studio is so small there isn’t a single wall that’s not blocked by a piece of furniture. I could afford a bigger place if I moved in with a roommate, but years ago I made the decision to live alone. My privacy is worth the trade-of.
A sliver of fading late-afternoon light peeks through the single window as I sit down on the edge of my futon. I reach for my checkbook, thinking that I won’t dread paying my bills as much as usual with an extra five hundred dollars coming in this month.
As I begin writing a check to Antonia Sullivan, it’s as if Dr. Shields is in my head again:
Have you ever kept a secret from someone you loved to avoid upsetting them?
My pen freezes.
Antonia is a private speech and occupational therapist, one of the best in Philly.
The state-funded specialist who works with Becky on Tuesdays and Thursdays makes a little progress. But on the days Antonia comes, small miracles occur: An attempt to braid hair or write a sentence. A question about the book Antonia has read to her. The resurfacing of a lost memory.
Antonia charges $125 an hour, but my parents think she bills them on a sliding scale and they pay a fraction of that. I cover the rest.
Today I acknowledge the truth: If my parents knew I paid most of the bill, my father would be embarrassed, and my mother would worry. They might refuse my help.
It’s better that they don’t have a choice.
I’ve been paying Antonia for the past eighteen months. My mother always calls to fill me in after her visits.
I didn’t realize how hard it was to engage in that charade until I wrote about it in this morning’s session. When Dr. Shields responded that it must be difficult, it’s like he gave me permission to finally admit my true feelings.
I finish writing the check and stick it inside an envelope, then I jump up and head to my refrigerator and grab a beer.
I don’t want to analyze the choices I make any more tonight; I’m going to have to be back in that world soon enough.
I reach for my phone and text Lizzie: Can we meet a little earlier?
I walk into the Lounge and scan the room, but Lizzie isn’t there yet. I’m not surprised; I’m ten minutes early. I see a pair of empty barstools and snag them.
Sanjay, the bartender, nods at me. “Hey, Jess.” I come here often; it’s three blocks away from my apartment, and happy-hour beers cost only three dollars.
“Sam Adams?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Vodka-cran-soda, please.” Happy-hour prices ended nearly an hour ago.
I’m halfway through my drink when Lizzie arrives, peeling of her scarf and jacket as she approaches. I pull my bag of the stool next to me.
“I had the weirdest thing happen today,” Lizzie says as she plops down and gives me a quick, hard hug. She looks like a Midwestern farm girl, all pink cheeks and tumbling blond hair, which is exactly what she was before she came to New York to try to break into theatrical costume design.
“To you? No way,” I say. The last time I talked to Lizzie, she told me she’d tried to buy a homeless guy a turkey sandwich and he’d expressed annoyance that she didn’t know he was a vegan. A few weeks earlier, she’d asked someone to help her find the aisle with bath towels at Target. It turned out to be Oscar-nominated actress Michelle Williams, not an employee. “She knew where they were, though,” Lizzie said when she’d recounted the story.
“I was in Washington Square Park—Wait, are you drinking a vodka-cran-soda? I’ll have one too, Sanjay, and how’s that hot boyfriend of yours? Anyway, Jess, where was I? Oh, the bunny. It was just right there in the middle of the path, blinking up at me.”
“A bunny? Like Thumper?”
Lizzie nods. “He’s precious! He’s got these long ears and the tiniest pink nose. I think someone must have lost him. He’s totally tame.”
“He’s in your apartment right now, isn’t he?”
“Only because it’s so cold out!” Lizzie says. “I’m going to call around to all the local schools on Monday to see if any of them wants a classroom pet.”
Sanjay slides Lizzie’s drink over and she takes a sip. “What about you? Anything interesting?”
For once, I had a day that could rival hers, but when I start to speak, the words on the laptop screen float before my eyes: By entering this study, you are agreeing