Page 47

My heart melted, and I immediately reached into my file where I kept business cards of the best therapists I knew in the area. Over the last couple of years, I’d gotten feedback from students on which counselors were the best and which should be avoided at all costs.
I snapped photos of a few of the ones I knew did well with LGBTQ+ teens and set my phone down.
Shortly after, another message came.
Cohen: Thank you.
Birdie: Of course.
A student knocked on the door for a scheduled planning meeting, and we sat and explored her options for the next hour. It was one of my favorite parts of my jobs—talking to students about what they hoped for their lives and finding a strategy to make their dreams come true.
When she walked out of my office, I took my coffee cup to the teachers’ lounge for an afternoon pick-me-up.
The videography teacher, Mr. Davis, had just replaced the pot and said, “How’s it going?”
“Good,” I said with a shrug. “You?”
“Just got in some new equipment. Feels like Christmas.”
I chuckled. “I feel the same way when recruiters bring all their tchotchkes. Is it bad that I save the best ones for myself?”
“Considering the work you do? I’d say you earned it.” He smiled and lifted his cup. “I started a new pot, by the way. Enjoy.”
I smiled and looked down at my own cup. Mr. Davis was probably one of my favorite teachers to work with. Dax had always thought double dates were lame, but I wondered if someday, when I had someone to take me, I could ask Mr. Davis and his wife out to dinner.
Thinking of the only person I wanted to date, I checked my phone and found a new message.
Cohen: How’s Ralphie?
I smiled at the text and sent him a picture of Ralphie I’d taken this morning.
Birdie: Chipper, as always.
Cohen: He’s adorable.
Birdie: I think so.
I filled my cup with coffee and walked toward the door, nudging it open with my hip.
Cohen: I found something I think you’d enjoy. Are you free Saturday?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I sent my reply.
Birdie: I am. What do you have planned?
25
COHEN
I sent a noncommittal text about my plans for the weekend—I was hoping to surprise her—and clicked back to the picture of the business cards she sent me. All three had heart-shaped rainbow stickers on them, I assumed meaning the therapists were good for the LGBTQ+ community.
Despite the fact that I was looking at counselors for my kid because I couldn’t help him, I felt relieved. When Ollie’s grandparents learned about his sexual orientation, their first suggestion was to send him to conversion therapy. An idea my ex had entertained.
I didn’t put my foot down on much, but that was one thing I would never allow my son to go through. I knew what it felt like to be considered bad just because of who you were or where you came from. I’d never allow Ollie to be put through the same experience if I could help it.
Sure, the world could be a mean place. There were a few friends I had to set straight when it came to homophobic slurs, and there were a few shows I couldn’t stand watching anymore because now I understood just how hurtful dialogue was. But I would make our lives as safe as possible for Ollie’s sake.
I typed the number from the first card into my phone and called. That therapist didn’t have an opening for months.