Dr. Knutz’s receptionist—or nurse, or whatever she is—doesn’t seem too bothered by my mode of dress, however. She just went, “Good morning, Prince Phillipe,” to my dad when he brought me in. Well, I mean, when Lars carried me in. Because when the limo pulled up in front of the brownstone Dr. Knutz’s office is in, I wouldn’t get out of the car. I wasn’t going to walk across East Seventy-eighth Street in my Hello Kitty pajamas! I may be crazy, but I’m not THAT crazy.
So Lars carried me.
The receptionist didn’t seem to think it was at all weird that her boss’s newest patient had to be carried into his office. She just went, “Dr. Knutz will be with you in a moment. In the meantime, will you please fill this out, dear?”
I don’t know why I got so panicky all of a sudden. But I was like, “No. What is it? A test? I don’t want to take a test.” It’s weird, but my heart started beating all crazy at the idea of having to take a test.
The receptionist just looked at me funny and went, “It’s just an assessment of how you’re feeling. There are no right or wrong answers. It will only take a minute to fill out.”
But I didn’t want to take an assessment, even if there were no right or wrong answers.
“No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”
“Here,” Dad said, and held out his hand to the receptionist. “I’ll take one, too. Will that make you feel better, Mia?”
For some reason, it did. Because, to be honest, if I’m crazy, so is my dad. I mean, you should see how many shoes he owns. And he’s a man.
So the receptionist handed my dad the same form to fill out. When I looked down, I saw that it was a list of statements that you were supposed to rate by checking off the most appropriate answer. Statements such as, I feel like there’s no point in living. To which you could check off one of the following replies:
All of the time
Most of the time
Some of the time
A little of the time
None of the time
Since there was nothing else to do and I had a pen in my hand anyway, I filled out the form. I noticed when I was done that I had checked off mostly All of the times and Most of the times. Such as, I feel like everyone hates me…Most of the time and I feel that I am worthless…Most of the time.
But my dad had filled out mostly A little of the times and None of the times.
Even for his answers to statements like, I feel as if true romantic love has passed me by.
Which I happen to know is a total lie. Dad told me he has had only one true love in his entire life, and that was Mom, and that he let her go, and totally regretted it. That’s why he urged me not to be stupid and let Michael go. Because he knew I might never find a love like that again.
Too bad I didn’t figure out he was right until it was too late.
Still, it’s easy for him to feel like everyone hates him none of the time. There’s no ihateprincephillipeofgenovia.com.
The receptionist—Mrs. Hopkins—took our forms back and brought them through a door to the right of her desk. I couldn’t see what was behind the door. Meanwhile, Lars picked up the latest copy of Sports Illustrated off Dr. Knutz’s waiting room coffee table and started reading it all casually, like he carries princesses in their pajamas into psychologist’s offices every day of the week.
I bet he never thought that was going to be part of his job description when he graduated from bodyguard school.
“I think you’re going to like Dr. Knutz, Mia,” my dad is saying. “I met him at a fund-raising event last year. He’s one of the nation’s preeminent experts in adolescent and child psychology.”
I point at the awards on the wall. “Yeah. I got that part.”
“Well,” Dad says. “It’s true. He comes very highly recommended. Don’t let his name—or his demeanor—fool you.”
His demeanor? What does that mean?
Mrs. Hopkins is back. She says the doctor will see us now.
Great.
Thursday, September 16, 2 p.m., Dad’s limo