How do I know you're an actual doctor? I don't trust you."

The woman on the other line made a thoughtful humming sound—the kind of hum that could only come from a goddamn therapist, because no one else could made such a vague, noncommittal noise.

Damn therapists.

Still, Liza wouldn't let her guard down. Not yet.

"Doctor Tate approached me several days ago, asking that I look over your case. She was concerned that she wasn't providing the assistance that you needed in order to make progress in your recovery."

Liza scoffed bitterly. "You mean I'm too screwed up for her, and she doesn't know jack-shit about how to handle me. Yeah, I figured that one out pretty quickly." Then, she shut her eyes, shifting in her spot and blinking back a sudden onslaught of shameful tears. "Jesus. Sorry. I'm a bitch now, for some reason. I don't know what's wrong with me." She didn't know why she was admitting this to an unknown woman—stranger! Stranger!—but perhaps this was proof that Dana Whitney was far more seasoned in her career than her younger colleague.

"I imagine your emotions are difficult to manage," Dana Whitney mused. "It's nothing to be guilty about. You are aware of it, which is impressive in itself. It's understandable that you can't control your thoughts and reactions sometimes—you went through something extremely traumatic, and you are still in the process of both grieving, as well as managing a multitude of changes."

Liza blinked, stunned. "Can you work with me?" This was a stranger, and that was scary, but the woman was already making sense, like maybe she truly could help Liza with the oppressive anxiety and memories and insomnia and fear and worry and—

Well, everything.

"I was hoping I could," was the doctor's response. "If you'll allow it, then I would be very eager to do so."

"It can't be in-person," Liza clarified, her voice a bit on the snippy side. She wouldn't budge on that requirement.

"I understand," was Doctor Whitney's response. "Through the phone is one way, but we could also attempt to do video calls over your computer, if you have one?"

Liza hesitated. "Why?" It was so much easier to ignore phone calls, and then she didn't have to stare at another person and try to analyze expressions—

"I find that there is far less miscommunication when we, as individuals, can see one another. When we are able to witness human expressions and the like, there is less risk that true feelings and meanings can be hidden."

Huh.

"I . . . I hadn't thought about that," Liza admitted.

There was another hum from this new doctor. "It's simply a suggestion," she assured Liza. "We can attempt with whichever option you are more comfortable with."

". . . okay, fine."

At the very least, Liza supposed she couldn't become worse with this Dana Whitney.