“What I object to,” Bridget spits out, “is this woman you’re running all over New York with.”
“Running all over New York? Hardly.”
“What do you call this then?” She shoves her phone at me again.
This photo shows Lotus and me on Jane’s Carousel. We’re laughing in the shot, and I almost smile again at me looking so big and ridiculous on that carousel despite the awkward situation I’m in now. The poster’s caption: “Don’t see this every day.” #KenanRoss
Bridget must have been trolling me and searching by that hashtag on Instagram. I want to hurl her phone into the nearest wall.
“May I see?” Dr. Packer asks and accepts Bridget’s phone. “What’s the problem?”
“You said we shouldn’t get involved with other people,” Bridget says testily.
“No,” Dr. Packer replies. “I said you should be careful how it’s introduced to Simone. I admit Instagram isn’t the best way, especially given the past . . . drama that came through social media.”
Bridget clears her throat at the mention of all our trash strewn in the streets via her antics.
“But these photos could be interpreted as mere friendship, too,” Dr. Packer says. She turns her attention to me. “Is this just a friend, or is she someone we’ll need to introduce to Simone eventually?”
Here’s the moment of truth. I could deny it and get Bridget off my back. I could delay this and see Lotus discreetly—avoid this altogether for another few weeks.
Except I don’t want to.
I want to be more than friends.
Lotus’s sweet, husky words have haunted me since Saturday.
Don’t look away.
“We’re seeing each other.” My voice is strong and sure like my feelings for Lotus, and I’ll be damned if I’ll lie about them, about her, to satisfy Bridget’s misplaced, too-late possessiveness.
“I knew it,” Bridget says hotly on an expelled breath. “At the restaurant. You and her in the hall. I saw the way you looked at that little—”
“You will not talk shit about her,” I say with quiet fierceness.
Bridget blinks, her blue eyes startled. It’s silent for a moment while she and I assess each other, neither backing down.
“I think we take this one step at a time,” Dr. Packer says, snapping our stare-down. “Do we want to introduce . . . what’s her name?”
“Lotus,” I say.
“We have several things slated for today’s session,” Dr. Packer says, glancing at her notes and then back to us. “Do you want to add introducing Lotus?”
“Simone has a big recital,” Bridget says sharply. “Let her get through that before we give her unpleasant news like this.”
“It’s not unpleasant news. I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“Are you fucking her?” she demands, eyes icy.
Dr. Packer’s gasp is the only sound in the room.
“That’s none of your business,” I reply, controlled in spite of the fury clawing at my belly. “And not appropriate for you to ask me here, or anywhere for that matter.”
I stand and head for the door.
“I’ll bring Simone in,” I say. “Since we’re obviously done here.”
Simone joins us and starts talking about dance and her new friends and all the things that seem to be going better in her life. It puts me somewhat at ease. It’s only when I feel Bridget’s baleful gaze on me every few minutes that I wonder if maybe we aren’t done here at all. Maybe the drama with Bridget is just beginning.