She wore the same wooden saint bracelet from their meeting with the dean. Dayton had gotten a closer look at it when she signed their mentorship contract.
“Family trouble?” he dared.
“Pardon me?”
“Your bracelet. Saint Rose.”
Lips parting, Kenna looked at him as though disoriented. “You’ve just finished laying out firm guidelines for me and now you’re asking me about my personal life?”
Cautious. Already worried about jeopardizing her academic future on day one. She’d be tough to crack.
“You’re right. It’s none of my business, so let’s stick to what could be construed as my business. May I ask why you’re so intent on going into therapy?”
“I want to help people.”
She gave a slight shrug as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and he was filled with grim amusement.
Dayton crossed his arms atop the desk, his smile one of condescension. “You think you can save people? I’ll tell you what it’s like on the other side. You will expend all of your energy trying to help someone, and they’ll still put a bullet in their head. Refuse to eat until some judge has to order the insertion of a feeding tube. Whatever the case may be. And you’ll feel like you’ve failed. You failed yourself. You failed them. Their family. This is a dark business, Miss O’Callaghan, and during these five months I’d like you to consider whether this is where you should be. Where you’re heading, therapy? You get the privilege of hiding behind the curtain. I’m responsible for what they do on the stage, and that’s precisely what you’ll see during our time together.”
“I assure you I can handle whatever goes on in this office day to day.” Her pale pink mouth pursed in defiance as she tucked a thick section of hair behind her ear. “How do we begin?”
He found himself staring at her lips again, those lush fixtures. One kiss and he’d sink into that soft skin. Disappear.
“Observation.”
Dr. Merino expected her observation phase to last an entire month but she gathered throughout the day that, as the dean had said, he wasn’t terribly busy.
She had to stop herself on several occasions from asking what exactly she was supposed to observe if there was no one around.
Two students visited during the five hours Kenna spent in his office. While she wasn’t anticipating a slammed morning of appointments, she was shocked at the pitiful sampling of patients. Both walk-ins opted out of having her in the room while they spoke to Dr. Merino. Each time he kicked her into the hall, he issued her a dismissive nod and closed the gates to an interaction she would’ve died to be a part of.
Though the sound filtering through the door was muffled, she thought she overheard the distinct, deep roll of Spanish passing between him and a patient.
Conditions were no better within the office than in the hallway. The room was cold and cramped, and the company was dreadful. Dr. Merino didn’t utter a syllable to her unless he responded to an occasional question, but even in those instances she gleaned he was in no mood for conversation.
Kenna resorted to reading her social psychology textbook but once the diffuser cut off, eliminating the precious white noise, her concentration waned. She felt his eyes on her as she read, lingering longer than was appropriate.
It was this way they worked in a somewhat comfortable silence; as comfortable as two semi-strangers could’ve been in close proximity.
She watched as he drained the tea over the course of their session, consuming it slowly as if it were an elixir.
“Are you sick?”
His black eyebrows shot up but his expression neutralized as she pointed to the mug.
“Plenty of men who aren’t on their deathbed drink tea. It seems I overlooked sexism in my first impression of you.” The severity of his features betrayed the warmth radiated by his beige skin. He glanced at the clock stationed above the door. “We have 56 minutes to go, kid. Can we forego the interruptions? And here.” He tossed her a canister of raw almonds. “Eat something or go sit in the hall for the rest of the hour. Your stomach is rearing to give me a migraine.”
She ate the almonds in resigned silence and they ignored each other for the rest of the hour.
At noon she was, mercifully, free to go.
Once she was out of Markham and crossing campus, she checked her phone. The only notification was the text from Dr. Merino. No ‘hello’ or self-identification.
It read simply, ‘test.’ Kenna wondered if that was the reason behind his rules. He was testing her, seeing if she would buckle into submission.
Molars sinking into her tongue, she shook her head and put her phone away. His first impression of her had been accurate but not thorough.
She was unbreakable.