9 May 2027
Sunday. Mother’s Day. I rang her yesterday, a day early, because I like to be ahead of my appointments.
She asked me to speak normally. I asked what she meant. She asked whether I had to be so cheerful all the time. I said cheerfulness is a discipline, Mum, like flossing. She sighed. I made a note of the sigh. Old habits.
She asked what my job was. I said I help people get better. She asked whether they do. I said some of them leave very quickly indeed, which I count as a kind of recovery.
I could hear the gentleman downstairs listening at the door the whole time. He thinks I did not notice. I noticed. I notice everything; it is in the job description.
Today some flowers arrived for her, with a card signed “your favourite patient”. I did not send them. I know who did. I have written him a thank-you card and drawn a smiley face, because I know how much he hates them.
— Your Therapist
