CHAPTER 13
Lila
T he human brain does this weird thing sometimes, where it knows something is wrong but forces us to make that mistake anyway.
Technically, it’s not my brain forcing me to do anything— I control it, and therefore, I’m the problem. And I’m fine with that. What I’m not fine with is knowing I’m making a fool of myself, but I can’t seem to stop.
The morning after Cameron and Sean’s fight at the youth center, I get comfortable on my couch and dial the number of the one person I should’ve called days ago.
“Lila-baby.” My aunt’s voice filters through the speakers on my phone before her smiling face comes into focus on the video call. “How have you been?”
She’s walking around the house, dressed in her ballet instructor clothes and a low bun. “Hey, Maddsy. I thought you’d be at the studio.”
“I’m on my lunch break. I came by the house to check on things because Dylan isn’t at school today. He said he was sick, but he’s running around now, so I don’t know about that.”
I snort, not putting it past my little cousin to fake it so he can stay home to watch cartoons. “Is this a good time to call? If you’re busy…”
“No, no, it’s fine. I still have some time before I need to go back, and James is handling the two little devils just fine,” she says just as Dylan’s unmistakable voice screams my name.
I laugh. “Put him on the phone.”
“Yeah, just a sec. Careful, Dyl. Don’t drop Mommy’s phone, okay?”
But the six-year-old’s face is already pressed to the screen, oblivious to his mom’s warnings. “Lila! I got a new dinosaur toy.”
“No way.” I give him my biggest smile. There’s no little boy I love more in this world. “Who gave it to you?”
“Gramma,” he tells me, referring to my grandmother. “Because I’m sick. She came to see me.”
My grandmother has been sober for decades and, eventually, rekindled her relationship with both of her children. I’m not a fan of what she put my dad and aunt through, but if they’ve been able to forgive her, so can I. She’s been nothing but loving and supportive to me.
“Are you going to show me?” I ask the little boy.
He doesn’t need to be asked twice. I hear Maddie’s warning as my cousin sprints away, the phone shaking with each of his steps until he says, “Daddy, where is Rexy?”
I can’t see him, but I hear my uncle’s deep voice. “Hey, buddy. Funny how you don’t sound sick anymore, huh?” Dylan giggles at that. “It should be on the couch, where you probably left it while you were watching TV. Hey—what are you doing with Mommy’s phone?”
“It’s Lila!”
A moment later, James takes the phone from Dylan’s hand and frowns at the screen.
“You look like an old man who doesn’t know how smartphones work,” I tease.
He’s only forty-four, so he knows I’m joking. And he lets me know as much when he gives me a playful roll of his eyes, which are the same blue shade as my cousin’s.
“I didn’t know you guys were video chatting. Did he call you on accident? You can’t trust him around phones these days.”
“I called Maddsy, and he wanted to show me his new dinosaur toy.”
James tells Dylan to go look for it before going back to me. “Everything okay? How’s your thesis going, smarty-pants?”
The nickname makes me smile. “I’m a bit overwhelmed, but I think it’s going well.”
He frowns. “Overwhelmed how? They’re not giving you a hard time, are they?”
James, my aunt’s former physical therapist turned husband, is like a brother to me. I met him when I was eleven, and we instantly clicked. If my dad is the most protective of me, my uncle follows very closely behind.
“No, it’s not like that,” I assure him. “I just have a lot on my plate right now. It’s why I called Maddsy.”
“You need to vent. Got it.” He glances to the side and smiles. “But first, there’s someone here who wants to say hi.”
He points the phone camera at the little girl sitting on her high chair.
She beams when she sees me. “Lili!”
“Hi, Alice.” I smile at my youngest cousin. “What do you have there? Is it yummy?”
She gives me an enthusiastic nod and shoves what I’m pretty sure is a slice of avocado into the screen. James laughs. “Careful, sweetie. We’re going to take a bath after you’re done eating, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she repeats, her dimples popping out with her smile.
Maddie reappears then. “Why is everyone talking to her but me? I need some Lila time.”
James turns the camera so it’s facing them again. My aunt plants a kiss on his cheek before grabbing the phone.
“Where’s Dyl?” she asks her husband.
“I’m here, Mommy,” a little voice says. “Lila, look at Rexy.”
My aunt lowers the phone so Dylan can come into view. “I love it, Dylan. It’s the coolest. Give me a big kiss.”
He kisses the screen, and I do the same.
“Will you be okay if I go upstairs for a moment?” Maddie asks James.
He looks at her with adoration. “Sure. Take your time, love.”
Dylan, the little minx, makes gagging sounds when they kiss, and I laugh.
Gah, I miss them so much. Since they live in Norcastle, which is hours away, we don’t see each other as often as we’d like.
I say goodbye to my uncle and cousins before Maddie rushes upstairs. “Finally, you and me. What’s up?”
“Are you sure you can talk right now?” I ask, feeling terrible for barging in. “I can call you tonight. Or tomorrow. Or whenever you’re free.”
“I’m always free for you, Li.” She gives me a sisterly smile. “James has the kids under control, and I still have twenty minutes until I need to go back to the studio.”
I hesitate. “If you’re sure…”
“Stop stalling,” she says, calling me out. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”
“Um, not exactly.” I nibble on my lower lip, sitting up straight on the couch. “It’s more like… a problem in my head.”
“You’re overthinking,” she guesses. “Spill, then. You know you can tell me anything.”
I do, which is why my first instinct was to call her.
I love my parents and I love Mariah, and I know I can tell them anything, too, but the bond I share with my aunt is something else. She’s always had my back and gives the best advice, since she’s been through so much.
So I take a deep breath and let it all out.
How Reed offered me the internship and how hesitant I was to take it. How the thought of someone finding out I’m working with my mom’s colleague still worries me, even if doesn’t seem as catastrophic as before.
“I think I’m messing things up,” I admit out loud for the first time.
Maddie, who hasn’t interrupted me once, frowns. “How so?”
“I saw Reed on campus yesterday and freaked out because I was afraid of what others would think if they saw us together, even though I promised myself I’d get over it. He called me out on it, and I didn’t apologize even though what I did was pathetic. I’m such a mess, Maddsy. I don’t want him to think I’m unprofessional and childish again . I promised myself I’d get over it.”
What I don’t say is that I’ve caught myself stealing glances at him more frequently than I should. That I find his easy, confident way of working with the kids more attractive than I’d ever admit.
“First of all, breathe.” Her voice is calm but commanding. “Did he tell you that you were unprofessional and childish?”
“No, but—”
“No buts,” she cuts me off. “You have a tendency to assume what other people will do or say, and they’re never nice things.”
She is…totally right.
“I think you should start living in the present,” she continues. “If this Reed guy hasn’t told you he thinks you’re unprofessional, stop assuming otherwise. You’re incredibly talented in many ways, but I doubt you’ve developed mind-reading abilities just yet.”
“It’s just… Why would he not think I’m unprofessional?” I retort. “I ran away from him right in front of his face. That’s not how mature adults behave.”
She groans. “Jeez, you’re as stubborn as Sammy.”
She calls my dad Sammy, although everyone else calls him Cal. His full name is Samuel Callaghan, but we all tend to ignore the Samuel part, which is a shame because it’s such a great name.
Also, she’s right again.
“It’s just… I’m annoyed and disappointed in myself. We had a group session with the kids the other day, and I finally realized how privileged I am to be working with him. I told myself I’d stop these obsessive thoughts and focus on learning and being grateful for the opportunity. But then I saw him on campus, and it all went to hell. I feel like I’m running in circles.” I let my head fall back against the couch. “I think I’m doing better than I was, but I still can’t get over this feeling that something terrible will happen. Maybe it’s because I saw him on campus and felt judged by others. Unsafe to speak to him like I do at the youth center. I don’t know.”
“I understand that, Li. You’re an overthinker by nature. It’s good that you’re aware of those self-sabotaging thoughts, but be patient with yourself. Bad habits don’t stop overnight,” she reasons. “But I’m going to be honest—I think you’re seeing danger where there isn’t any. First of all, screw what people think. I wouldn’t be with James if I had worried about what your dad or my friends would think of our relationship.”
That much is true. Being ten years older than her and her then physical therapist, I can see why my dad wasn’t too happy about Maddie being with James. But my aunt has always done her own thing, not letting other people’s views affect her choices. If only I were that brave.
“And secondly,” she continues, “sometimes, the only way to get over our fears is to face them head-on.”
My dad said the same thing. No wonder they’re siblings. “What are you suggesting?”
“I think it’d be a good idea if you went up to him on campus.” I’m about to say no way in hell , but she intercepts me. “Don’t give me that panicked look. Start by waving at him or talking about the weather if you pass him in the hallway. You don’t need to have any in-depth discussions about the universe in the middle of the cafeteria, but running away from him isn’t the answer, either. Especially because you know it’s wrong and want to change.”
I can’t fight her on that.
“I love you, Li, but you’re a big drama queen. Think about what you’d tell your future patients if they came to you with this same problem. You’d tell them to face their fear so they can see that nothing terrible will happen, right? That it won’t be the end of the world because it’s all in their heads.”
I nod because I would. But taking one’s own advice is so, so ridiculously hard.
“Then you know what to do,” she concludes, as if it were really that easy. “It’s going to feel uncomfortable—embrace it and get over it. Don’t let others have so much power over you.”
As soon as we say our I love yous and hang up, I open the email app and don’t think twice as I type away.
I’m already doing an internship with him. The damage is done, so to speak, and I’m tired of being a victim of my own overthinking.
This is the right thing to do.
It’s time to put my big girl pants on.
Dr. Abner,
I would like to speak to you regarding a new idea for my internship. Could we meet today? Please let me know your office hours if you’re available.
Thank you,
Lila Callaghan
His reply hits my inbox less than five minutes later.
I’ll be in my office until 2:30 p.m.
Stop calling me Dr. Abner.
Sincerely,
Not Dr. Abner
***
Thirty minutes later, my big girl pants hug every inch of my curves, but I’m still terrified, which isn’t ideal.
Before knocking at Not Dr. Abner’s office door, I dry the sweat off my hands on the fabric of my jeans. No matter how many times I repeat the words in my head that this is the right thing to do and that I’ll be fine, believing them is a different story.
Reed’s office sits on the third floor of the Psychology Hall, where many other professors also keep their office spaces and labs—which means the hallway is packed with students. And they’re looking at me.
It’s because I’m staring at them. They just think I’m nuts.
Right. It’s a highly plausible explanation.
Maddie is right—my obsessive thinking won’t stop overnight. But I’m tired of submitting to it when I have the power to control my brain, not the other way around.
I take a deep breath and knock on his office door.
“Come in,” his deep, familiar voice says from inside.
The door squeaks as I open it, one hand hanging on to my backpack strap like an anchor.
A huge shelf full of books to my right side is the first thing that catches my eye. Tomes on child psychology and trauma therapy are piled one over the other, fighting for a spot on his overcrowded shelf.
“See any you like?”
I swivel my head in the direction of the man sitting behind the desk. Reed is leaning back into his chair, his fingers resting over his stomach—I’m absolutely not looking at how the fabric of his white shirt stretches across his chest—as he eyes me with a mix of interest and amusement.
As I turn back to the bookshelf, I strategically let my hair fall to the side of my face so as to cover the heat climbing up my cheeks.
“Yeah, um…” Words, Lila. Use your words. “You have so many.”
I’m not winning any eloquence awards anytime soon, that’s for sure.
The sound of the chair groaning as he stands does something weird to my stomach. And when I feel him getting closer, I tell myself my body is only reacting this way because I forgot to eat breakfast this morning.
“I have a few that could help you with your thesis.” That huge hand reaches above my head. Moments later, he hands me a book on child psychology. “This is one of my personal favorites if you want to tackle psychotherapeutic strategies for healing trauma.”
“I… Thank you.”
At this point, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t missed the blush on my cheeks.
“Take this one too.” He hands me another book, this one strictly about bibliotherapy. “And just so you know, my office library is always open for you.”
Something warm seeps under my skin. When I dare to look up at him, at this mountain of a man who towers over me by more than a whole foot, I’m grateful that my voice doesn’t sound as small as I feel. “You may come to regret that offer.”
I’m taken aback by the sound of his unfairly attractive laughter. Have I ever heard his laugh before?
“I’d never regret extending an invitation to my personal library to someone who values academic literature as much as I do.” His eyes linger on my face before he clears his throat. “You can take these home. Any others that you like too.”
I give him a sincere smile. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
Reed perches himself on the edge of the desk as I continue my perusal of his book collection. What I love about it is that his books look used, loved , like he’s read them a thousand times and they’re not here merely as decoration. He dog-ears the pages, though, I notice—who’s the criminal now?
“So,” he starts, his voice casual. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
I hold on to the books a little tighter as I turn to him. “I owe you an apology.”
He watches me curiously before he says, “You don’t.”
“Still. I want to apologize for running away from you yesterday. It was childish of me and unfair to you. You’ve been a great supervisor, and I don’t want you to think—”
“Lila.” The way he says my name sends a thrill down my spine I suppress the second it hits me. “What I think of you isn’t important. The only thing that should matter is what I think of your performance as my intern. I’m not here to judge your character.”
“But you do have an opinion of me,” I insist, which I’ll probably regret in about two seconds. “And I want to know what that is.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Those dark eyes hold mine as if he were trying to read my mind, but I don’t take my words back.
After an eternal beat, he says, “I think you’re a great student. I think your mind is extraordinary. And I think you’re wasting your time and potential worrying about what irrelevant people think of you.”
You’re not irrelevant.
“What else is keeping you up at night?” he presses, his voice holding a challenge.
And maybe it’s the wrong choice, but I accept it anyway.
“Do you treat me differently because of my parents?” I ask, my chin high. “Be honest. Because I’ve heard you can be demanding and hard to please, but you’ve been nothing but nice and encouraging to me.”
“I treat all my students equally. You just happen to be more competent than most, which is why I don’t need to be as demanding with you. You please me just fine.”
My heart jolts.
“Why do you insist that I don’t call you Dr. Abner?” is my next question, ignoring the not-innuendo of his last sentence.
He shrugs those wide shoulders. “I don’t like the formality of it. All my students call me Reed.”
I know my words will cross a line, but that doesn’t stop me. And I don’t know what it means that I’m acting out of character, but I like this version of me. It feels thrilling, authentic. Dangerous .
“You looked upset yesterday,” I keep going. “I went to your office to find you, but nobody answered. I just wanted to know how you’re doing.”
I’m not imagining that powerful body stiffening, which only fuels my curiosity. “Yesterday was a difficult day.”
Something else must have happened. Someone with as much experience in the child psychology field as he has doesn’t get so upset after an altercation. I’m sure he’s had to handle many throughout his career, probably worse than yesterday’s.
“Are Cameron and Sean okay?” I ask instead because insisting feels too invasive. Something tells me he wouldn’t answer anyway.
He gives me a stiff nod. “I’m talking to Cameron today. I’ll also ask his sister for her side of the story. Haniyah told me she was pretty shaken up.”
My heart aches for poor Melody. She seems like such a nice girl, and it’s obvious that she feels a strong bond with her twin brother. But if anyone can help her, it’s Reed.
“So, that idea you mentioned in your email.” He changes the subject, his body language shifting with it. His posture relaxes, and his eyes hold less tension than before.
I perk up, reaching into my backpack to put his books inside and grab a new one. “Yes. So, I was researching bibliotherapy books for my thesis—different categories and all that—and I came across this one. I think it would really help Cameron with his situation, if you approve.”
He raises a curious eyebrow as I hand him Thomas and the Little Bird and hold my breath as he opens the first page and starts reading.
It’s a short children’s book I found at the local library about a young boy who finds an injured bird in his backyard and nurses it back to health. But once it’s ready to fly again, Thomas refuses to let it go. This causes the bird to become really sad, and eventually, the boy realizes that sometimes love means letting the other person—or bird—go their own way.
Once he’s done reading, he meets my gaze in a weird way.
Weird because I can’t seem to read him right now.
“You picked this out?” he asks. His voice sounds stranger than usual too. “Why?”
“I thought of Cameron when I saw it. If I picked up on the right clues, I’d say he’s overprotective of his sister,” I explain, shifting on my feet. “And maybe Melody wants to fly free, just like the little bird.”
When he says nothing, I quickly add, “But I could be wrong. Sorry if I’m overstepping. I thought I’d rather show it to you than keep it to myself, just in case it helps. Or maybe Cameron doesn’t like reading, and this is pointless—”
“Lila.”
I gulp. “Yes?”
“Stop doubting how fucking gifted you are.”
Air whooshes out my lungs.
Not because he cursed and I’ve never heard him curse before—why does it make him look so attractive?—but because he sounds so sure , so convinced , his words get sealed into my brain.
“Okay,” I whisper, not sure how to respond to that.
He remains silent, like he wants to say something else but, in the end, debates against it. I don’t move, barely even breathe, until he gives me the book back.
“I’ll get a copy at a local bookstore so you can return this to the library,” he says. “You’re right about Cameron benefiting from this book. If you have any more recommendations you think the kids will find useful, feel free to email me a list.”
My stomach flips. “You really mean that?”
“You should know by now I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
And I do.
For the first time in a very long time, I put my blind trust in someone else’s words.