A smug smile lights Bridget’s face.
“Your mom has a commitment after the session,” I tell her carefully. “Maybe next time.”
“Oh.” Simone’s expression falls.” Okay.”
I’d do almost anything to restore the spark that seems to come and go so quickly in what was once my joyful little girl, but being with her mother isn’t one of them. I’ll have to find new ways to make her happy.
“Simone, I need to talk to your parents for a few minutes, okay?” Dr. Packer asks, her kind eyes resting on my daughter.
“Okay.” Simone sits on the sleek leather couch and pulls her phone out.
The three of us enter the office and Dr. Packer closes the door behind her, gesturing for us to take the two seats across from her desk.
“Simone is in a very vulnerable place right now,” she starts off, no warm-up. “She has a lot of anxiety and is feeling unmoored.”
“I was afraid of that,” Bridget says, shaking her head. “I told Kenan we should keep trying. I knew the divorce would devastate her.”
“Is this a joke?” I demand. “Are you seriously trying to put the divorce on me?”
“I’m just saying I was willing to make certain sacrifices to keep things stable for Simone.”
“Well I’m sure uprooting her life, taking her away from her school and friends in California so y
ou could shoot a reality show helps a lot.”
“Actually, it might,” Dr. Packer inserts. “Simone says New York feels like a fresh start where everyone at school doesn’t know about her family and . . . what happened.”
Fury and shame rage through me. Did the kids at school tease her? Taunt her with all the things TMZ reported about her parents? Welcome to the Shit Show.
“And the school has an excellent ballet program, of course,” Dr. Packer adds.
“It does?” I arch a look between Dr. Packer and Bridget.
“Yes, it does, Kenan,” Bridget says with a sigh. “If you paid attention to something other than basketball, maybe you’d know your daughter wanted to attend this school in New York because of their dance program. That’s why I chose to live on the Upper West Side, close enough for her to walk to school.”
I look to Dr. Packer for confirmation.
“Don’t look at her,” Bridget says peevishly. “I’m Simone’s mother.”
“Oh, now you remember. When did it all come rushing back? When the TV crew you brought to your daughter’s counseling session left? Was it right around then?”
“You’re not going to make me feel guilty for having something for myself.”
“And you won’t make me feel guilty for leaving a dead marriage with an unfaithful wife.”
“How dare you—”
“Quiet,” Dr. Packer says firmly, but still not raising her voice. “Both of you. These sessions, this time—none of it is about you. It’s about how Simone is processing all of this, and I’m telling you she’s not in a good place.”
Pain squeezes my chest tight. I never wanted to hurt my daughter, only to protect her. I’ve shielded her from every outside threat, but the greatest danger was right under her roof.
“She also seems somewhat fixated on the idea that you two might reconcile.”
I don’t catch the disdainful bark of laughter in time, and Bridget glowers at me.
“That’ll never happen,” I inform Dr. Packer. “There’s a lot of things we can do to make it better, but that’s not one of them. I don’t know where she would get that idea. Our divorce only recently became final, but we haven’t lived together for a long time.”
I had to leave my own house. The one I played eighty-two grueling games a year to buy, I had to vacate. It made sense. I travel so much I wouldn’t have been there most of the time, and staying in the house was supposed to give Simone some sense of stability, but then I requested the trade to San Diego. Even though we were estranged, Bridget moved to San Diego because Simone wanted to be close to me, and I wanted that, too. Yeah, she’s experienced a lot of upheaval at our hands.