“Yes, I’m ready.”

“Good.” She clasped her hands together. “We’ll start with a few simple questions to see what we’re dealing with. Mrs. Statham—I mean, Denise—what do you hope to accomplish by these sessions?”

“I want my son to respect me again...I want him to welcome me back into his life so we can start over.”

“Okay...” The therapist jotted down a few notes. “And what about you, Jonathan? What do you hope to gain from this?”

“I have nothing to gain from this...Maybe just to be able to sit in a room with her without yelling. That would be sufficient enough.”

“See?” My mom crossed her legs. “That’s exactly what I was telling you about earlier, Doctor. He only hired you to make himself look good, to make it seem like he’s trying, but he’s really not. He doesn’t give a damn about me, he—”

“Have you told her how many times you’ve relapsed? How many times you’ve been in and out of prison? How you technically should be in prison right now?”

“Damnit Jonathan! I’m trying to make something of myself! I’m working really hard! Stop holding my past against me! I’m—”

“Calm down, Denise.” The therapist handed her a glass of water. “Jonathan, we don’t need to start pointing fingers or assigning blame at this stage. We need to start by taking things very slowly. Surely there is something you want to gain out of these sessions.”

I leaned back in my chair and thought long and hard. “I don’t want to be angry with her anymore.”

“Great! That’s a good start. Now Denise, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to answer it as truthfully as possible. Jonathan, please don’t interrupt...Why do you think you and your son don’t have a good relationship?”

My mother looked at me and sighed. “I had Jonathan when I was twenty-five...I wasn’t ready for a baby but I did my best with what I had...Me and his father were working three jobs each just to make ends meet and before we knew it, we had another child, a baby girl...One day while we were going over more overdue bills, a few of his friends came over and asked if we wanted to try some meth—to stop stressing out so much you know? We both did it and—”

“They went from users to chronic users to two of the most sought after meth dealers in the whole state of Ohio. It’s a very heartwarming story.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m thinking about turning it into a Christmas play.”

“Jonathan, let her finish...” The therapist sighed.

“Anyway,” my mother said, “I was a horrible mother...I know that, and I’ve owned that but...I was on drugs...I wasn’t myself. I didn’t mean to leave my kids hungry or neglect them...It’s completely my fault that they were taken away from me, but I’m clean now and I want a chance to be the mother I should have been back then.”

“Very good start, Denise. Jonathan, how do you feel about what your mother just said?”

“What do you mean ‘how do I feel’?”

“How do you feel? Do you think she’s sincere?”

“My mother has been clean for what? Two months now? By the end of this month, she’ll be back in rehab and won’t even remember that this session happened—which is quite fitting, because you’re not the first therapist I’ve hired and she doesn’t remember any of the other therapists either...So, I feel rather...I feel nothing.”

“She apologized for leaving you and your sister hungry. She—”

“The word ‘hungry’ implies wanting something to eat—knowing that it’s only a matter of time before some type of food is placed in front of you. My mother did not leave us hungry. She left us starving. We went days, sometimes weeks, locked inside our trailer with just rice grains to eat. It wasn’t until I realized that I could climb out the window and get to the dumpsters that I realized what the word ‘hungry’ meant.”

There was silence.

The therapist took off her glasses and looked back and forth between the two of us. “Okay, we clearly have a lot of work to do over the next few months....Let’s take a break and reconvene next week. Okay?”

“Great.” I stood up and offered a hug to my mother. Even though I was beyond furious with her, I always made a point to do that, just in case she relapsed before our next encounter and I wouldn’t see her for another eight months.

“Do you want to get dinner tonight?” She hugged me back. “We don’t have to say a word to each other. We could go to one of those restaurants that plays movies. We never watched any movies together...”

And we probably never will.

“Maybe some other time. I have a date tonight.”

I parked in front of Claire’s house and hit my emergency brake so my car wouldn’t roll down the hill. I’d been meaning to ask why the hell she’d bought a house at the top of a slope; it didn’t seem safe.

“You’re early...What type of car is that?” She texted me.

“A Murcielago. The meeting was cut short. Take your time getting ready...Wear a dress.”

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through a few of my emails, skimming through most of them. I’d been receiving at least five hundred a day since word got out about my company going public. I’d even had to hire a temporary email consultant to sort through them all.

This IPO is going to be the death of me...

I looked up and saw Claire locking the front door of her house. I stepped out of the car and walked over to the passenger side.

“Nice pantsuit.” I laughed. “I actually like this one.”

“Thank you. I figured I’d wear the outfit you liked me in best.” She slipped into the car.

I walked back over to my side and sped away.

“Where are we going today?” she asked. “Did you shut down Ocean Beach so we could eat there?”

“Would you like me to?”

She shook her head and smiled.

“We’re going to Pittsburgh Rivers.”

“What?” She paled.

“Pittsburgh Rivers. It’s a specialty restaurant a few miles from here. They have themed meals from the city. I was hoping you’d be able to suggest some things for me to try since that’s your hometown.”

“Oh...”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She turned her head towards the window. “I’m fine.”

I pulled into the parking lot minutes later and looked at her. She hadn’t said much of anything on the drive over. She’d been strangely quiet and hadn’t given me any of her usual sarcasm.

“Are you sure that you’re okay, Claire? We don’t have to eat here if you don’t want to. We can go to my beach house or—”

“I’m sure. I’m just a little tired...”

I knew she was lying, but I decided not to push the issue any further. I helped her out of the car and led her into the restaurant.

“Good evening, Mr. Statham. Right this way.” The host greeted me as soon as I stepped inside and ushered us into a private room.

The walls were painted in murals of all the popular Pittsburgh landmarks—Heinz Field, Cathedral of Learning, Carnegie Museum—and I thought Claire would start chatting about them, but she didn’t say a word.

“Welcome to Pittsburgh Rivers, San Francisco’s own version of the great city of Pittsburgh,” our waiter said. He pulled a few menus from his apron and looked back and forth between us. “Will you two require a full or a half menu tonight? The Hot Metal Bridge special is only available on the full one.”

“Full.” I noticed Claire wincing.

“Fine choice. I’ll bring out those menus right away sir. Would you be interested in the chef’s special wine? It was imported directly from a French winery.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a wonderful wine, a hand-pressed 1975 Bordeaux and—”

Claire started coughing and stood up. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’ll be right back.”

“No, thank you...” I watched her saunter off. “We’ll have your best champagne.”

“Yes sir.” He walked away.

I scrolled through my emails again, waiting on Claire to rejoin me at the table, but twenty minutes passed and she never returned.