“I just wonder if the whole thing has something to do with the fact that my dad was travelling so much–”

“That doesn’t make much sense,” says Oatman sharply. “He couldn’t have known you’d end up in this situation, could he?”

Dakota blinks. “Well,” he says, “no.”

“No sense in blaming him, then.”

“What kind of therapy is this?” asks Dakota.

“Reverse psychiatry,” says Oatman, quite pleased. “Didn’t you read the door stencil?”

“It was backwards,” mutters Dakota.

“Let’s move on to this ennui you’ve felt lately,” says Oatman. “Do you think it will start when James dumps you next month?”

“All this for the price of getting you drunk?” Dakota toes through the pile of clothing on the floor.

James sprawls on the bed, wildly naked. He smiles. “I’m a cheap drunk, too.”

“Cheaper than my fucking therapist,” says Dakota. “Whose appointment I have missed now, and will be charged for…” He finds the underwear and tries to catch them off his foot. He misses.

“I am a fucking therapist.” James sits up and scratches. “I fuck. I… therap.”

“Doctor James,” Dakota asks mockingly, “my mother’s disappointed by my lifestyle.”

James shrugs. “Your mother named you ‘Dakota.’ What did she expect?”