You ever crash into a conversation like a cat jumping off a bookshelf?
Here's an excerpt from the prologue of my new novel, Auntie Blair's Daycare.
Blair’s office was prepped. Her desk was all business in dark woods and neatly stacked papers on top, but was decorated with stars and unicorns on its sides. The warm red couches were comfortable and inviting, but professional enough that Blair could be taken seriously as a medical professional. She was grateful for her plus sized figure, it let her wear a professional suit without losing her maternal look. She checked the red bow holding back her long brown hair and opened her office door.
“Patricia? Wendy? Please come in.”
There wasn’t a moment of doubt which woman was which. Patricia, the shorter of the two, was dressed in a white blouse and navy pencil skirt. Her short hair was up in carefully maintained curls. She shook Blair’s hand with confidence and took a seat on the couch with a reserved smile.
Wendy was wearing a dinosaur print t-shirt and corduroy pants. She shuffled nervously past Blair without making eye contact and sat next to Patricia awkwardly. The Little girl pulled her feet up on the couch, only to have Patricia tap her shoe.
“Wendy, no shoes on the couch. And please don’t take them off.” Patricia’s firm tone made Wendy squirm, but she put her feet on the floor.
“If you prefer to sit curled up, you can sit on the floor. It’s a nice comfy carpet.” Blair said, as she took a seat at her desk.
Wendy looked questioningly at Patricia. At the barest nod from her caretaker, the Little girl slipped off the couch and sat criss-cross-applesauce on the floor. Blair smiled. Patricia had indicated that she and Wendy weren’t officially Caregiver and Little – Patricia called Wendy her girlfriend – but their ABDL dynamic was clear as day to Blair’s trained eye.
“Thank you for coming. Wendy, I’m going to ask you some questions to make sure you’re a good fit for our program, and to see what treatment would work best for you. I may ask Patricia some questions as well, or ask her to comment on your responses.”
“Wendy, are you listening?” Patricia’s question was rhetorical, Wendy’s attention was reserved for the pile of stuffies in a bin a window.
“Huh? Um, yeah.” Wendy squirmed awkwardly. Patricia thought she heard a tiny crinkle coming from the girl.
“If it helps you focus, you can hold one of the friends over there while we talk. Why don’t you pick one out now?” Blair smiled at Wendy, the Little girl nervously smiled back.
“While she’s doing that, do you want to tell me what you’re hoping for out of our treatment for Wendy, Patricia?”
Patricia smiled fondly as Wendy scampered to the stuffie bin and dug through it. “I want my girl to be happy. She’s always had trouble navigating work and school. I’ve taken her to several psychiatrists, but they can’t agree on a diagnosis. Some of them say bipolar, some say depression, others dyslexia, and so on. Being in situations she can’t handle gives her anxiety, which makes everything worse. She’s always been childlike. Your daycare is our Hail Mary play.”
“Our treatment is based on real psychiatric science.” Blair rested a hand on her desk copy of Beneficial Regression in Adults for Cognitive Behavioral Therapy by V. Rasmussen et.al. “It can help someone like Wendy, but this treatment doesn’t make someone – normal.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that your goal of Wendy being happy is a good one. There’s every possibility that Wendy will be able to navigate adult life better and be much happier at the end of this program, but she’ll need regular time to express her regressed self.”
Blair folded her hands on her desk. “There’s also a chance that she will discover that her regressed self is her real self. In that case, she will still be happy. In the case of that outcome, would you be happy, Patricia?”
“I picked the Mosasaurus.” Wendy displayed her prize to Patricia. Realizing that she’d made herself the center of attention, Wendy ducked her head in shame. “Uh, sorry for interrupting.”