Heather Moor Is a Therapist

JOJO

Heather, light as a feather, blonde and Vietnamese -- half-Vietnamese -- sits in her new therapist office.

She's the famous daughter of two famous artist parents, Mai and Corbyn Moor. The office room is a rental from a flexible 'workshare.'

Out of a renovated storage facility businesses rent from a sunlit, white brick and glass suite of rooms featuring one window, two VR ports, and sixteen outlets each.

Heather isn't here to see her therapist.

Heather Moor is the therapist.

She gasps when Jojo arrives for his first 'therapeutic account.' She knows him from high school, but that's not why she gasped .. He filled out.

It was a small gasp, maybe it didn't happen, maybe she just got confused really quickly, and had only thought she gasped, her gasp was that slight.

He had definitely matured.

"Heather Moor!" he says, in a deep, assured voice, but as he re-introduces himself, she relaxes to hear he is still, at least in part, the skinny Black nerd in gym class. "I don't know if you remember me," he says.

This could be an absurd comment in 2024, but Jojo says it in a way really about humility, and Heather says, "Of course I do, Jojo," and they laugh.

"It was so great following your videos, I have to say," Jojo stammers a little after their hug, "I was sad when they stopped showing up on my feed."

His body felt enormous and statuesque in her arms, and she laughed past a professionalism with this, giggling back into the therapist's seat. It wasn't professional. But the laugh she is now laughing retreats  to innocuity, to how she would as the famous daughter of Mai and Corbyn. "Oh no, you watched my videos! Ah well, thank you, but this account is for you. I am so glad to see you, Jojo," Heather beams.

Jojo places his knapsack down and sits.

Heather admires JoJo. He has a command of his big, new body. When he looks up, she almost squeals with how boyish -- boyish and serious -- his face still was and become, and flushed with good health. So cute!

"So," he says, "I guess I'll have to spill all my secrets."

"You might be inspired to," she finds herself responding to his smirk with a downward slope into sober professionalism, thankfully, "Most of our secrets are held from us anyways. Everyone draws blanks, at first."

Heather continues, "Think! I'm sure there are memories you know you have, memories you thought at the time you would never forget, and those memories .. today, you wouldn't be able to recall them in this entire account. Right?"

Jojo laughs, admiring, "Right, right. Nice. I wouldn't be able to, no."

"This account is for you and only for you. That's how it works. You can only do work through touching the material of the account. I'm looking for a human connection and therapy. That's why people come to me and why I started my practice. Fame doesn't do it for me anymore. I'm your ear. What I want to be, Jojo, is your ear disconnected from the internet and the rat race. As someone disconnected herself."

Jojo studies her as though at a job interview, but after the pitch, he intends darkly, to return, "How can I trust you?"

She laughs with how he said it. He pushes, "No, but really, Heather, I'm only poking around, just testing. I don't care if you're not credentialed," and Heather, blushing, says, "Thanks."

He adds, "It would really help to talk to anyone right now," -- uncanny how he says this -- "And I understand what you're doing," he squints, "I can work with it," he nods, twice, "I'm excited for the account."

"We humans have been giving council for many thousands of years. I have my mentors, and as you know, my work. I make no illusion of it. Your therapy here is experimental."

"You don't charge much," he tilts his head, looking up, amused.

"That's right. I spend half my UBI on the workspace."

The windows rattle in the late summer, or was it early autumn? breeze.

"I'm off the attention markets. Most people need authentic contact. Honestly, it's pretty straightforward stuff. It's," she thinks out loud, "Organic, the human. What we need."

"Did you know I'm an artificial intelligence engineer?" Jojo asks.

"And how does that make you feel?" Heather asks.

"Oh my God!" Jojo exclaims, "Yo, you're funny."