No, I'm because it's the right clinical decision and I should have made it three sessions ago and I didn't because she stopped honest because I didn't want to. He looked up because those sessions were the only legitimate reason I had to be here in this apartment at this table. She pressed her thumb against the base of her wine glass. I know what that means about me. I'm not proud of it.
It means you're a person. It means I used my patients needs as cover for my own. Natalie, you gave my daughter those sashen that she didn't have before. Every decision you made in that room was right. The fact that you also wanted to be there doesn't undo what you gave her.
She was quiet. Patricia Owens, she said finally. She's genuinely excellent. She published a paper last year that I made Ava's previous team read. Yes, then that's who we call together if you're open to it.
I want Ava to feel like she's choosing, not being transferred, he nodded together, he said. The words sat between them in the specific space where complicated things become simple. Telling Ava was its own experience. They did it the following Saturday at the kitchen table with the gentleness of two adults who had thought very carefully about how to do this right. Natalie sat across from Ava and explained that she was going to introduce her to someone new, a doctor named Patricia, who was brilliant and who Natalie herself had learned from.
Ava listened without interrupting. When Natalie finished, Ava looked at her for a moment. Are you leaving because of us? Natalie met the child's gaze with complete honesty. No, I'm changing because of me. because I'm not able to be your doctor and be your friend at the same time and I think I'm more useful to you as a friend.
Ava thought about this. Can Dr. Patricia take care of Gerald if something happens? I'll make sure she knows about Gerald. And the political situation with the other fish I'll write a full briefing.
Ava looked at the table, looked at Caleb, looked at Natalie. Okay, she said, but you have to still come to dinner sometimes. I'd like that very much. If your dad agrees. Ava turned to Caleb.
He looked at his daughter. He looked at Natalie. Saturday's work, he said. Ava slid off her chair, walked around the table, and hugged Natalie with the same directness she applied to everything fully without preamble. Natalie went still for a moment.
The way people go still when something they've been braced against turns out to be safe. Then she put her arms around the seven-year-old and held on. Caleb looked at the wobbly table. He pressed his thumb into the edge of it. He breathed.
December came and Natalie still hadn't sent the board her response. Her assistant had started asking in a tone that tried to be neutral and wasn't. Her COO had referenced it obliquely in three separate calls. The board chair, a man named Harwick, who had known Natalie since her first funding round and who expressed concern in the form of precision, had sent a single email that read, "The window isn't unlimited, Natalie." She'd read it, closed it, and opened it again four times.