It's already rung twice before he thinks about what time it is. Danny hastily pulls the phone away, this feeling like a terrible idea suddenly, and looks for that little red icon to disconnect the call, his vision blurred at the edges.
"Hello?" He must have hit the speaker button by mistake, the voice on the line booming into his living room.
"Hey! I didn't wake you, did I?" he asks, trying to sound chipper and matching the blare.
"No. Of course not. It's not even midnight." Right. Why would anyone be asleep before midnight? "Listen, can you hang on a second? I can't really hear."
Danny nods and listens to the sounds pounding through the speaker. There are blurred conversations blended with the bass-line of a distorted song, and he should have considered Richie would be out on a Saturday night.
The sounds slowly fade and he can hear his brother breathing into the phone as he walks. "Okay, sorry about that. What's up?"
He feels like a shithead, Danny's tongue suddenly tied. "Nothing. Sorry. I wasn't thinking about how it's Saturday and you probably have a hot date. Go back to the party. I'll call you later."
"Wait, it's fine. I could use some air anyway. What's going on?"
"Nothing. Just - ya know - checking in. Seeing how my baby brother's doing, that's all. You're still with Ramon? He's treating you good?"
"You know you ask me this every time? Yes. Still with Ramon. And he treats me like a king."
"Right. Good."
Richie's silent in a way that makes Danny uncomfortable, adding to the already unpleasant way his palms are clammy and his heart is beating arrhythmically like it has been for weeks. "You want to talk to me about what happened?"
"What? Nothing happened. Is it a crime to want to see how you're doing?"
"No. I'm glad you called. I was glad when you called the three other nights this week, too." Oh. Did he do that? "I mean it, you know. I'm here whenever you need me."
This is not what he needs. He just wanted a distraction and to talk to someone he loves. And that left a painfully short list of people he can call. "I don't - I'm fine. Nothing to need."
"Okay. That's good." The line is quiet for a moment and Danny thinks he can hear waves in the background. He wouldn't mind being on a beach right now. "Dr. Lahiri still not speaking to you?"
His stomach knots and he thinks about revisiting that bottle of Scotch in the liquor cabinet he's been trying to ignore. "No, she speaks to me, but - yeah. No. She still isn't talking to me."
"That sucks, bro. I'm sorry."
"Yeah." It feels like his heart is slipping through his fingers. "Thanks."
"I - Danny, I think it would be good for you to talk to someone about this."
"There's nothing left to say. And she definitely does not want to talk to me about her feelings right now. She's made that perfectly clear."
"No, with - it isn't just what happened with Dr. Lahiri. I think you should maybe speak to a therapist."
"A thera- are you outta your mind? I get a little sad over a woman and you think I need to see a shrink? What the hell's Florida done to your brain?"
"Well, it's not -" Richie stops to collect himself in that way he only does when he's perfectly serious and it makes Danny nervous. "You know it isn't just about this breakup. It's been a long time coming. Did you think you could ignore every messed up thing that's ever happened and it not effect you at all?"
"That's exactly what I think. I'm fine."
"Danny, I love you, but you're not fine. And I'm not saying you should do this for me."
"No."
"I'm saying you should do it for you."
"I don't need to do it for me!" He's getting agitated and he doesn't mean to be. Danny takes a deep breath and tries to project just how little he needs professional help. "I'm fine. Truly. I'm just going through something right now. And whining about it to some stranger is a waste of time. Gimme a few weeks and I'll be right as rain."
"Do you remember what you told me when I was going through that hard time in 8th grade?"
"No."
"You told me to find someone I trusted who didn't have a stake in my life and talk to them. That your opinion and Ma's and my friends wasn't what I needed, because you'd all be telling me what you wanted for me, and not what I needed to hear."
"Okay, yeah. That sounds like pretty good advice."
"Do you really not see where I'm going with this? I saw the counselor at school two days a week for the rest of that school year. It's what helped me finally work through Dad leaving and realize that it was okay to be me. That it was okay to come out. It saved my life, Danny. I don't know, maybe not physically, but emotionally. I worked through almost all of the fear and depression and I can't imagine how my life would be different if I hadn't had that help at that time."
"Richie-"
"It's not weak to want to be better. And I know you're not afraid of a little work. How 'bout putting that Castellano work ethic to good use, huh?"
Danny laughs in spite of himself, his brother's words catching peculiarly in his heart. It's probably stupid at this point in their lives for him to care so much about being a good role model.
"Will you think about it?"
He doesn't want to think about it. "Yeah. I mean I'll think about it. Sure."
"Okay." He can feel Richie's smile over the line, the small curling one that he gets when he's pleased and feels like he's done something right. "I'm doing a brunch thing in the morning, but call me later if you want to."
"Alright, alright. Go back to your party and have fun."
"I will." Sounds of a pulsing beat are getting louder and Richie speaks up to be heard. "Goodnight, Danny. Love you. And think about it!"
"Shut up about it already! Love you, too."
The call disconnects and Danny's surprised to find a faltering smile on his face. It doesn't last but for a moment, the silence creeping immediately back into his empty apartment. He stretches out on the sofa and squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to think about what his brother said and still ignoring the bottle in the cabinet.
He doesn't need therapy; he'll be fine on his own. Danny always is.
It isn't even three o'clock and her light has been out for over an hour. From his desk he can see the vague outline of dress in a dry cleaning bag draped over the white upholstered chair nearest the door. Mindy might be on call at the hospital today. Or she might be somewhere with the also absent Peter doing God knows what.
There's an easy way to find out, but Danny doesn't ask Betsy about her schedule anymore. Not since she stopped prefacing every answer with, Dr. Lahiri didn't tell you? Now she looks at him with an irritating amount of pity and tells him all the things Mindy won't.
The intercom buzzes and he startles. "Line three is for you, Dr. Castellano."
"Did they say who it is? I'm busy." If he would stop staring at Mindy's dark office he might be able to finish this paperwork.
"No. You want me to ask?"
His jaw ticks. "No, Bets, it's fine. I'll take it."
He punches the blinking red button hard enough to make the cradle slide back an inch. "This is Dr. Castellano."
"Hi. This is Dr. Franklin's office calling to confirm your appointment for tomorrow at 3:00."
"I'm sorry. You must have the wrong number." He's about to hang up but the perky young man on the other end is jabbering on quickly in his ear.
"Oh, I am so sorry. This is not Daniel Castellano at 212-530-0639?"
"No, that's the number, but -"
"Then our records show you called two weeks ago and made this appointment. However, if you're unable to make it I'd be happy to reschedule it."
"Uh, Dr. Franklin you said?"
"Yes, sir."
"Can you hang on a second?" He drops the receiver on his desk without waiting for an answer. From the bottom drawer he pulls the two-ream thick edition of the New York City phone book. It takes him a minute skimming through the yellow pages, but there it is under the heading Medical, section TH: Franklin, Dahir & Miller - Family Therapy.
He's going to kill Richie.
"You still there?" Danny asks, pressing the phone back to his ear.
"Yeah."
"You can cancel that appointment. I won't be needing it."
"Really? That's great. We can work in some of our back log. Do you want me to go ahead and reschedule you for a better time?"
Stupidly his brother's plea rings in his head all of a sudden. "How far in advance do you have to schedule?"
"Right now for new patients it's just two months, but most times it's three. I can call you if I have cancellation before then."
"Is that how I got this appointment? A cancellation?"
There's silence on the end of the line and asking questions like this when he is the one assumed to have made the appointment makes him look like he needs professional help for sure. "Yes, sir. We put your name on the list and called when this appointment came available. Are you sure you want to cancel it?"
"I - uh. No. Don't cancel it. You said 3:00?"
His hands are sweating by the time he is called back. The second floor office looks like little has changed from when it was built. Save for the thin interior walls blocking off tiny pockets of space, it is all darkly worn hardwood floors and exposed brick. The woman guiding leads him to the only spacious room he's seen and closes the door as she goes, leaving him there to fend for himself.
There's a tall, slender woman standing behind a wooden desk, one of those sleek things that he can never tell if they're new and fashionable or if someone left it there in 1962 and no one thought to get a new one. Judging by the way the rest of the room looks with it's cleverly intentional mix of art and books, and by the way the doctor, with her bluntly cut, chin-length black hair is dressed like that woman on one of those shows Mindy loves - the one in D.C. where the lady wears only white despite drinking exclusively red wine - Danny would guess that nothing in the room is unintentional.
"Mr. Castellano, come in. I'm Dr. Franklin." She smiles warmly at him.
"It's Doctor actually, but please, call me Danny," he says, stepping further into the space.
"Certainly, Danny, if that will make you more comfortable." Shit, she's already psychoanalyzing him. He's going to have to watch everything he says, isn't he? She extends her hand, long and narrow with shortly clipped fingernails, and he accepts it firmly. "I'll extend the same professional courtesy. Please call me Mindy."
He jerks his hand from her grasp. "What did you say?"
The doctor raises a delicately arched eyebrow and repeats herself slowly. "You can call me Mindy." If this is Richie's idea of a joke he's fucking sick. "If there's a problem with that, Dr. Franklin is fine too."
"No, of course not. Just -" how does he ask if this is a weird test his kid brother set up without sounding paranoid? "Mindy's just an unusual name. You don't hear it very often."
"That's true." She smiles again, that easy smile Danny's sure she has honed to instill the utmost comfort and trust in her patients. It isn't bad. "It's a nickname I picked up in school. Much easier to be a Mindy in a class full of Jennifers, Tiffanys and Heathers than it was to be a Melinda."
He uncurls his fingers and forces himself to be calm. Like this isn't the stupidest thing he's ever done. "I could see that."
"Have a seat." She gestures to two plush, camel-colored leather chairs with teak accents by the window, and he feels a little silly for assuming that there would be a sofa for him to lie on. They're facing each other, but the chairs are turned slightly so it doesn't feel like a standoff, the bricked-in fireplace behind her desk just as much in his eye-line as she is. "Tell me a little about yourself, Danny."
"Um," he wipes his palms on his jeans, not knowing exactly where to start with this. Maybe his childhood? "I guess my dad leaving when I was thirteen was a pretty big deal. I don't know. Other kids had parents who flaked - my buddy Raymond's mom." He shrugs not knowing what this lady thinks she can fix about this, but that's her problem. "We did okay."
"I appreciate you jumping right in there. Shows a lot of initiative. But let's start with some basics first, okay? Easy stuff like if you're from New York, married, kids, things like that. Tell me about Danny."
Well that's easy enough. It's a total waste of money spending his hour talking about what schools he went to, but his copay isn't much. "Okay. I'm from New York. Staten Island. Went to Columbia and have an OB/GYN practice. Divorced."
"And very concise."
"Is that wrong?"
"No," she laughs. "It's not wrong. No one is judging you here. You're very to the point. It's not a bad trait." Danny exhales and feels oddly relieved hearing her say she's not judging him. Clearly she is, but he appreciates the illusion of digression. "Is there any of that you would like to expound upon? Or do you want to move on?"
"No. I can talk about it more. I - uh - I met my ex-wife my third year in medical school. I had seen her at this place - a pizza place - a few times before I got the nerve to ask her out. Just picture very tall, very blond, and intense - way out of my league. We got super serious really quick and got married the day I graduated. Which was a horrible idea in hindsight, doing it all in the same day. But my whole family was already in Manhattan, so..." It had rained that afternoon. His Aunt Teresa told him it was a good omen. "We divorced in 2008."
Dr. Franklin jots something on the leather-bound legal pad balanced on her knee, her legs crossed.
"Do you want me to talk more about that?"
"Whatever you feel like sharing is fine."
He nods and can't think of anything to add about his marriage. It was fine. Until it wasn't. "No kids. We didn't have kids. I wanted to wait until I had gotten a little more established and would have more time with them, so we waited. I found out when we were divorcing that she never wanted kids, so. . . I guess that's a good thing it didn't happen."
"Is that something you still want?"
The question takes him by surprise, the kind of thing he expects his Ma to ask, not a therapist. "No."
She makes another note and waits for him.
"I have a brother. Richie. I helped bring him up." He doesn't say it, but he feels like that can be enough for him. And Richie will settle down and have kids one day. This will be his legacy. He'll be able to see himself in his brother's parenting skills.
"You two are close?"
"Yeah. He - he actually is the one who made this appointment for me."
"It sounds like you care about each other a lot. That's great. It's good to have a support system around you. Everyone needs that."
Danny shrugs and looks at the fireplace, not sure he'd call his brother a whole system.
"Do you disagree?"
His eyes snap back to her. "No. I don't - it is good to have a whole system." Danny rubs his shoe against the thick pile of the rug and watches as it pushes the threads at an angle, leaving an imprint. Dr. Franklin is annoyingly patient. "I had a. . . falling out. With my best friend. We haven't really been speaking."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you want to speak with them?"
"God yes. I miss - Yes."
"Then talk to them. You say best friend, chances are they want to talk to you too."
"No. Trust me. She does not want to talk to me right now."
"Would you like to talk about the problem?"
Danny clenches his jaw and tries not to spit back an acerbic response. That's what they are doing. He is the problem.