THORN: It wasn’t like that.
INVESTIGATOR: OK, Eric. You want to cut to the chase? Let’s cut to the chase. Did you, or have you ever, lured someone into a relationship by means of a fictional online persona?
THORN: That’s a crappy definition.
INVESTIGATOR: The Oxford English Dictionary?
THORN: It wasn’t catfishing. It wasn’t like on the MTV show.
INVESTIGATOR: That’s the defense you want to go with? It wasn’t like on the MTV show?
THORN: Come on. You know what I mean.
INVESTIGATOR: I’ll admit, I’m not totally up-to-date with MTV’s programming.
THORN: Well, maybe you should ask your niece.
INVESTIGATOR: Maybe. But then again, my niece isn’t involved in a criminal investigation into false impersonation, fraud, unlawful surveillance, and stalking.
THORN: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa—
INVESTIGATOR: So why don’t you just go ahead and spell it out for us, Eric? How would you define catfishing?
THORN: I didn’t do anything illegal.
INVESTIGATOR: But you did, in fact, lure Tessa Hart into a relationship by means of a fictional online persona, correct?
THORN: You have to understand the position I was in.
INVESTIGATOR: What position was that?
THORN: She was my fan. She practically worshipped me. Catfishing is when you set up a fake profile to make yourself into someone more attractive. That’s the opposite of what I did.
INVESTIGATOR: So you set up a fake profile to make yourself less attractive?
THORN: No. It wasn’t about being attractive. It was about being anonymous. It was the only way I could be myself.
INVESTIGATOR: By pretending to be someone else? By willfully misleading someone about your true identity?
THORN: Look, I’m not the villain here. I know how it must seem, but you have to understand that I started talking to Tessa in…What? August? It didn’t change all at once. It snuck up on me…on both of us. I didn’t even realize where it was heading until about a month ago. Almost Christmastime.
INVESTIGATOR: And what exactly changed for you a month ago?
THORN: I never meant for it to go the way it did. I swear. I just wanted to talk to someone. I didn’t mean to fall in love.
16
WHITE CHRISTMAS
December 3, 2016
“OK, Tessa. Last week you planned to accompany your mother on a brief outing to pick out a Christmas tree. How did that go?”
Tessa idly traced the pattern on her bedspread with her thumb as she paused to gather her thoughts. Her therapist sat across from her in a folding metal chair. Dr. Regan had given up on the beanbag somewhere around month four of therapy, after it burst beneath her weight in a cascade of flying beads.
Tessa could feel Dr. Regan studying her as Tessa’s own eyes wandered around the room. She’d strung a strand of Christmas lights across the footboard of her bed, and they cast her therapist’s face in a glow of pale green and red. Tessa’s mother had taken the lights out of storage to decorate the tree, but it looked like the Christmas tree might not happen this year after all.
Tessa hadn’t even made it past the driveway when they went to pick it out. Her mom had left the car idling outside, and everything went smoothly until Tessa slid into the passenger seat. She’d turned toward her mother with a triumphant smile—only to be blinded by a camera flash.
“Tessa?” Dr. Regan prompted.
“Yeah, I kind of bailed.” Tessa fiddled with a loose button on her cardigan.
“What happened?”
Tessa couldn’t even explain it to herself, much less to her therapist. Maybe if her mom had warned her, instead of trying for a candid shot…
At least she managed not to vomit in the car before she abandoned the passenger seat and went scurrying back into the house.
Dr. Regan asked her something else—something about her mother. Tessa didn’t quite hear the question. She jiggled her foot impatiently, counting the minutes until the session came to an end. She’d agreed to switch her weekly hour with Dr. Regan to an evening time slot, but she regretted it now. She forgot that she had a date with her TV tonight. Eric Thorn was slated to give a live performance at 8:00 p.m. Tessa had her DVR set to record it, but she couldn’t bear the thought that she might not get to watch him in real time.
“Tessa?” Dr. Regan spoke a bit more sharply. “Did you hear me?”
“Sorry. What did you say?”
Dr. Regan had her head bent forward, leafing through the pages of Tessa’s thought journal. “In your entry this week, I see you saying that you feel judged by your mother. Could you tell me more about that?”
Tessa heaved a sigh. She hardly saw the point of hashing it all out again. Her mother had stomped all over the house after the incident in the driveway. She didn’t even try to understand what Tessa might be going through.
“Honestly, what’s the point?” Tessa said in a dull voice. “As far as my mom’s concerned, I’m the worst thing that ever happened to her. I ruined her life from the moment I was conceived.”
Dr. Regan’s face remained expressionless, but she made a careful notation on her pad. “Have you told your mother any details about last June?”
Tessa shook her head. “She would only blame me. She’d say I must have done something to bring it on myself. I must have led him—” She broke off and clapped a hand across her mouth.
Dr. Regan raised an eyebrow. “Go on, Tessa. What exactly would your mother say you brought on yourself?”
“What?” Tessa’s hand lingered at her throat. “No. Nothing. I just meant that she blames me for everything. That’s all.” She held her breath, hoping that Dr. Regan wouldn’t press her further. It would only trigger a flashback, and Tessa didn’t have time for a panic episode. Not tonight.
Dr. Regan removed her reading glasses and left them dangling on the chain around her neck. “And how does that make you feel?”
Tessa didn’t answer. Some questions were safer to ignore. She darted a surreptitious glance at the phone that sat beside her on the bed, and she scowled to herself as the screen lit up. Already seven forty-five.
“Tessa?”
“Huh?” Tessa’s head snapped up. “Sorry.”
Her therapist smiled tightly. She moved to put her notepad back in her briefcase. “You seem a bit distracted. Perhaps we should pick up here next week.”
Tessa nodded. With a tiny sliver of guilt, she stood to walk her therapist to the door. She knew she’d wasted Dr. Regan’s time tonight, but she couldn’t help it. She’d spent the whole day preoccupied with the same thoughts circling around and around inside her head: Would Taylor be online tonight? Would he get off work in time to watch the broadcast with her? Maybe she could convince him to live chat…
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