One Tiny Lie A Novel

high-pitched voice as I turn to see the distinguished-looking man in a well-tailored suit step into the room. I haven’t seen Dr. Stayner in person in two and a half years. He looks basically the same, if not for a bit more gray in his hair, which he has a bit less of, in general.
    He shrugs. “It’s Saturday. I told you that we’d talk today.”
    “Yeah, but you’re here . And it’s seven a.m. !”
    He glances at his watch with a frown. “Is it really that early?” And then he shrugs and throws his arms up in the air, his eyes lighting up with genuine excitement. “What a beautiful day!” As quickly as they lifted, his arms drop and his calm tone returns. “Get dressed. I have a conference in the city that I have to get back to by noon. I’ll meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes.”
    Before turning to leave, he spots a disheveled but curious-looking Reagan in a rumpled tank top and pink pajama bottoms. He holds out his hand. “Hi, I’m Dr. Stayner.”
    She accepts it with a weary frown. “Hi, I’m Reagan.”
    “Ah, yes. The roommate. I’ve heard so much.”
    From whom? I haven’t talked to him since . . .
    I sigh. My freaking sister . Of course.
    “Make sure Livie socializes, will you? She has a tendency to focus too much on school. Just keep her away from those Jell-O shooters.” Not waiting for a reaction, he walks out as briskly as he walked in, leaving my new roommate staring at me.
    “Who is that?”
    Where do I begin with that answer? Shaking my head as I swing my legs out of bed, I mumble, “I don’t have time to explain right now.”
    “Okay but . . . He’s a doctor? I mean, is he . . .” She hesitates. “ Your doctor?”
    “For better or worse, it would seem.” I want nothing more than to pull the covers over my head for a few more hours, but I know that if I’m not down there in thirty minutes, he’s liable to march down the hall shouting my name at the top of his lungs.
    “What kind of doctor is he? I mean . . .” She’s twirling a strand of her long hair around her fingers. Nervous Reagan is a rare sight.
    I open my mouth to answer but stop, an impish idea coming to me. I still owe Reagan for the vodka shot she practically forced down my throat last night. . . Pressing my lips together to hide my smile as I rifle through my dresser for a pair of jeans and a shirt, I say calmly, “Oh, his focus is primarily schizophrenia.”
    There’s a pause. I don’t look, but I’m sure her mouth is hanging open. “Oh . . . well, is there anything I need to worry about?”
    Grabbing my toiletry bag, I walk over to the door but make a point of pausing as my hand closes over the knob, looking up as if deep in thought. “I don’t think so. Well, unless I start to . . .” I wave my hand dismissively. “Oh, never mind. That probably won’t happen again.” With that, I quietly slip out the door. I make it about four feet before I burst into giggles, loud enough that someone moans, “Shut up!” from a nearby room.
    “I’ll get you for that, Livie!” Reagan shrieks through the closed door, followed by her howls of laughter.
    Sometimes humor does make it better.

    “I knew the text was from Kacey,” Stayner says as he tips his head back to drain the last of his coffee—the largest cup of it that I’ve ever seen. I on the other hand have let mine grow cold, barely touching it as Dr. Stayner coaxed out every last embarrassing detail from my first week on campus.
    He’s big on talking things out. I remember Kacey cursing him for it in the beginning. My sister was broken back then. She refused to discuss anything—the accident, the loss, her shattered heart. But, by the end of that intense inpatient program, Dr. Stayner had dragged out every last detail there was to know about Kacey, helping her heal in the process.
    She warned me about him too, back when the calls started. Livie, just tell him what he wants to know. He will find out one way or another, so make it easier on yourself and just tell him. He probably already knows anyway. I think he uses Jedi mind tricks.
    In the three months of our nontherapy sessions, I’ve never had a truly difficult conversation with Dr. Stayner, nothing that I found too painful, too tragic, too hard to bring up. True, he’s asked me to do things that still give me heart palpitations, like bungee jumping and watching a back-to-back marathon of the Saw movies, which gave me nightmares for weeks after. But our actual