Sadie shook her head. “That test was ridiculously easy. I think I got a hundred.”
Meredith smiled. She’d expected as much. “Okay.” She raised a finger to her lips and pressed. “You lost to Dad in Parcheesi again last night?”
Meredith could see the beginnings of a smile. “Yeah, right,” Sadie said.
Meredith’s next guess would have to be closer to the truth, and then she’d have a chance at getting Sadie to spill. She remembered @SadeeLux and the exaggerated close-ups her daughter had posted, her deliberate rule breaking. She took another slow breath in, akin to the ones she’d just demonstrated. “Something happened on Instagram?” She tried to keep her voice low-key. Sadie’s eyes clouded; her Parcheesi smile faded.
“That’s closer,” she admitted. “But I still don’t want to talk about it.”
Thinking Mother advised “following your tween’s lead.” Meredith forced herself to lean over her daughter’s prone body and offer a cuddle. As much as she hated to do it, she’d leave the conversation here, to show Sadie she trusted her judgment.
Plus, she could smell the ginger from downstairs. The stir-fry would be done.
“Dinner!” called Bill just then.
“Come eat,” Meredith said.
* * *
NEITHER MEREDITH NOR Bill had any luck with Sadie over the tofu. Sadie diplomatically relegated the protein to the sides of her plate. She then politely refused Bill’s offer for a Parcheesi rematch, and when her apps went off at nine p.m., Sadie glumly plugged her phone into the kitchen outlet.
“Sure you’re okay?” Meredith asked for the umpteenth time.
“Mom.” Sadie rolled her eyes as she shuffled back to the stairs. “It’s normal.”
Maybe so, thought Meredith, but she should still check Sadie’s phone. Once her daughter had been in bed for fifteen minutes, Meredith began looking at texts and then @SadeeLux. At first, everything seemed fine. The same. In today’s post on Sadie’s profile, Sadie and Mikaela stood next to one of their lockers, duck faces and arched eyebrows. Sadie had thrust her hip out in the affected way of influencers and red-carpet celebrities. At least Sadie’s and Mikaela’s torsos were covered.
Meredith clicked on the little paper airplane in the upper right corner of Sadie’s feed, the one that took her to direct messages. Her shoulders immediately tensed as she read the first thread. There was a message from @TedBaller420 in all caps. “SLUT.”
Meredith blinked rapidly, her body frozen. “Bill?” she called, her voice not loud enough to reach him in his study, where he’d retreated after Sadie went to bed. She’d tell him in a minute, when he was out. Hands shaking, she screenshotted the message and then clicked into @TedBaller420’s profile.
It had to be Teddy Sullivan. As the page loaded, Meredith swallowed against a flash of nausea. Meredith had known Teddy since preschool. She’d laughed at his bright, Kennedy-esque smile and his slapstick sense of humor. This little kid, Sadie’s lifelong friend, had called her a slut? No wonder Sadie was sobbing.
The photos on @TedBaller420 were all Teddy’s. He’d posted a soccer selfie and a sunny group photo from the homecoming game, that same night Sadie had also burst into tears.
“Bill?” Meredith said louder.
“One minute,” he called. “Just hitting send.”
Meredith felt faint. She walked to the dining room and collapsed into a chair. She stared at the surface of the burlwood table, the grain irregular and undulating. That was how Alice had described it when Meredith had asked her advice on what to get. She had sent her to a Room and Board outlet and insisted Meredith use Alice’s industry professional pricing. “Elevated,” Alice called the table when she’d come over for a glass of wine the night it was delivered, and then she’d forwarded Meredith three choices of fabric for the chairs.
Meredith thought about texting Alice now, sending her the screenshot of Teddy’s message. But what the hell would Alice do about it? She couldn’t very well send three options for making it right. Teddy could never take back what he’d written. And it wasn’t as if Alice had any control of him. Ever since the end of sixth grade, and maybe even longer, the kid had been in a slide. He’d been free-falling toward delinquency without any of the usual parental checks. Alice had more in common with Nadia, Meredith realized, than with her.
While she waited for Bill—one minute was always closer to ten—she opened her email and began composing a message to Jason Whittaker.
Alice Sullivan
Why are you being so weird?” Teddy asked on Thursday morning. They’d gotten up early, and Alice had promised him a donut and Starbucks, her most reliable bribe, if he went to the therapist—to Julienne’s office—without complaining.
“I’m not being weird.” Alice whipped her head to the left to check for oncoming traffic. She thought back over the morning and wondered how she’d tipped Teddy off. She’d tried so hard to keep it together, despite the tumultuous week that had left her feeling constantly dizzy.
Yes, she’d cried a couple of times. She’d have told any of her friends they were justified in their tears if they’d had the week she did. She’d lost it after the NextDoor post and then again after the text exchange with Nadia on Wednesday afternoon, but she’d been careful to sob only in the bathroom with the shower running. The kids couldn’t have heard.
And of course she’d feverishly scoured Facebook for more pictures of Julienne, but only after her kids were asleep. They didn’t know about their nana’s secret. And, perhaps most importantly, Alice had deleted the browser history that showed her searches related to sociopathy in adolescents, the ones that had left her breathless and sweaty.
When Patrick showed up on FaceTime in the evenings for quick chats with them all, Alice applied undereye concealer, but still her husband could tell she wasn’t quite okay. “I know this is hard,” he’d said to her after he had talked to each of the kids. She had tried to downplay her misery, but last night, she’d wiped a few tears before they’d said good-bye.
“I am so sorry about this stupid trial.” He’d reached toward the screen, as if he could touch her face via Internet.
Alice had shrugged. “We always knew it would be like this.”
They hadn’t known, though, that the Energy Lab trial would coincide with Teddy’s meltdown and Alice’s mother’s revelation. And in the dark alone, with Patrick in Cincinnati, Alice imagined Teddy falling in line with each and every bullet point she’d read in the articles about adolescent sociopaths. Google said, actually, that it wasn’t “sociopathy” but rather “conduct disorder” in kids, but that didn’t make the reality less alarming. “Withdrawn,” she recited to herself before she fell asleep at night, thinking of the first criteria. “Unremorseful.” It was true that Teddy never seemed to feel completely sorry for the embarrassment he’d caused Tane.
“You’re being super weird,” he muttered now in the car on the way to Green Haven. “Is it because you’re making me go to therapy?”
Alice passed the McDonald’s where she and her mother took the kids too often. Even in the winter, she went at least once a week for a sundae. This time, she did a double take when she saw the familiar pink graffiti on the drive-thru order box.
“I know, right?” Teddy said. “That shit is everywhere.”
“Language,” Alice said. “And therapy is a good idea for everyone.” Alice had already used this line three or four times with Teddy.
“Then why don’t you go?” Teddy asked.
They’d been down this road, too. “I have gone at times in my life. Your grandmother is a therapist.” She resisted a sideways glance at her son. He’ll put me back in therapy, she realized, this child whom she used to understand so well. Plus the Energy Lab case that was turning her into a single parent. Plus insulting and alienating her closest friend via text. Plus Julienne. Plus spying on Julienne. Alice shoved that last thought out of her m
ind. She deserved a little head start after being lied to for her whole life. She’d worry about how to explain herself after she decided whether Julienne was, at the basic level, a good person.
“You know you can’t make me talk, right? The counselor—Dr. Martín? She can’t make me talk.”
“No one can make you do anything.” Alice accelerated onto the highway. “But I can buy you a donut if you play along.”
* * *
“ALICE SULLIVAN,” SHE said, smiling at the young man at the reception desk. She looked over her shoulder at the empty lobby, glad there weren’t any witnesses. This early appointment—the emergency slot—had its benefits.
Alice had called her mother the night before, just to be sure that Julienne didn’t have any identifying information about Alice’s family. “I told her I had to wait until you were ready,” Alice’s mom had repeated. “I’ve been calling you A.” She’d sounded imperious about it, righteous, as if she hadn’t kept Alice in the dark for a full thirty-seven years before this week.
Alice’s mother had a way of explaining highly emotional situations in an utterly detached manner. “I’ve decided to divorce your father,” she’d said, for example. Alice could still hear the coolness in her mom’s tone, could still see her pushing her hair matter-of-factly behind her ears on that long-ago Saturday morning. Then her mom had launched into a summary of the finances that made it possible for them to stay in the house even though Alice’s dad had already left on a “business trip” from which he’d never return. Alice had been twelve herself then, she realized. Though she’d agreed to monthly calls with her father after the split, it had been nicer with him living in Nashville, hours and hours from daily contact.
Alice glanced at Teddy beside her. She couldn’t imagine leaving him at this point in his life, speaking to him only for a few hours each year. “Right!” said the receptionist in Julienne’s office. “I remember talking with you on the phone. I’m Griffin. Thanks for coming in after all. And this is Edward?”
He looked at Teddy, who blinked at him, silent.
“Teddy,” Alice said to Griffin, when her son didn’t speak up. “That’s what he goes by.” She opened her palm and gestured toward him, as if presenting him in a pageant. She instantly regretted it and shoved her hand into her jacket pocket.
“Great.” Griffin pulled a piece of paper from a tray next to his computer and attached it to a plastic clipboard. “Intake.” He handed the form to Teddy. “Dr. Martín will be right with you.” Alice eyed a Keurig in the corner. “Help yourself to beverages,” Griffin said.
Teddy dropped the clipboard on a chair in the waiting area and headed straight to the machine.
“Your form,” Alice whispered.
“Hot chocolate,” Teddy said, full volume.
Alice wondered how many parents found themselves in public arguments with their kids here.
As Teddy shoved a pod into the machine, Alice looked at the questions on his form. Teddy would have to write about his interests, times he’d felt successful. Alice sucked in her breath when she got to the section about family history. “Are your parents married or divorced?” the questionnaire asked. And then, “Do you think their relationship is good?”
What would Teddy say about her marriage? What would she have said about her mother’s?
“Mom?” Griffin called to her from the desk, and Alice jerked her head up. “That form is just for Teddy, okay?” She flipped the clipboard over, embarrassed. She hated being called “Mom” by other adults in front of her kids. “I’ve got another form for you, actually, that you can fill out while Teddy’s in session.” Alice’s heart fluttered. She hadn’t imagined the part of the morning that would include Teddy being alone with Julienne while she waited outside.
The phone on Griffin’s desk rang then, and Teddy plopped down in the chair next to her. She could smell the sweetness of his hot chocolate. Meredith, she knew, would be thinking about the drink’s corn syrup and hydrogenated oil ingredients, but Alice felt resigned. It was smart of Julienne to give the kids sweet drinks in the lobby, ply them for their openness.
“Teddy?” Alice jerked her head at the familiar voice and gaped at the woman who’d appeared. Julienne Martín sounded exactly like her mother. Her hair, that familiar blond, was pulled back in a low ponytail. She wore glasses with dark plastic frames, but the glasses were really the only difference between her mother and Julienne. Julienne’s eyes, her smile, her stature and posture—all of it was uncanny. Alice blinked four or five times, shocked.
Teddy was on his feet. “I didn’t do this yet.” He grabbed the clipboard.
“It’s okay.” Julienne smiled at Teddy and then peered at Alice. “We’ll go over it together. Mrs. Sullivan?” Alice resisted a flinch.
She’ll know, Alice thought, but she willed herself to her feet. She twisted her mouth into a smile. “Hello.” To her horror, her voice broke, and she realized she might cry.
“This way.” Julienne turned, ignoring the emotion. She’s probably seen it all. A therapist wouldn’t be surprised by her tears, though Alice hoped to hide them from Teddy. She looked down at Julienne’s shoes as they moved into a hallway behind the lobby. She wore those flats Alice had seen advertised on Instagram, the ones made from recycled water bottles. Alice had considered buying a pair for her mother’s birthday the previous spring. They were exactly her style.
Julienne’s office smelled of lavender and oranges, and Alice fairly collapsed into the love seat that Julienne indicated. Despite their unnerving physical resemblance, Julienne’s office was nothing like Alice’s mother’s old one. That had been a small room at the back of their house with an entrance off the porch. Alice had grown up hearing muffled voices through the walls.
“Okay,” Julienne said. She sat in a wingback chair upholstered in an understated neutral houndstooth. Stylish, Alice thought. She glanced at the floor lamp over Julienne’s shoulder, a brass parabola with a linen drum. Alice had used a similar one in a client’s guest bedroom a year ago. Teddy slurped his hot chocolate beside her. “I usually do a few minutes now with us all together,” Julienne said, “and then Teddy and I will talk for about forty minutes more. At the end, I’ll bring you back in and we’ll plan next steps.” She made a mark on her notepad. “Sound good?”
Alice glanced at Teddy, who’d raised his eyebrows at her over the top of his drink. “Yes,” Alice said for both of them. “Sounds good.” She’d started sweating, and she shrugged out of her coat.
Julienne’s eyes twinkled as she smiled at Teddy. “I’d love to hear from you. What brings you in today? Are you willing to share?”
“It’s not my choice.” Teddy put his cup on the coffee table in front of the love seat. Alice looked for a coaster, but there weren’t any. There were, she noted, rings from other beverages marring the table’s surface. “But I got in trouble at school, and I’m suspended, and my mom said we had to come here. If I behave, I get a donut.” He smirked at her, and Alice ducked her chin to her chest.
“Okay,” Julienne said, unfazed. “And Teddy, have you ever seen a counselor before? Ever done any therapy?”
Teddy shook his head. Julienne made another mark on the clipboard, and Alice wondered when they’d get to the marriage items she’d seen on the questionnaire. “But my grandmother is a therapist,” Teddy offered.
Alice coughed and looked up. She hadn’t considered that Teddy could give identifying details about his nana while they were here.
“Would you like some water, Mrs. Sullivan?” Julienne asked. “There’s some in the lobby. I could just . . .”
“No.” Alice shook her head. “I’m fine. So sorry. Call me Alice.” She glanced at Teddy, who curled his lip at her. His expression reiterated his query from that morning: Why are you being so weird?
Julienne looked at her notes. “Alice, why don’t you talk a little about your goals for Teddy, and then he and
I can get started.”
Alice had been so focused on her own goal of getting here—getting a head start on Julienne—that she hadn’t thought about her hopes for her son. She wanted him to get back into school, obviously. She wanted him to be the kind of person who cared about others, who didn’t take pleasure in humiliating his peers. She wanted him to appreciate her, to be honest with her. “I just want him to be okay,” Alice said finally, her voice wavering again. “I want him to be a good person.”
She felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes and swiped them away. Teddy picked up his hot chocolate and lowered his nose to the rim of the cup. She realized her comment made it seem like he wasn’t a good person already, but she couldn’t think of a way to backtrack.
“Thank you.” Julienne smiled at her, and as she did, her eyes crinkled in exactly the same way Alice’s mother’s always had. The right side of her mouth smiled more than her left, a quirk so familiar that Alice felt faint.
“Why don’t you wait in the lobby,” Julienne said, standing. “And Teddy and I will get to know each other.”
Alice thought again of the marriage questions on the form. Julienne would have a complete picture of her through Teddy’s eyes, before they’d even met in a normal way. And when they did meet in a normal way, Alice would have to admit that she’d put Teddy’s treatment at risk in order to spy on Julienne. It was no wonder Teddy struggled. Alice was basically delusional. She was the one who needed a therapist.
Still, what could she do in the moment? Alice tried to smile at each of them as she walked out, though her whole face felt bruised.
Teddy Sullivan
Look,” Dr. Martín said after his mom had left, “I know you don’t want to be here. No one wants emergency therapy.” He looked up from his hot chocolate. “But together, we can work to help you get what you do want. What is that, do you think?” Her glasses slipped a little on her nose, and she pushed them up.
Are We There Yet? Page 13
