Chapter 39: Negotiation

Chapter 39: Negotiation

Saturday, January 9, 1982

We arrived at Dr. Stanton’s about 2:15pm. Slightly early, but a couple phone calls had resulted in Dr. Stanton moving the meeting up a little. She didn’t have a 2pm this Saturday. I walked back with her and settled in my favorite chair.

“How was your vacation?”

“It was great. Both California and at home.”

“What did you do?”

“Let’s see. Hollywood — one of those bus tours, and a lot of walking around. Universal Studios. Magic Mountain. Three days of Disneyland, including Christmas. Knott’s Berry Farm. Santa Catalina Island. Also, dinner with Nancy the day after Christmas.”

“And how was that?”

“Good. My heart didn’t explode, we didn’t sneak off for a reunion, nothing like that. Just very close friends. I explained my relationship with Jasmine. It amused her.”

She chuckled. “I think that it amuses most people who know.”

“Probably so. And speaking of which, Jasmine and I went on a date last night. With Lexi.”

“Who is Lexi?”

“Another Drama girl. Good friend of Jasmine’s.”

She chuckled a bit harder. “And?”

“All that happened with Lexi was Pho King.”

She blinked. Twice. “I’m ... oh. Noodle soup.” She smirked a bit.

“Jasmine’s favorite restaurant. I’ve been having too much fun with the cross-language pun. I know it’s getting near its expiration date, though, don’t worry.”

“So, just soup?”

“A lot of ‘getting to know you’ conversation, and a kiss that probably meant we’ll get to know each other even better.”

“And Jasmine approved.”

I shrugged. “She got a better kiss. They already know each other even better.”

“Of course. Anything more about the trip?”

“We took the train both ways, that was fun. Otherwise, I think pretty much we’ve covered it.”

“Sleeping arrangements?”

“You know.” I laughed. “Nothing to report, no change, and yes, we’re still reporting.”

“I think that, by this time, it’s not a surprise that that’s what I expected, all the way around. As I’ve said, and perhaps against my better judgment, I trust you two to approach this maturely.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

“How’s the rest of your life?”

“Stressful. Not in an ‘I need help’ way, but, stressful. And it’ll just go up. I no longer have free nights much of the time. That’s a trip note I didn’t mention; Angie and I are taking a Dance and Movement class for the spring. That’s Monday and Wednesday. Karate Thursday, study group Sunday and Tuesday, tournaments half the Fridays and Saturdays. Add rehearsal to that. It starts out 7-9 Mondays and Wednesdays. They’ll add Thursday later. And some Tuesdays, but we’ve made it clear we can’t skip group.”

“That sounds busy. Let me know if you need help in dealing with the stress. That is part of what I do. It’s even an actual service, unlike a lot of this. The most obvious thing to drop is Karate, but then Karate is also a good stress reducer.”

I nodded. “That’s how I feel, too. Oh, in other news, we got a Happy New Year call from Candice. I know I don’t need to report every contact with her, but she was nearly the same old Candice. Of course, I know that’s not true, but it’s mostly true. She brought up that it was the one-year anniversary. She didn’t seem upset by that.”

“Good. Anniversaries are tough; the first is the worst. She seems to have sailed through it just fine. She has an excellent support system, though. A lot of kids would have parents who weren’t as willing to set aside the rest of their emotions and simply support her. Or friends who were as willing to put her completely first. Or all the rest.”

I nodded. “It’s always been about what’s best for her. For everyone.”

“Anything else? Why do I have the feeling there’s something?”

“Last time, we discussed whether we were space aliens.”

She blinked, then chuckled softly. “So?”

“No.”

She sighed. “I can’t say I’m not sur...”

“No, we’re not space aliens.”

She blinked. “I didn’t mean that literally. We’re still talking?”

“Still talking.” She looked a bit excited.

“I want to stick with that analogy, though. Since I’ve stated clearly that we’re not space aliens...” She chuckled a bit more at that. “ ... I want to stick with it as if we were.”

She blinked. “I’m not sure...”

“Imagine that we are, in fact, completely human-looking space aliens. A dissection would say we’re human, but we insist we’re not. And maybe we can tell you some things your average space alien might know that your average human wouldn’t. But — unless you believe space aliens are inherently bad — we’re not a threat to ourselves or others; we function normally; all that. So, we’re not on the mandatory reporting list. And since there’s no physical difference, well, it’d be hard to prove we even are space aliens, even if you believed they’re inherently bad.”

She bit her lip, tapped her pen. Thought. Probably the longest pause I could remember from her. Finally, she spoke. “You’ve clearly thought things through. Which, of course, doesn’t surprise me. What do we do?”

“Let’s stick with the analogy. Obviously, we don’t want Mom, or Dad, or anyone else to know, but, for our own alien reasons, we want to talk to someone. Maybe our ship’s broken. Who knows? Anyway, imagine that, either for good reasons, or because we’re fucking nuts...” She laughed at that. Loudly. “ ... we’re paranoid about confidentiality. Now, I know that no confidentiality agreement with us is worth anything, because we can’t consent to treatment.”

She nodded. “No surprise that you’ve been doing your research.”

“What we’d like is two-fold. First, an updated agreement with Mom that says that you can only share things covered by mandatory reporting, or that Angie and I agree is okay to share. For obvious reasons, that new agreement wouldn’t affect reporting on our behaving or lack thereof, and you’re welcome to report changes in what you can report with respect to that. It would be a lousy outcome for Mom to lose faith that we’re behaving. And really, look, what we need is a bubble. The strange things related to being completely human-looking space aliens stay in the bubble, protected by confidentiality. Well, and your desire not to look like two ordinary human kids have hoodwinked you into believing they are, in fact, space aliens.”

She nodded, chuckling again. “Obviously, reporting works to your benefit, too. We all know that. And I see the issues. I believe we can write an agreement that creates a bubble, though it’s more that everything is confidential except the things we specifically waive. So, you said two-fold?”

“I did. I’ll get to that. My point really is that we want Mom potentially in the loop, at your professional discretion, except for when it’s space-alien-related.”

“I appreciate the trust. And, I really mean that.”

I smiled. “The second part is a contract between us and you that specifies that we’re entitled to damages if anything gets out. While we can’t consent to treatment, a contract itself is enforceable as long as we are in treatment.”

“I will say that it had better be something I actually want to know about,” she laughed. “But if it only covers disclosure of things outside of mandatory reporting, I think it’s safe. You can’t tell me you’re serial killers or the like; I’d have to report that. So, it can’t be harm to yourself or others, abuse, incest, any of those things. Which you know. And I believe your Mom would sign that.”

“She doesn’t have to sign the contract; she shouldn’t even know there is a contract. All she knows about is the updated confidentiality agreement. If that’s what you meant, I agree, I think she will.”

“Ahh. Right. Yes, that’s what I meant.”

“We’re both fine with you telling Mom that we simply want to be sure about opening up because some things we say might affect Mom’s opinion of our friends or us and that you’re able to make sure that’s all it accomplishes.”

“I can do that. I’m very curious.”

“So, that’s the setup. The actual discussion needs to be a separate session, one we will both attend. For obvious reasons, even having a separate session is itself problematic, relative to Mom. So, we would prefer an entirely separate session. We can pay for it, of course.”

“Of course you do, and you can. Why should that surprise me? When?” She sounded eager. No surprise there.

“Ideally, Tuesday after school, anywhere after 4 and done before 7. We think it’ll take a couple hours, though.”

“That much? I suppose I’m not surprised. I don’t believe I have anything then. Let me check.” She picked up her phone, conferred with her receptionist, blocked off the time, hung up. “Yes, we’re clear there. Tuesday at 4:15?”