Chris felt himself jolt (not visibly, he hoped); he had not thought to look at the clock.  It was a stark, modern, black-on-silver design that announced the time pitilessly, as if to underscore the softer tones of his therapist.  “He’s not kidding.  NOW, asshole!”

He reached for where he last remembered having placed his phone, and promptly knocked the last half of his latte onto the carpet.

“Shit…I’m sorry…”

He grabbed his bag, pulled out a handful of napkins, and began daubing the beige puddle that, in actuality, fit the carpet’s pattern particularly.

“Chris…”

“No, really…fuck.  FUCK.  I’m always doing things like this.”  Daub, daub.  He tossed the damp lump of paper toward a stylish mesh trash basket, and missed.

“I’ll get that…”

“Chris…seriously.”

“I…”

“STOP.”

Chris looked up.  Brandon seldom spoke sharply to him.  Or, at least, sharply in comparison to his baseline demeanor, which, had Chris not known him as well, would seem a parody of Theraputic Voice — unfailingly even, consciously soft, as if there were meditative music playing behind it.

“Chris…” Brandon put down his iPad, which glinted in a last, defiant bolt of setting sun,  ready to accept his $200.  “Like I said, we have to stop.  And we’ll talk about this more next time, because I think it’s important.  For now — listen to me…it’s OK.  Do you understand?  It’s. O. K.”

Chris smiled slightly.  “Right…I know.  At least, I hear you.”

Brandon stood, prompting Chris to do likewise. He held out the iPad as Chris reached for his wallet.  “20 years of conditioning can be a bitch to take on, right?”

“Well, that’s why you’re here.  We’ll be taking on a lot of bitches.”  He grinned.  With a brief swipe, money left Chris’ credit card, which Brandon held out to him.  “20 years can be a long time, sure. But you know that it doesn’t necessarily mean another 20 years to make things right.”

Chris fought to control the sadness in his words.  “Make things right..yeah.  A worthy goal.  For now I’ll settle for making things less profoundly wrong.”

Brandon, putting his iPad aside, smiled encouragement.  “We can do both, and we will.  See you next week.”  He shook Chris’ hand and smiled.  “Bring a Sippy Cup next time.”