Page 6 of Afterglow
“It’s too broad.”
Mleh mleh mleh mleh mleh mleh.
Well, is it narrow enough for you yet? I focused this document’s scope to hell, and now I’m so tired?—
“Behraz?”
Oh, right. That’s the third part. Paying attention to my mentor.
“I know it’s a lot to take in.”
Uh oh. I missed something. Which is on-brand for me, honestly. A woman meets with her mentor to discuss her academic woes and can’t even stay focused.
“Sorry, I lost you.” I sent her a nervous smile. “Could you repeat the last part?”
The worried wrinkle between Dr. Ahmad’s stunning eyebrows deepens. “The results of the assessment, Miss Irani.” Her tone is kind, but firm as always. “Along with your difficulties in processing written language, you have moderate to severe ADHD.”
I laugh, which shocks her. What else am I supposed to do? The fact that it took me two months and twelve tries to finish the assessment should have been a pretty heavy indicator.
My throat clears, and I straighten. “So now what?”
Her perfect brows rise slightly. “There are a few things. I know a clinical psychologist on the faculty who specializes in ADHD in adult women. Dr. Sharon Gill. It would benefit you to work with her, figure out a course of therapy or treatment, and possibly get a referral to a psychiatrist, in the case you need a prescription or?—”
“Right, right.”
Therapy. Treatment. Meds. Got it.
“Then you can ask for accommodations from the Law Society of Ontario, based on what Dr. Gill recommends…”
Is she sure I’m not just stupid? Like, who fails an open-book exam three fucking times?
“…You can take the exam again, you know? If they agree to the accommodations?—”
“If—?”
“There’s a whole process. It is a bit involved, but?—”
Of course, it is. Why would anything be straightforward?
Maybe I’m not meant to be a lawyer. Maybe I should go back to being a legal secretary. I was decent at it. It wasn’t terrible money. At least I could afford rent.
“I know you can do it, Behraz.” Dr. Ahmad leans toward me, sliding over a file containing the assessment results. “You’re incredibly intelligent, and you could be an outstanding lawyer ifyou want to be.” She pauses, concern weathering her expression. “Take the help, Miss Irani.”
“I appreciate you saying that. Thanks.” I collect the folder and tuck it into the vintage-style brown leather briefcase I splurged on before law school.
She checks her watch and stands. “I’ll email you Dr. Gill’s contact information after my next meeting.”
I’m halfway down the street when I realize I forgot to ask her what this would cost. The school covered the assessment, but what about the rest of it? My savings account has already been hemorrhaging from this ridiculous career dream of mine.
I swing the bag into the basket of my propped bike against the rack. My hand gets stuck while I’m fishing my keys from my jeans pocket to unlock it, and when I finally remove it with a grunt, the force of my pull launches it across the path, slapping an innocent passerby on the face.
The man is too stunned to speak.
“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.” My feet betray me, tripping over themselves when I scramble to grab the keys from the cement. I faceplant. Or boob-plant rather. Right over his shoes.
“Jesus,” he mumbles.
“Sorry, sorry.” I skitter back on my knees, waiting for him to move so I don’t somehow take him out when I stand. Spatial awareness isn’t my strong suit, and fresh bruises are evidence of it.
