Page 19 of Please, Sir

The door opens, and Leah’s head appears. She smiles at Jo Jo, then says, “Oh, I’m sorry, I was just here to speak with Miss Rivers but if she’s helping you, I can come back.”

Jo Jo’s eyes cut to mine as she replies to Leah. “That’s okay, Ms. Mitchell, Miss Rivers isn’t helping me at all. Notone bit.” With that, she chucks her backpack onto her shoulder and pushes past Leah, into the hall.

Leah steps inside cautiously, today’s bright mauve suit and flashy rose gold necklace only a temporary distraction.

I fight the wobble in my bottom lip, and when Leah softly places her hands on top of my shoulders, I lose the fight and erupt into tears.

“Ahh, Ry,” she soothes, pulling me into a hug that reminds me so much of my mom’s hugs that my tears amplify. Leah strokes her hand down my hair, and quietly says, “Teenager hormones are evil, aren’t they?”

I nod, and pull back, reaching for a tissue off of my desk. I blow my nose as Leah inspects her suit jacket, making sure none of my tears left a mark.

“I had a bad call with my parents last night,” I admit, because being defeated by a freshman cheerleader in my third year of teaching is too embarrassing to be believed, even if Leah is my friend before she’s the principal. “And then Jo Jo was just… so angry with me.”

Leah sifts through the mints on my desk, finding a wintergreen. She untwists the plastic wrap, tossing it into the garbage before leaning back, dropping the mint into her mouth. “They’re all moody. Don’t worry about it.” She levels a stare my way, her lips twitching as she says, "Besides, it's the parents that hate you, not the students, remember?”

I laugh, and get to work fixing my makeup using the compact I keep stashed in my cheer bag. As I talk, so does Leah. “You know how I said not to respond to those angry parent emails, by the way? Well, I think I’ve come to a solution on how we handle them.”

“We?” I ask, swiping Everlast Mascara on my lower lashes.

Her smile reminds me of a villain with a plan. “Part ofyour untimely response to emails was the fact that you were conferring with the school principal.”

“Ahh, and what did we decide on?” I ask, blotting at the pink spots on my cheeks with the foam pad dipped in powder.

Leah’s face grows serious, determination carved into her expression. “A newspaper article, but of course.”

The rest of the day is a little bit better thanks to Leah.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

“C’mon Jo Jo,if you want a ride, you gotta get your tail in gear. I got somewhere to be this morning,” I tell her through the bedroom door after knocking for the third time. I head down the hall to the kitchen, topping off my travel mug with a bit more liquid life.

Jo Jo appears at my side, holding her mug out. Without a word, I fill her mug too and watch as sheadds milk and ungodly amounts of sugar. I almost want to ask her if it even tastes like coffee anymore, but think better of it.

“Alright, c’mon,” I tell her as she sifts through the fridge, stashing snacks into her cheer bag. “We gotta go, Jo.”

She slams the door shut, and bottles of half-used salad dressing and jars of olives clank together inside. “Don’t worry, you’ll get to Dr. Tanner on time.”

Heat flares in my cheeks, and I focus on buttoning up my plaid shirt, then shoving the tail in my jeans, buckling my belt. She knows I still see Dr. Tanner? I’ve never outright mentioned it, despite the fact he’s called to confirm appointments over the years. Still, she ignores me mostly and has never said a word.

“Oh so when it’s your life, you don’t want to talk about it, but when it’s mine, it’s fair game?” She pops the lid on her mug of milk and sugar with a splash of coffee and flips her hair behind her shoulder. Her dark eyes gleam up at me. “By the way, I don’t go by Jo Jo anymore.”

I place my hat on my head and stuff my wallet into the back of my jeans, snorting at her comment. “No? What do you go by? Sunshine? Sweetheart?” I lightly tease her, nudging her with my elbow. She jumps away from me like my elbow is acid. She shirks away from my touches all the time, and even though it happens often, still always stings. She used to want to spend time with me, beg for my hugs, run to my open arms. And now she doesn’t even want me to use her real name when I talk to her.

“Wh-what do you want me to call you now?” I hedge, turning to the vitamin cabinet where I dig out an antacid and chew it up.

“Lene.” She slings her backpack over her shoulder, propping open the garage door with one booted foot. “I’ll be in the truck.”

WhenI first started seeing Dr. Tanner, I thought it was temporary. I thought I was just collecting as much good information and advice as possible for the years to come, and that he and I were nothing more than a situational relationship born from tragedy.

But now, ten years later, I still see him twice a month and the truth is, I don’t think I’ll ever feel ready to stop seeing him.

It’s gonna sound like bullshit, like something every man says when it’s discovered he tells all his feelings and problems to a shrink, but the truth of it is, I’m not there for me.

Well, not my own problems, I mean.

Well fuck. What I mean to say is that I see Dr. Tanner because I have no idea how to communicate and properly take care of my daughter. Sure I can put a roof over her head–one she complains is too far from town, and I can keep her fed–not saying she doesn’t complain about the food I make, and I can keep her alive. But taking care of her emotional health? Her mental health? Making sure she has someone to share thoughts and feelings with, giving her a place to come with problems and worries? I can do that, but I can’t make her accept me, I can’t make her open up to me. And for that issue, I have Dr. Tanner.

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