Alex #2
She nods, but the gesture feels automatic. The waiting room isn’t crowded, and the art table beckons. I find us seats nearby. At first she’s reluctant to try any of the colorful supplies, but a pack of glitter crayons finally gets the best of her.
She’s working on a drawing when Alaric arrives a minute later carrying a mug of coffee. “Eloise.” His face lights up as though she’s the person he’s been hoping to see all day. “I have a very serious question.”
She looks at him suspiciously.
“Which would make a better pet? Dragons or unicorns?”
Eloise blinks. “Dragons.”
“Excellent choice,” he says immediately. “Far more practical.”
“Unicorns are easier,” she adds, pausing her drawing.
“Maybe, but dragons can barbecue marshmallows without needing a campfire.”
She nods thoughtfully, and she stands to follow when he invites us to his office. By the time we reach his hallway, they’re debating whether dragons should be allowed inside grocery stores.
His office looks more like a comfortable sitting room than a therapist’s office.
Eloise claims one end of the couch while I take the other.
For the first several minutes, Alaric talks about summer vacation, which will be here in a few days, swimming, and whether a hot dog counts as a sandwich.
Nothing feels forced. Nothing feels like an interview.
Every few minutes, Eloise glances at me.
I smile, and she looks back at Dr. Dempsey.
A little while later, she tucks one leg beneath her and leans into the corner of the couch instead of perching at the edge. Her answers grow longer.
I don’t realize how tightly wound I’ve been until I feel some of that tension start to drain.
Alaric asks a question. Eloise answers.
He asks another. She shrugs.
Instead of filling the silence, he lets it sit there. Eventually she starts talking again on her own.
The difference is immediate. At home every conversation has felt like walking through a minefield. I’m her father. Every word comes out tangled with my own fear. A therapist sits across from her with none of that baggage. He doesn’t need anything from her.
After nearly half an hour, he sets his notebook aside. “Eloise?”
She looks up.
“Would you be comfortable talking with me for a few minutes while your dad waits outside?”
Her eyes find mine immediately.
“I’ll be right in the other room,” I assure her.
She studies me for several seconds. Then she nods. “Okay.”
I squeeze her hand before standing. “I’ll be right here when you’re finished.”
Her shoulders ease a little. “Okay,” she says again.
I leave the office and the door closes softly behind me. Suddenly there isn’t anything left for me to do except wait.
Waiting turns out to be harder than I expected.
The last week replays itself over and over inside my head.
Anastasia’s arrival. My mother’s interference.
I find myself wondering whether I should have protected Eloise sooner.
Whether I should have anticipated the damage Anastasia’s appearance might cause.
Whether there was some better way to handle any of it.
The questions circle endlessly because none of them have answers.
When the office door opens again, I look up and rise from my chair before I even realize I’m moving.
Eloise steps into the waiting room first. The change isn’t dramatic.
She isn’t suddenly carefree or completely recovered.
The shadows under her eyes are still there, and the last week hasn’t magically disappeared. But something is different.
She’s smiling.
Not a huge grin, but not the forced smile she’s been giving Zara. A real one.
I crouch beside her as she walks toward me and brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”
She shrugs in the way children do when they don’t quite have words for complicated feelings. “I’m okay.”
A week ago, okay would’ve sounded disappointing. Today it feels like a victory.
“Okay is good,” I tell her.
She nods and slips her hand into mine. The grip is lighter. More relaxed. For the first time in days, she looks like a little girl instead of someone carrying a burden much larger than herself.
I stand and study her for another moment. “What do you want to do now?”
“Ice cream,” she announces.
“I think we can manage ice cream.”
The smile that follows is a little bigger this time.
After a moment, Alaric steps into the waiting room behind her. His expression is thoughtful, but I immediately find something reassuring in it. He doesn’t seem alarmed. He doesn’t seem concerned. Most importantly, he doesn’t look surprised.
Eloise remains beside me while he and I talk.
“I’d like to see her a few more times,” he says.
I nod. “Whatever she needs.”
He glances toward Eloise, who has found the glitter crayons again, before returning his attention to me. “I think she’s going to be okay.” He studies me for a moment. “She’s carrying a lot of fear.”
The understatement almost makes me smile. “You’re telling me.”
A hint of amusement touches his expression before fading. “I also think she should go back to school.”
I look down at Eloise. “What do you think? Are you ready to see your friends at school? It’s almost summer break, and you don’t want to miss any fun things.”
She shrugs. “I guess so. They probably miss me too.”
Alaric nods. “I’m sure they do.” He leans toward me. “Her friends are important. Her routines are important. Reconnecting with normal life will help.”
The advice makes sense. Everything he’s said today has made sense.
When we finally head toward the door, Eloise immediately reminds me about her priorities. “You promised ice cream.”
I squeeze her hand and smile. “I did.”
She nods, apparently satisfied that I’m honoring the agreement.
As we drive to the Creamery, the crisis with Eloise no longer feels impossible. There are still conversations ahead. There will probably be more tears, more questions, and more therapy appointments. But at least there is a path forward now. I don’t feel completely trapped by uncertainty.
Unfortunately, solving one problem makes room for another.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel as the thought I’ve been trying to avoid slips back in. Zara told me earlier that she heard my mother is still in Paradise, occupying a suite at the Delta as though she’s settled in for the long haul. Anastasia, however, has returned home.
My mother has always wanted Eloise and me to return to Toronto, but this thing she pulled was below the belt.
I have no desire to talk to her. The most frustrating part is that she seems genuinely convinced she’s helping, as though her version of what’s best for everyone should automatically become reality.
Beside me, Eloise continues to prattle on about ice cream without realizing where my thoughts have gone. The contrast is almost absurd. One minute I’m listening to a passionate argument about hot fudge, and the next I’m mentally rehearsing a conversation I should have had days ago.
The lawyer gave me answers.
Alaric gave me a plan.
Now I need to deal with my mother before she does any more damage.