Page 11 of Dying to Meet You

We follow the doctor into her regal office.

Zin shrinks away from her while sitting in one of the overstuffed leather office chairs. Her voice is almost indiscernible as she answers, “Zinnea.”

“Speak up, please. No need to watch your volume here.” She circles the desk to set her glasses on it. “I’m hoping we can be friends.”

Maintaining my composure, I speak up, “Her name is Zinnea, and I’m her guardian, Eden Bradford.” I stand to shake her hand, but she still disregards me.

Again, addressing Zin, she says, “We only have two hours a week together. To make that helpful, you will need to talk. Loud enough for me to hear you. Do you understand?”

I don’t like her. My initial misgivings are only fortified by her off-putting sternness. Also, could she at least acknowledge I’m in the room?

I clear my throat, continuing, “Dr. Almari? Could we start over here? Maybe ease into this differently. Zin-”

She cuts in, turning to glare at me. “Do you need a moment?”

Floored, my mouth opens and closes a couple of times. She may be in the running for the top three rudest people I’ve ever encountered. Considering the life I’ve had, that’s saying a lot.

She sits on a leather chair angled towards Zin, addressing me in an icy tone. “This appointment is not for you. You are not my patient.”

Still shocked, I manage to say with a slight shake to my voice, “With all due respect, Doctor, I’m her guardian. She’s a child, and when she needs an advocate or someone to speak on her behalf, that’s my role.”

Zinnea sits up suddenly, looking between us. Then in a strong, clear voice, she says, “My name is Zinnea Abbott.”

A reptilian-looking smile flits across the doctor’s face while ignoring everything I said. “Good. I think we’re going to do great work together.” Her tone switches to dismissiveness with me. “Wait in the lobby.”

I don’t move for a solid minute or two, debating whether I should grab Zinnea’s hand to leave while flipping this old bat a one-fingered salute. “The lobby,” she says more firmly, pointing at the door.

What happens next must be a side effect of the shock. I get up and move robotically to the well-appointed lobby, sitting next to an espresso machine while staring at the rainbows made on the wall from the crystal chandelier. What an absolute bitch. How is this helpful to Zinnea? Maybe Dr. Wallen made an error in judgement; money seems to blind him at times, hence his long-standing relationship with the Lassiter family, who are as crooked and evil as they come.

Counting in fives and fantasizing about an outstanding clap-back at the doctor, I wait out the hour-long appointment. The nurse from earlier calls me over to her desk. “Dr. Almari is asking you to step in while she has your daughter return to the lobby.”

Oh, by all means. Anything her highness wants.

I don’t bother being courteous when I enter the office, standing a foot inside the door. She doesn’t seem concerned that I’m not taking a seat. “Dr. Eden Bradford,” she states, her tone belying some disgust. She caps her pen while looking up at me. “I could have your license pulled.”

“What?!” I should have honored my impulse earlier to leave.

“I don’t know how you were licensed in this state to begin with. I make a point of looking into all the parents and guardians who bring kids to me. Do you understand the wordethics?”

My freaking spine reasserts itself. “Excuse me? Ethics? You do see the irony of asking me that when you just told me you were digging into my business, right? What type of moral principles doyouhave?” My face is red-hot. I can feel my heart pounding, but I don’t stop. “You could ‘have’ my license pulled in the state of New York, huh? Does that mean I could use the people I know to put you out of practice? It wouldn’t be a loss to the behavioral health field. Your demeanor is atrocious.”

She’s not the least bit humbled or put in her place as she retorts, “The people you know? Like the Lassiter family heir? Was that the reason you became involved with a certain patient during your grad school study? Must’ve been blinded by the dollar signs.”

I’ve been accused before of engineering our relationship by strangers who don’t know us. I had no idea who he was; she’s just trying to work me up. Taking a calming breath, I attempt to fix my facial expression. “Dr. Almari, under the circumstances I think Zinnea would be better off seeing another psychologist.”

I’m halfway through the door when she says, “No. You’ll bring her back on Thursday at the same time.”

The gall of his woman. “Why would I do that?”

Turning back to meet her eyes, she gives me a cold look. “If you don’t, I will see to it that all the children in your home are removed.”

I regret not recording our conversation. She’s gone directly from terrible to horrendously vile. “Y-you…” Stepping back into her office I close the door before saying, “On what grounds?”

“Ms. Bradford…or is it Ms. Davis?” No one has called me that in years. I don’t miss her dropping the title of doctor from my name. “I don’t care for people like you. You think you're entitled to do as you please in the name of past trauma. You’ve violated patient-doctor boundaries by carrying on a romantic relationship with not one, not two, but,” she sneers at me, “three patients. You must’ve paid someone to get your current job at the Horizon Wellness Center, because you don’t even bother to show shame for your egregious behavior. Now, you’ve pulled three more small children into this situation. Caleb Smith, Keir Marcus, and Hutton Lassiter could not see through your wiles, but I won’t allow the Abbot children or even your children, to suffer in that environment.”

“Cross…His last name is Cross, not Lassiter. Furthermore, no court system would ever remove our kids from us. They’re loved and well cared for.” How is this happening right now?

“You’re nothing but an abomination. You were never meant to exist.”

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