One Tiny Lie (Ten Tiny Breaths #2)(83)

“Hello, Livie.” Dr. Stayner adjusts his hideous two-toned bowling shirt. It almost goes with the Hawaiian boardshorts that no man his age should ever wear. “How do you like my beachwear?”

“Hey, Dr. Stayner. Why are you always right?”

“I tend to be, don’t I?”

“Thank goodness. I thought I’d have to torch that chair if you didn’t shower soon.”

I give my sister a playful shove as we walk down the hall toward the kitchen. “So . . . Stayner?”

She shrugs. “I texted him last night to let him know that you finally cracked. I didn’t expect him to show up here with a suitcase, though.”

Apparently, Dr. Stayner has decided to enjoy a few days in sunny Miami, Florida at Chez Ryder. Well, Storm insisted that he stay with us, even though that means he takes Kacey’s room and she either sleeps with me or at Trent’s. I reminded her that it was strange and unprofessional for the family psychiatrist to stay with us. Then she reminded me that everything about Dr. Stayner is strange and unprofessional, so this actually makes sense.

My argument ended there.

And now Dr. Stayner is at our kitchen sink in one of Storm’s polka-dot aprons, peeling carrots with Mia’s help.

“Do you think eating carrots really make you see better or is that just what moms say to make kids eat vegetables?” Mia’s at that cute age where she’s still quite gullible but is learning to question things.

I lean up against the entranceway with my arms crossed and watch with curiosity.

“What do you think, Mia?” Dr. Stayner replies.

She narrows her eyes at him. “I asked you first.”

I shake my head and laugh. “Don’t bother. She’s too smart for you, Stayner.”

With a squeal, Mia drops the carrot and runs to dive into my arms in a hug. “Livie! Mom said you were here. Did you see X moving?”

I chuckle. I guess Mia has moved on from the loving nickname “Baby Alien X” to just “X.” It works. “No, but I saw Dan poking your mom’s belly last night,” I say with a wink.

She makes a face. “I hope he’s not going to be weird when X is born.” The topic quickly changes. “Are you staying for a while?” Her expression is hopeful.

“I don’t know, Mia.” And it’s the truth. I just don’t know anything anymore.

“What do you think it is?”

Dr. Stayner slurps at the extra-large latte as we sit side by side in lounge chairs on the back deck, watching the early morning joggers pass by. All that coffee can’t be good for him. “I can’t begin to hazard a guess on that, Livie. He clearly has some issues to sort out. It would seem that he uses physical connections with women as a way of coping. It would seem that his mother’s death is too difficult for him to talk about. It would seem that he does care greatly for you.” Dr. Stayner sits back in his chair. “And if he grew up with an abusive father, then it is quite possible that he still feels as if he has little control over his life. Maybe he does. But I can tell you that you’ll never get an answer that makes sense to you about why it all happened to him. And until he talks about it, it’s difficult to help him. And that is why, my dear Livie Girl . . .” I roll my eyes but then smile. For some reason he took a liking to that nickname. “You need to untangle yourself from his mess until you can straighten out yours. Don’t forget, your sister and Trent needed the same. It was five months before they reconnected. These things often take time.”

I nod slowly. Five months. Where will Ashton be in five months? How many women will he “forget” with in by then? And can I handle being at Princeton while he works things out? If he’s even trying to work things out. My stomach is starting to churn again.

“Livie . . .”

“Sorry.”

“I know it’s hard, but you need to focus on yourself for a little while. Get this hang-up out of your head that you”—he lifts his fingers in air quotes—“‘lied’ to your father.”

“But . . .” I avert my gaze to my freshly painted toes, care of Storm. “I know what he wanted for me and I’m going against it. How in the world would that make him proud of me?”

Dr. Stayner pats my shoulder. “I don’t guarantee anything, Livie. Ever. But I will guarantee that your parents would be proud of you and your sister. Beyond proud. You are both simply . . . remarkable.”

Remarkable.

“Even though I finally cracked?” I smile sadly, repeating Kacey’s words.

He starts chuckling. “You didn’t, Livie. I’d like to say that you finally came to a crossroad and just needed some guidance. You’re a smart cookie who seems to figure things out. That’s all you need sometimes—a little bit of guidance. Not like your sister. Now, she cracked.” He turns to mouth “wow,” and I can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes me.

“I think you are going to be just fine with time. Now is the fun part.”

I raise my brow in question.

“Figuring out who you want to be.”

I’m used to Dr. Stayner in small doses—one hour per week on the phone, max. So when he leaves after spending several days with me, my brain temporarily shuts down like a machine that’s overheated. We spent most of that time out on the back deck, discussing all the options I had before me for my education, for my future career aspirations, and for my social life. He never shared his opinions. He said he didn’t want to skew my own selection process. The only thing he insisted on is that I embrace ambiguity for a while, that I don’t dive into a choice for the sake of making one. He suggested that taking classes without focusing on a major right now à la Reagan isn’t a bad idea. Of course, he had to acknowledge that the longer I waffled, the less likely the “stay at Princeton” option would apply, because I’d fail the semester.