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At first glance, the women don’t seem to have anything in common. The blonde is all rigid lines; her back doesn’t touch the cushions of the stuffed armchair. The other woman is clearly nervous—her hands are twisting in her lap, back and forth and back and forth—but she manages a nearly-genuine smile and says, “Thank you so much for seeing us. We really appreciate it.” She’s softer, more comfortable in the cozy environment created in the office.
The blonde, if anything, stiffens even more.
“Of course,” Dana says with a smile. “Why don’t you two introduce yourselves? Which one of you is Jane?”
The brunette woman gives her a small wave. “That’s me.”
“So you must be Petra,” Dana says to the blonde woman. She responds with a curt nod. Her eyes are fixed determinedly on a spot somewhere above Dana’s head.
“Why don’t you tell me about yourselves, your relationship? I’ve heard a little from Jane over email, so why don’t we start with you?” She nods in Petra’s direction.
Petra’s eyes widen beyond what should be physically possible for a human being. It looks like panic. Her voice is tinged with something like faux-impatience when she says, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Dana smiles, crosses one leg over the other, adjusts her notepad on her lap. “Whatever you’re comfortable sharing right now. Whatever seems relevant.”
There’s a long pause, and finally Petra says, “Jane and I met when I was…” She trails off before she can get anywhere useful.
“Married to our mutual baby daddy?” Jane supplies.
Dana politely contains her surprise; it’s not the most absurd thing she’s heard in twenty-five years of practice. And Petra is watching her closely for—something. Signs of judgment, maybe.
“Well, if you want to put it that way, yes. My daughters and Jane’s son share a father.”
There’s another pause. At this point Jane jumps in to say, “Ms. Mobley, there’s a lot of complicated backstory here. It might be easier if we talk about what’s happening now, and explain the background as needed. If we told the whole story, we’d be here all night.”
“Of course,” Dana says. “I think that’s wise.” After a pause, “What is happening now?”
“It’s…” Jane begins, and then trails off.
“Complicated,” Petra finishes for her. Her eyes are fixed on that spot on the wall again as she carefully says, “We’re…involved.”
“And something’s causing some problems in this, ah, relationship?”
“I mean, we’ve always had problems,” Jane says, a little abashed. “There was a whole kind of…arch-nemesis thing going on, at one point.”
Petra snorts, still not looking at either of them.
“Petra?” Dana prompts.
She seems hesitant to speak, but then she looks at Jane and rolls her eyes. “Arch-nemesis? Come on. You don’t think that’s a little dramatic?”
“You tried to steal my baby,” Jane says.
“I wouldn’t have actually kept him,” Petra grumbles, as if this were an argument about a favorite sweater and not a child.
Dana interjects, gently. “I don’t think we need to focus on semantics right now. Can we talk about a more recent issue?”
Petra says, through gritted teeth, “Jane thinks I’m a bad mother.”
Jane sighs. “I don’t think you’re a bad mother, I just think you’re kind of a…disciplinarian.”
Petra’s hands form fists at her sides. “Well, I’m sorry that I’m not nice.” She spits the last word like an insult. “I’m sorry I don’t have a mother and a grandmother to teach me how to be a good parent, I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you—”
Dana raises a hand, and Petra—somewhat surprisingly—stops. “Let’s go back to that.”
“Back to what?” Petra snaps.
Dana pauses, just long enough that this conversation doesn’t start to sound like an argument, and says, “Your family. You mentioned Jane’s—where is your family?”
“My mother is in prison.” She takes a gulp from the plastic cup of water she filled on the way in, and then says, “For pushing Jane’s grandmother down the stairs.”
“She broke a hip,” Jane supplies.
“My mother is…”
When she doesn’t speak for a long time, Jane suggests, “Abusive.”
“Not—not abusive, just—”
Petra doesn’t seem to have another word for her relationship with her mother.
“What about you, Jane?” Dana asks.
Jane shrugs, uncrossing and crossing her legs. “My mom was a teenager when I was born. I always felt a little like her mom, in some ways, but…she and my abuela were always there, and I always felt…” She hesitates. “…loved.”
“So that’s an important difference, isn’t it?” Dana says. “Being loved?”
Petra stands up and leaves the room. The door clicks shut behind her.
Dana writes some notes, and then looks up at Jane. “Will she be back?”
Jane nods. “She just doesn’t like people to see her cry.”
It’s only a few minutes before Petra returns, with a fresh coat of makeup and only a faint tinge of redness on the end of her nose. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I just—”
“It’s okay,” Jane says immediately.
“Why don’t we let Petra speak, Jane,” Dana suggests, soft but firm.
Petra sits back down in the chair, heavily this time. She looks Jane in the eyes for the first time since entering the room, and says with perfect clarity, “You love me.”
Jane makes a move to reach over, to touch her hand, but Petra shakes her head. “Yes,” Jane says. “I do.”
The tremulousness seems to suggest that this is the first time those words have been spoken in this way.
“And your family,” Petra says. “They do too.”
Jane nods.
“I don’t know how to do that,” Petra says.
“Do what?” Jane asks, brow furrowed. She looks genuinely confused, like she has no idea that what Petra’s going to say next is, “Be loved.”
She does say it. Jane folds her hands in her lap again because she can’t reach out, and she says, “You can learn.”
Petra shakes her head stiffly. “I don’t know if I can. Or if I could ever love someone back. I’m—the girls—”
She doesn’t seem to be able to say any more. She’s not crying, but Dana offers her a box of tissues anyway, and she takes it.
“Petra,” Dana says, “Would you be willing to come back on your own occasionally? I think sessions with Jane will be helpful too, but you have a lot to process here.”
Petra sucks in air and lets it out again. It sounds painful. Her jaw is set in a tense line, but she nods and pulls out her calendar.