How Not to Cry in Public & Other Victories

By Jean Stringam

How far would you go to find your family? They could be amazing, or they could be people you don't want to know. When the evidence doesn’t add up, and without a reliable guide, seventeen-year-old Brenna makes mistakes in judgment that cost her dearly. Who knew hunting for your birth parents could be hazardous to your health?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9780985554095

Book preview

ONE

FREE-FALL

BRENNA’S PLAN would change everything, if only her uncle would agree to it. She saw his silver sports car pull into the high school pick-up lane and started whispering, Say yes, say yes, say yes.

Bobbi stopped talking to her other friends and said, What? in her most annoyed you’re-interrupting-me tone.

Sorry I can’t offer you a ride, Bobbi. We’re celebrating, Brenna said, stepping into the car. As they pulled away from the school, Brenna watched in the rear-view mirror as Bobbi’s mother drove up. She was nice, in a limited sort of way, and Brenna had learned loud and clear what the limits were way back in fifth grade.

Her Uncle Douglas had assured her things would change as everyone matured. Brenna often wondered whether maturing meant your perspectives became broader, or if your preconceived opinions just got deeper. It might be useful to ask an adult in your life that question. She looked over at her uncle, considering. Not today. A question like that could make him go vague, which she hated. She needed an alert and attentive uncle to hear her brilliant plan for their life.

Was that a fond farewell with Bobbi on the last day of school? he asked, with half a smile.

She’s tipped me onto the friend list.

What does she want?

Me to be a counselor at Camp Green Link with her.

Are you going to?

I told her I’d let her know tomorrow.

How will one more day change your first impression?

I thought I should run the plan past my dear Uncle Douglas, since he’s so highly opinionated about my life.

But so accommodating to your every wish.

Yes, he is. And so handsome and clever that he should have found himself a wife by now.

Don’t start. I’m on my lunch hour. How about Free Fall on the corner by my office?

With the ambience of a pogo stick in a thunder storm.

But their sushi is good.

Okay, let’s do Free Fall, but I’ll always hate the name. I mean, who in their right mind would choose that name for a restaurant situated in the middle of the financial district of a world capital?

Sort of like the title A Boy Named Sue for a cowboy tune. Johnny Cash made a fortune on that song and I suspect the Free Fall turns a healthy profit.

A dangerously uncool name in America’s saloons. The song was one of her uncle’s favorites from some prehistoric era. Sometimes on a road trip she’d find it on a golden oldies station and he’d always sing along. He was singing it now in a furry baritone, the words drifting away into the air.

Where did you learn it?

Maybe it was the gentle breeze wafting around his neck. Maybe it was the liberating effect of the sunshine of May on his face after a long, dark winter in a big city. Maybe it was a way to leap the chasm. Whatever it was, he said, My dad used to sing it to us.

Every nerve in Brenna’s body went on alert. Her uncle would never talk about his family. Ever since she had come to live with him, she had questioned, prodded, coerced, cajoled, stormed, sulked, pleaded, and begged—all at varying levels of sophistication depending on whether she was five or fifteen—but as soon as she began, he’d go blank. Vacant. His mind would leave the room. Yet here he was, actually volunteering what his father’s favorite song was.

Brenna knew she was pressing her luck, but despite the thumping of her heart she managed to ask the next question rather smoothly. Where did your dad grow up?

The West.

Brenna had filed away every bit of information about her relatives ever since the day her mother deposited her on her uncle’s door step, a sign around her four-year-old shoulders, a small suitcase on the pavement beside her, and clutching a worn teddy bear in both arms. Today’s item might not seem much to a casual observer, but Douglas had just admitted to having a father who had a favorite cowboy song and had sung it to a plural number of children. Of course, that could mean Douglas and his sister, Brenna’s mother. But it didn’t rule out other siblings, aunts and uncles. Cousins!

Douglas skirted traffic that had double-parked illegally in front of the restaurant. Apparently her uncle’s brief lapse into nostalgia was over. Give it up, she said. There’s never on-street parking at noon. Why not use your reserved stall?

What? he asked absently, and then nosed the convertible into the correct lane, as though entering the parking complex was a brand new concept and not an action he did on a daily basis.

Brenna thought this was strange behavior. Which explains why you were circling the block instead of automatically entering your stall at the bank? Her uncle was preoccupied, halfway between vague and angry, which was an unusual mix for him. He didn’t usually do the angry bit. But she couldn’t quite identify what was going on in his middle-aged mind.

His voice hoarse with tension, he said, As soon as I park in the corporate slot, I have to be the corporate man. I have to think corporate! Eat corporate! Sleep corporate! Die corporate, if they tell me to! His knuckles whitened with an intense grip on the steering wheel and the big vein bulged in the side of his neck.

Down the elevator and onto the street, Brenna weighed Douglas’s anger and wondered at the short transition from singing the dumb cowboy song to being an angry international investment banker. They slid onto stools at the chrome bar and Brenna glanced from wall to wall, checking the iconic photos of freefalling humans. A motorcyclist flinging himself across 14 buses, a lean and long ski jumper in an Olympic uniform, a couple embracing in the free fall before their parachutes opened, and her favorite—a cliff diver from Acapulco at night with a torch in each fist.

The décor of the restaurant was engineered to look like various kinds of metal, even if it was really plain old plastic. Weirdest of all, the music was an eclectic mix of every possible taste in the world. They played European symphonies, golden oldies, indie rock, Broadway tunes, Italian street songs, reggae, Strauss waltzes, gangsta rap, Chinese folk instruments, Native American drumming, hard rock, German lieder, all mixed together. If you stayed long enough, you got an earful of every cultural group in the world. Dislocating.

Brenna studied the menu hand-written on white boards between the over-sized photos. It’s impossible to position yourself with any accuracy in this place.

How does anybody figure out how to position himself in this world? We’re all inaccurate all of the time.

"But you know exactly where you are at a burger place, or at the bagel stand, or at a fish and chip shop. At Free Fall you don’t even know what country you’re in because the music is in 41 languages. The menu changes absolutely every day, so you can’t come in and order the usual. Nothing is ever usual here."

They sat in silence, as they tasted their crab bisque. The photos are meant to be so enticing, Brenna went on. Like jumping out of a plane into a free fall toward earth at 120 mph is something we all want to do.

But you don’t? Douglas asked.

I object that I’m supposed to want to when I walk in here. The truth of a free fall is smashed bones and a brain turned to jelly.

Only if your parachute doesn’t open.

That’s my point.

Maybe Free Fall is a metaphoric reminder to the banking district to protect the hopes of all people everywhere.

Does anybody but you get it?

Well, I am quite remarkable, he said, and laughed dismissively.

I’m trying to wrap my mind around a banking district sensitive to metaphor.

We’re immersed in irony all day long. Why not salt it with a little metaphor?

Douglas ate his lunch with the same intensity he would have used on the corporate earnings statement and Brenna decided now might not be the best time to open up a whole new set of plans. She liked meeting him for lunch at any place he suggested, even the Free Fall, and didn’t want that to change.

Since they never engaged each other in chitchat, his silence over lunch today evoked no sense of foreboding.

TWO

BRENNA’S PLAN

BRENNA’S INNOVATIVE IDEA for her senior year needed perfect timing, and the frame had to bolster her own courage as well as persuade her uncle. A tricky combination.

Maybe an end-of-the-school-year feast would do it. She opened the ‘fridge and hung on the door a few minutes. Nothing much inside to give her inspiration. She left a voice-message at the bank for Douglas not to bring anything home for supper because she was cooking. And then she wondered whether that was an incentive to hurry home or a deterrent, since her culinary skills were still fairly basic.

She grabbed some bills from the file labeled Groceries in her household accounts drawer, stuffed them in her wallet, and leapt down the stairs, waving Hi! G’bye! to the building super, Vince.

Bobbi called while Brenna was standing in front of the fresh produce displays, and Brenna let it ring. Being off the tip-list for a few hours was undeniably pleasant, and it might be fun to talk over the hypothetical counselor position at Camp Green Link. She was about to call back, when she caught herself. What was she thinking! Bobbi was a concrete sequential thinker. No hypothetical brain cells in that body. She’d expect an answer, yes or no.

Brenna loaded a paper sack with some brown mushrooms, fingered through the fresh ginger root for the right size, found a small head of bok choy, placed packages of snow peas and carrots in her cart, and then moved to the sea-food aisle. The meal was starting to look a lot like stir-fry, she realized. This would not surprise her Uncle Douglas. He was very aware that stir-fry was about the only thing she did really well. Oh well, she sighed, it would be somewhat interactive. Douglas likes to help by chopping the veggies.

Brenna stared at the shrimp on beds of crushed ice, trying to decide on the size. Finally she asked the clerk to wrap up some of the giant prawns. They were a good match for this amazing idea that had sprung from her head suddenly, full-grown, one morning in early spring. It was the time of year when the winter was imperceptibly letting go, yet all the hope you had for spring was your faith that it came every year. She was initially astonished at the simplicity of the new idea. I will graduate from high school a semester early and spend the next six months traveling with my Uncle Douglas. Simple. Simple and amazing.

Since her uncle was addicted to facts, she spent the rest of the spring collecting data to impress him. She now had an array of maps, brochures, timetables, school transcripts, summer school catalogs, and cost estimates, all in preparation for the day when Douglas might be ready to hear her proposal.

The grocery bag handles bit into Brenna’s hands as she trudged home. Vince, the building super, was off somewhere on another floor and she set the heavy bags down in front of the elevator. One scenario she had considered for approaching Douglas was when they were playing Mud-Raiders, their favorite electronic game. But it had been months since he’d accepted her challenge. Each night he came home more tired and tense than the one before. On the weekends, during the few hours he was at home, he never let down his guard, never showed a glimmer of the droll and candid uncle she knew.

Brenna had anticipated a slow sell for her plans, but the time for that was over. As she fumbled with her apartment key, she tried to pinpoint why it had been a bad winter for Douglas. It wasn’t coming to her. She unloaded the grocery bags and began to wash the vegetables for the stir-fry.

She heard the elevator open and close. That meant Douglas was too tired to walk up five floors, but it didn’t necessarily mean he was too tired to listen. She set the table while he changed out of his suit and tie and into a shapeless black T-shirt and some wretched grey sweat pants old enough to vote. He kept a whole dresser full of equally unattractive casual clothes and his niece’s unremitting ridicule seemed to make them even dearer to him.

Hey, I’ll start the wok so we can get to the eating part faster. He smiled, a rarity these days, and she handed him the olive oil.

When the last sugar pea was gone and Douglas seemed about as relaxed as he was going to be, Brenna took a big breath and made the plunge. Douglas. My cool, clever, Uncle Douglas . . . she began.

He looked at her expectantly, a smile just beginning to curve the bottom of his lip. It was a sort of ritual opening between them. If he was about to ask her to please get to PE class on time because he didn’t want to sign any more excuse notices from the school office, he would begin, Brenna. My cool, clever, Niece Brenna . . .

Listen, Douglas. If I register for summer school once more, instead of taking a minimum wage job like all my friends, I will be able to graduate from high school a semester early.

Good for you, he responded and pushed a little further away from the table, crossing his knees and turning towards her. You can get on with your general education requirements. Get them out of the way. By the way, what major are you considering these days?

Brenna was tempted to say Anthropology of Antarctica just to see him gulp, but it might derail the conversation. She didn’t know how much of his attention she could count on tonight, and she wanted a chance to make her case.

Yes, the major of the month . . . well, I . . . actually, I . . . I’ve been thinking of . . . What if I were to . . .

Don’t worry, Brenna. Your education fund is right on target, ready for heavy use any day now. Douglas took her stammer to mean she wanted to enter university a semester early and wasn’t sure about their finances.

Brenna looked up at him, trying to find words that would both express her gratitude and gently convey that she wasn’t even remotely interested in registering at a university this coming January. No words came out.

Douglas saw she was struggling and explained, I have a separate account ready for your education. Tuition isn’t part of your household budget, you know.

Brenna heard the concern in his voice. I know that, Douglas. Thanks. You’re so sweet to me. He fidgeted a little, which meant he was internalizing the compliment. She threw her arms around him in a hug. You’re the handsomest, kindest, smartest, suavest uncle in the city.

Suavest isn’t a word.

She disengaged and sat down opposite him, smiling broadly. True, unless in reference to my Uncle Douglas.

Don’t use it on your entrance essays.

I’ll try to refrain.

So, what universities have you applied to so far?

A few. I considered early entrance for a while, but I just can’t do it, Douglas. I want a change. Something new in our lives. He raised his eyebrows, and she knew she had his full attention. Brenna took a deep breath and continued. When fall semester ends, I want you and me to head out. Disappear from our old lives. Douglas looked at his hands, quiet. So Brenna went on. We’ve had the same routines day in, year out, ever since I came to live with you. We’ve known what to expect from our lives, more or less, for the past twelve years.

He looked up with half a grin. Children need routine and structure. I read it in a book.

And you gave me that. Thank you. When Douglas waved away her thanks, Brenna hurriedly added, Listen, Douglas, we’ve had the same routines year after year, and . . . But as much as Brenna wanted to direct the conversation toward her charts and maps, the folders full of information she’d collected, she was equally fearful of his refusal. Maybe she could come at it from a different angle. We’re having birthdays this week you know.

He gave a dismissive snort. You think I don’t remember details? That’s my entire job. I’ve been relegated to detail clean up! He caught hold of himself and redirected. Took a deep breath. I’ve already blocked out next Saturday for our annual birthday trip to the zoo.

You’re the best uncle!

Douglas thought the conversation was over and strolled into the small office off the living room. Sat down at a very large desk stacked with a mountain of files of papers and lists. He insisted they were meticulously organized, but Brenna never snooped and wouldn’t know. He opened a file. She’d lost him!

Brenna stiffened her resolve and followed. Douglas, I want a break from this thirteen-year routine.

He sighed and pushed his chair back so he could look at her. So you said. She didn’t often interrupt his work in the evenings. Longer for me. This coming summer I’ll have spent twenty years of my life in international banking.

Does that mean you’re ready for a holiday?

We take holidays, Brenna. I’m not like the Senior VP over my division who hasn’t taken his family anywhere for the last twenty years. I don’t think he remembers his own kids’ names! But you and me? We’ve been to Venice, Belize, Machu Picchu, Costa Rica, Malta . . .. He was ticking destinations off on his fingers. Brenna knew he’d run out of fingers before countries.

She pulled up her courage and ratcheted her energy level to major twinkle. She’d try to prevent him from pulling away into his vague stare. I know, I know. We’ve had the coolest trips ever! She threw her arms around him again and continued, Because you’re an amazing uncle who never loses his cool like my friend’s dads do . . . and because I manage money very well.

Brenna released her grip-of-desperation hug, glancing at him long enough to make sure he was still following her lead. Lately it felt like she was talking to him in headlines—catchy title, punchy lead, one supporting statement, and then check if he was still with her. Yes, he was half smiling, watching. What I’m thinking of is completely different from our usual nine-day escapes. She could see he was still engaged. When my fall semester ends at Christmas time, I want us to take a six-month break. Hike around the world. Sail the oceans. Forget the worlds of work and school!

Six months! It came out in a whoosh of air, half a sigh and half an exclamation.

Yes. Christmas to June, or even August. Back in time for me to start university.

And how would we pay for this extravaganza?

I’ve been saving out of the household budget. That would give us a start, anyway.

His eyebrows shot up. How much have you saved?

Enough. That’s what happens when you buy on sale and give up designer dresses, she said with a toss of the head.

He pushed back from his desk a little further and grinned. So it’s couturier I’ve been seeing around here. They were both well aware that Brenna had never bought designer anything in her whole life and her scantily stocked drawers held only a few cotton knits and a little denim. Do you have any idea how much money you’re talking?

Brenna had known that would be the first question a banker would ask. Yes, I have estimates right here. She presented him with a professional looking binder organized into sections. Finances had color charts and pie-graphs. Destinations contained brochures from travel agencies and full-color printouts from the Internet. I’m sure I could find food and lodging to about equal our existing monthly budget if you could match what I’ve already saved for transportation.

How would we manage on a budget like that?

We’d alternate stays in hostels, pensiones, and bed and breakfasts with a four or five-star hotel when we feel like it. She felt expansive. Maybe even the occasional yurt!

What!

Okay, no yurt. But there are places you can rent camping equipment.

I spent all the time I ever want to spend in a tent when I was a Boy Scout.

Brenna’s ears went on alert. One more piece of personal history. But she knew enough not to say something like Where did you go on your Boy Scout trips? He’d just go silent. Brenna needed them both to stay on topic. But the point I’m making is that our best vacations are never 5-star extravaganzas. Remember when we hopped aboard that mail packet in Norway? The spectacular landscapes as we trolled up and down the fjords visiting remote little islands? Remember all the unique crafts we found? The wonderful food?

Douglas remembered. They had endured spine-wrenching beds to enjoy some of the best meals ever cooked. Then flew from a little town near the Arctic Circle back to Oslo and home. They’d had the time of their lives.

Brenna did her best to paint the picture of six months of similar carefree bliss. Douglas’s mouth twitched around the edges, then spread into a grin. Still looking at her, he sat back and laughed. A laugh like Brenna hadn’t heard her entire junior year. A laugh that cleared out his lungs, emptied his heart.

Brenna grinned, hope flooding her body. Here was her Uncle Douglas, sitting in his own living room, laughing to the bottom of his soul. A laugh that boded well for the success of her plan.

He sobered and sat straight up in his big desk chair. Specifically, what universities have you applied to?

Where had that come from? She tried to come to grips with his 180 shift. Had he been laughing because the six-month trip was ridiculous? Or was he laughing because it was too wonderfully tempting and he’d better set up some harsh reality because life couldn’t be that good?

I haven’t heard from a couple of my first-place preferences, so I guess I didn’t make their early enrolment list.

Maybe not, but you still might hear from them on regular admission.

Maybe. Douglas needed his daily diet of facts and she was prepared to deliver as many as it would take to convince him. It’s not a problem, though, because we can have our mail forwarded on a month-to-month basis with specific pick-up addresses at reliable hotels. What do you say, Douglas?

His face was pale and grave. Brenna could see the fatigue creeping over him. In his mind he’d already finished the conversation. His internal processes were focused on a chasm far, far away from her. He said, Let’s think on it. Good night, Brenna.

Brenna was grateful for that much.

THREE

THE TIP-LIST

THE NEXT MORNING Brenna lay awake in bed, eyes closed, while the quiet place in the back of her mind whispered that something pleasant was waiting for her today. What it was hadn’t come into focus yet, but sunshine had awakened her instead of her alarm clock. She listened for sounds of Douglas stirring around. Silence. Then she remembered what was in the happy spot. Last night she had made her pitch for the six-month trip and it was now a maybe.

She stretched every muscle, one by one. This had been a bad year for her Uncle Douglas. She didn’t think hardening of the middle-aged arteries was at work despite his carelessness about exercise. Rather, it was his compulsive penchant for work. He had no hours in the day to do any of the basic physical or interpersonal activities that promoted good health. The only good thing about it was that all his gross old casual clothes sat unused in his dresser drawers.

Her phone rang. Bobbi. She’d better answer this time. Hey.

What did Douglas say?

The stir-fry was good.

Brenna! You know what I mean! About working as a counselor at Camp Green Link?

"He said, Oh."

"What does, Oh mean?" Bobbi tried to imitate a response she hadn’t heard and it came out a snort.

He needs more time to think about it. I told you I’d call when I had some answers.

Well, I just thought . . . and well . . . if you can’t, I’ve got to get somebody else.

Hold off for a couple of days, okay?

Call him at work.

No.

Come on, Brenna. This isn’t fair.

I never call him at work. You know that, Bobbi. Name one time in the last eight years when you’ve heard me call him at work! Brenna left messages on his work phone, but she had never once asked to speak to him at work. They had made a solemn agreement about that on the first day of school in first grade. When she badly scraped her knee in second grade she gave the school a wrong work number for him. The nurse called it every half an hour and he was never there. Imagine.

Bobbi?

Silence. Bobbi was sulking. Her father ran a company of his own that sold IT expertise to large corporations. He had told her she could call any time she liked. Which she did. Frequently. Her mother was an accountant for the family company and told Bobbi to check in frequently. Bobbi did. Just about every hour, by Brenna’s calculation. It worked for their family, but it didn’t for hers.

Brenna addressed the sulk going on. I’m in a spot here, Bobbi. I want to do two really great things, but I have to choose one of them.

So what’s this other plan?

Brenna’s tongue froze to the back of her mouth. Her plans for spring term were in such a delicate stage of their life that they couldn’t bear discussion with an unsympathetic ear. Uh . . . I can’t say . . . I mean . . . it’s kind of private still . . .

So, it’s too private to tell your best friend?

What? Brenna responded to this increase in status like she’d been stuck with an electric prod. Bobbi was loading up the bid. Brenna drew reason around her shoulders like a favorite sweater, and her mind raced through the past results of best-friend status with Bobbi. 1. It was not a secure position. She could be ousted at a moment’s notice without apparent cause. 2. There were few benefits. No paid vacations, no medical advantages since emotional counseling was not included. Certainly no possibility of retirement-with-bonus at the end of the school year.

Bobbi heard the silence and broke it. Hey, let’s get Ginny and go shopping, she said. I need some khakis for Camp Green Link.

Brenna was ready for a peace offering and agreed to meet them. She toasted a bagel and poured herself a glass of cranberry juice, and tried to put all the negative aspects of the phone call with Bobbi into a kind of non-toxic holding bin. Better yet, she’d focus on the up-coming zoo excursion with Douglas, a tradition she loved.

Their birthdays occurred within a few days of each other in early June, Douglas’s coming first. They had begun the birthday-trip-to-the-zoo tradition the first year she had lived with him and they had continued it ever since. At first the big draw was seeing how all the baby animals at the zoo were progressing. Then it became an occasion when at last she had her Uncle Douglas trapped with her for a whole day. He seemed to forget work and she could talk to him about anything she wanted.

The year she was nine she had announced, This birthday zoo trip is like New Year.

Why is that?

Because the old school year is finished and the new summer is about to start. She pulled off her backpack and laid out two pieces of paper and two pencils. We’re going to write down three ways to make the coming year better.

What kinds of things do you want to change?

Oh, like you should wear nicer clothes after work.

What about you?

I’ll learn how to read a cookbook better.

Okay, Douglas said, and began to write on his piece of paper.

Brenna added, But they have to be private.

Douglas agreed, and they both continued writing. Brenna’s hand shielded her paper from view. Douglas left his paper exposed.

Now we fold the paper. Pretty soon we begin to change into the people we want to be.

But we need a Regrets Tree.

What’s that?

A Regrets Tree is where you hang all your regrets from the last year.

How?

Like this. Douglas tore apart each of his three sentences, folded each little word strip in half, then half again. Now, you make a hole in each piece of paper and tie a string through it. Then you hang it on the branches of a little bare tree.

I didn’t bring any string.

Best of all, you light the whole tree on fire and all your regrets go up in smoke. That’s what we did in my family.

Brenna considered this solemnly. That is a good thing to do with regrets. I know! The monkey cages have some dead trees. But they will kick us out of the zoo if we hang our regrets in a monkey cage and then light it on fire.

Douglas had smiled broadly and cuddled her close.

Maybe we could eat the papers, Brenna said, popping one into her mouth. She chewed for a moment and pulled a face.

Not very healthy—eating one’s words, Douglas had said.

Brenna had looked up at him and saw that he was staring grimly past the monkey cages. He was talking about two different things and she wasn’t one of them. She tugged on his hand.

He looked down then. Spit out the paper, Brenna. I have another idea.

It tasted nasty and she spat it out. Gross!

He began to rip the word strips into tiny pieces. Help me, he invited her. Brenna let hers fall onto her skirt, and when Douglas began to drop his on top, she held out the edges of her skirt to form a little bowl to hold all of the bits of paper. He lifted her up, face forward, in front of him. Brenna held onto the edges of her skirt and her uncle maneuvered her to the nearest trash barrel. Holding her above it, he instructed, Let go of all our regrets, Brenna. She let go of the skirt edges and a shower of tiny white paper bits fluttered into the trashcan.

That’s what we do with regrets, he said, setting her feet on the ground. They had resolutely turned their backs on the regrets in the trashcan and had walked away toward the giraffe enclosure.

Brenna checked the kitchen clock as she wiped the counter clean. Time to leave for Bobby’s house. Lucky she didn’t have to do anything with her hair. It was only a few inches long and curled wildly in every direction. Sleepover parties in elementary school always involved cutting each other’s hair. Bobbi and Ginny’s bangs had gotten shorter and shorter until they looked like little mustaches at the top of their heads. Then everybody had taken turns cutting Brenna’s hair at various spots all over her head, but nobody’s cutting made much of a dent on it. Indestructible hair.

Brenna rang Bobbi’s doorbell. Bobbi immediately opened the door and snapped, You’re not really planning to be a counselor, are you?

Well, hello to you, too.

But I can tell you’re not, really. You’re just not telling me you’re not.

Honestly, I don’t know what Douglas will decide.

Yeah, right.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Whatever.