The Sinclair Brothers ✔️

(53) Bad Habits

Fifteen minutes of silence.

Fifteen minutes of tapping her fingers on her thigh.

Fifteen minutes of biting her lip.

Fifteen minutes of staring at the wall and avoiding eye contact.

Fifteen minutes of the therapist's very expensive hour wasted. An hour the Sinclair's were paying for.

For.

"You don't take notes?" Makennah finally asked the therapist because she couldn't withstand the silence for a second longer.

"No I don't need to take notes. This is just a conversation." Her words rolled off of her tongue like velvet. Her unexpectedly smooth voice sounded like melted chocolate over a cold ice cream sundae.

Makennah thought she would be older. Maybe sixty. Or fifty. Seasoned was perhaps the better word. Experienced.

But she was young. Like twelve. Not literally twelve. Just experience-wise she seemed twelve. Twelve compared to sixty. In terms of therapist's wisdom. Maybe she was thinking too deeply into this.

Obviously, the woman was qualified. Her degrees and achievements from multiple universities hung framed on the wall to the left of her desk between two cluttered bookcases that housed both books and green leafy plants overflowing out of their pots and glasses.

"What are we supposed to talk about?" Makennah asked, tapping her fingers on her thigh again to release suspended energy.

The therapist - Janine - shrugged her shoulders and her hair fell off to the side down her back. "Whatever you want."

Unnervingly calm. Peaceful. Makennah surely sensed a profound wholeness and completeness in her hipster-y earthy authentic therapist.

It wasn't that she was hipster-y or earthy. It's not that she had peace or completeness. Her lack of initiation had almost nothing to do with the therapist herself. In fact, if Makennah could hand pick a therapist, it would probably be Janine.

It's just that she was, after all, somewhat forced to be there. As a punishment-not-punishment. Whatever helped her get through the session according to the Sinclair's. Again, she was astounded she even sat in this quaint little chair across from the pretty lithe hippy therapist in her sea foam green library/office. Even in the wake of disaster, the Sinclair's stuck to their parenting rules and punishments. Noted.

"I don't have much to say," Makennah commented. Truly, she didn't. She could talk to pass the time. That was no problem. She wasn't exactly uncomfortable. She felt fine. Just...nothing to talk about.

"That's okay. We can just sit here," she said back sweetly with a gentle almost-smile. Janine did that a lot. Almost-smiled.

"Did the Sinclair's tell you anything about me?" She asked suddenly. Maybe the nice therapist lady already knew some things about Makennah. Maybe she thought she was already too broken to be fixed.

Janine shook her head. "No, Carolynn expressed that this is your time and yours alone. She didn't want to interfere."

"That's great." Makennah smiled tightly. How sweet of her. How great. Wonderful.

"Have you ever gone through counseling yourself?" Makennah asked. Maybe Janine understood how weird she felt perched on that chair across from a professional mind reader.

"Yes."

"Did you like it?" Makennah prodded. Just curious.

"Yes." Shirt answer again. Not very helpful for determining how the rest of this hour long session should proceed.