The phone continues to ring. I’m tempted to ignore it, but what if it’s something important? What if one of my parents is sick, or worse? What if my mom tripped and impaled herself on something and is lying on the floor, unable to stand? What if my dad fell in the shower and crawled his way over to the phone, desperately trying not to pass out?

I’m not on great terms with my folks, but what if for the first time ever, they suddenly need me?

I’ll never forgive myself if I missed an emergency just because I was indulging my paranoia.

Taking a big gulp of air, I head towards the entryway where the house phone is planted, but not before grabbing the biggest kitchen knife. Just in case I need to stab somebody. You never know.

I’d be pretty ill-prepared for a knife fight. I’d probably end up stabbing myself by accident.

I hold the knife gingerly by the handle. Safety first.

I remember being taught to hold scissors by the blade when handing it to one of your friends to borrow in elementary school. That always seemed unsafe to me. What if you tripped and the blades sliced through your hands? Even those safety scissors could be dangerous if you fell on them hard enough.

Yeah, I did not have a ton of friends growing up.

In this murdery mystery I’ve suddenly found myself cosplaying, I am going to be prepared… to answer the phone.

Maybe if I don’t like what the caller has to say, I can cut the cord with the knife.

I feel like Drew Barrymore in the beginning of Scream. I’m fully expecting Ghostface to answer, demanding for me to tell him what my favorite scary movie is before bursting through the window with a much larger knife.

I shiver, placing my hands on the phone. It vibrates as it rings, creating a racket in my head.

I count to three and grab the phone, placing the receiver against my ear.

“Hello?” I say, in a dry whisper.

Instead of Ghostface or my parents, a pleasant female voice responds. One that I recognize.

It’s my therapist.

I cradle the phone against my chest and sigh with relief.

I put the knife down on the entryway table. I’m being stupid. No one is coming to hurt me. I’m just a nutcase.

“Mal? Are you there?” I hear the muffled voice emanating through the phone.

I pick it back up. “Yeah, sorry. Hi, Jenny.”

“Hi there. Did you forget our session this evening?”

Oh, shit. I totally did.

I suck air through my teeth, tensing. I’m sure Jenny can hear it.

“You rescheduled it three times, so I was banking on this time being the charm,” Jenny says. “November sixteenth. It’s on my calendar. Did you forget to write it down?”

“I didn’t forget,” I lie. I wrack my brain for an excuse. “I was just keyed up from taking Rx for a walk, that’s all. I did your exercise. I talked to a stranger.”

“Oh? How did that go?”

“It went… great. I talked to this guy about… Thanksgiving.”

Really, Mal? You chatted with some random person about Thanksgiving?

“We had a debate over whether or not Thanksgiving should be considered a national holiday. You know, considering how the whole thing came about. Like, white people killing natives and then setting up camp on their land and spreading their diseases and then having a big feast after all of it.”

Jenny is silent.

“We also talked about the marshmallows as part of dinner. Like, why are the marshmallows part of the dinner and not dessert? Whose idea was it to put marshmallows on top of sweet potatoes? Aren’t sweet potatoes sweet enough?”

“Wow,” Jenny says, finally. “It sounds like a very rousing conversation.”

“It was. Then his kid showed up and they had to head home, so Rx and I took off.”

I don’t love lying to my therapist, but I can’t bring myself to admit that I failed to have a simple human interaction. It makes me feel too pathetic.

“That’s great,” Jenny says. “I’m proud of you for making the effort. I know it isn’t easy for you to talk to people, especially a complete stranger. How was walking Rx in the dark?”

“It was spooky. It was still dusk when we got home, so it wasn’t pitch black. It was a little nerve-wracking.”

“Did the security system you installed make you feel any better?”

“It would have… if I remembered to set it,” I admit. “Not my finest hour. I must’ve been distracted. I was sloppy. I can’t believe I had this thing installed only to forget about it. Such a dumb move.”

“I see.”

There’s no judgment in her tone. Jenny doesn’t judge. She just observes. That’s what I like about her. Which is why I don’t feel embarrassed by what she says next.

“Did you clear the house with a knife again before answering the phone?”

The fact that Jenny can predict my behavior is part of the reason why I trust her. She knows me better than I know myself. It’s kind of sad that I’m so predictable, but I’d rather be boringly average than spontaneously chaotic. It’s how I feel safe. I don’t mind being predictable.

I gently nudge the knife further down the table, as if putting it out my sight will make it disappear.

“I don’t do that anymore,” I lie to Jenny. “I’m over that. Completely.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I’m about to be called out. Jenny knows me too well. She says I have a “tell” to my voice when I’m lying. I haven’t figured out what it is. If I could, I’d try to stop it so Jenny wouldn’t know when I’m spewing nonsense.

“After five years of working together, you’d think you’d know better than to lie to me,” Jenny says. She doesn’t sound disappointed. She says it like a matter-of-fact statement. I could never do her job. I wouldn’t have the patience for all the bullshit my clients feed me.

“I swear, I only picked the knife up at the last second,” I say. “Only once the phone rang. It was like an afterthought. I didn’t walk through the entire house with it this time. That’s got to be some progress, right?”

“Why do you assume that a phone call has dangerous intentions?” Jenny asks, ignoring my plea for validation. “Why do you need a knife to answer the phone?”

I wrap the phone cord around my wrist. Maybe if it cuts off my circulation I’ll die before having to answer that question.

“Mal?”

“Can you call me back on my cell?” I ask her. “This ancient house phone has me chained to the hallway.”

“Will you pick up if I call your cell phone?”

“Of course I will.”

“Alright, if you say so… because I tried earlier and you didn’t pick up. That’s why I tried your home number. I thought maybe you were hiding from me.”

“I must’ve been distracted,” I mumble, thinking about my preoccupation with my new neighbors. “I’ll pick up this time, I swear.”

Jenny calls me on my cell phone and I answer it, journeying to the dining room where I plop myself on a bar stool.

I put the phone on speaker and do the rest of our therapy session slouched over, resting my torso on the counter, eyeing the clock while I answer Jenny’s questions. I try to answer with what she wants to hear, which I know is not the point of therapy. But I’m not feeling especially forthcoming today. The truth is, part of me did remember I had a session today. But the delusional part of me convinced my rational self that maybe Jenny would somehow forget. I’m not one of those people who can’t wait for therapy so they can spill their guts. Every minute of therapy feels agonizing. I do like Jenny, but I’d like her much better if she wasn’t trying to get me to change how I am.

Rx curls up by my feet, his tail thumping slowly against my bare toes.

While we’re talking, I hear the familiar “ping” notification from my true crime message board. Just the sound of it thrills me and fills me with anticipation. I’m eager to end this call with Jenny so I can check my messages. The notifications on my computer are set so that I can hear them from any part of the house.

I wonder if Jenny heard the sound. She doesn’t know how deep my obsession with true crime goes. I haven’t told her about the message boards.

I try to fight off thoughts of the DMs waiting for me.

I feel guilty for half-assing my therapy sessions. Especially knowing how much they cost.

But there are some secrets I need to keep from Jenny.

There are some things even my therapist wouldn’t understand. And I’m not going to be the one to explain it to her anytime soon.