The Note

Barbara stared at my outstretched hand. The folded square of paper trembled between my fingers. She made no movement to take the paper from me, though, so I shook it impatiently.

"Magnolia," Barbara sighed softly. "I am not going to read that." I did not retract my arm, though.

"I need you to tell me I should be worried," I said sharply. Barbara's watery brown eyes stared straight ahead, not acknowledging the note.

"I won't tell you anything like that and you know it," Barbara smiled. "Why don't you tell me what prompted you to search through Polly's room instead?" My arm shot back like it was burned.

"I didn't!" I yelped. Barbara pinned me with her blank stare. Sometimes I wished she would be even a little bit judgmental. That was, of course, how mankind had learned social norms— through the judgment of their valued peers.

"Well, where did you find the note?" I could feel my cheeks get warm as soon as she asked. Just last week, Barbara and I discussed space and boundaries, and I had already blown it.

"Her room, but," the words started spilling out quickly, like they always did when I felt defensive. "I wasn't searching her room, Polly texted me this morning that she forgot her gym clothes, so I went into her room to find them and pack them up for her, and this was wedged in the back of her sock drawer, and—"Barbara lifted her hand to quiet me.

"Slow down, Magnolia. You are not on trial." I could have cried from the simple reassurance, but instead, all of my muscles tensed up, pushing down the crocodile tears. Every time Barbara said exactly the right thing, it was a reminder as to why I continued seeing her, even though therapy had consistently proven to be the most difficult thing I had ever done. Considering I once had to organize an emergency PTA meeting and carefully execute a massive charity function for my husband's firm on the same night, I would say that the therapy was pretty goddam difficult.

My breathing slowed as I forced a few swallows of water from the overpriced, name-brand water bottle I kept tucked in my bag. The note crunched loudly when my fingers closed around it.

"I think she's seeing someone." My voice cracked on the penultimate word, delivering the tears I had choked down moments before, when they were woefully grateful. As they spilled out, the tears were bitter and terrified. Reflexively, Barbara offered me a box of tissues. I shook my head like I always did when she offered them, and forced myself back into a state resembling composure.

"Magnolia," Barbara said lightly once I pulled it together. "This is an exercise in control. Polly is, by all accounts, a smart and responsible girl deserving of your trust and a modicum of privacy." I buried my face in my hands, physically willing my eyes to suck the tears back into my skull.

"I tried! I didn't mean to come by this, and once I found it I had to read it— he said he loves her! This boy, Elias, he says he loves Polly in the note! Can you believe that? Middle schoolers! In love!" I wheezed. Barbara's lips parted slightly, but she didn't say anything. She only waited for me to slow down again.

"So is this particular issue a matter of age? Are you feeling that Polly is too young to have romantic feelings for another person?" Barbara asked. Instantly, the thought struck me as asinine.

"No," I scoffed. "No, no, not at all. She's 13, these feelings are normal at this age. Love is definitely too big of a word, but I am not stupid, I know kids start really liking people around this age." Barbara nodded twice before sliding the bright red glasses hanging around her neck back onto her nose.

"If that's the case, then what is the source of all this upset?" Barbara asked. A bulb of frustration bloomed in my throat. Barbara scribbled a note on the legal pad propped on the arm of her chair.