Jon the receptionist tells him he can go back and Danny stands, tucking the sports section into the pocket of his bag before remembering it's not his newspaper and tossing it back on the low coffee table in the waiting area.
There's light slanting through the west-facing window and it's warm, making Dr. Franklin's office feel almost pleasant. It's a feeling he would have never associated with this place a few months ago. Today? Today it feels almost like a relief to be here.
"You look intense, Doc." Danny takes his normal seat opposite her and watches as her face relaxes and she drops the pen from its poised position and looks up.
"This is impossible," she says, frustration blended with laughter lilting her voice as she takes the folded bit of New York Times resting on the writing portfolio in her lap and waves it. "I don't know why I ever think doing the Expert Level Sudoku's will be relaxing. A couple numbers in and then I'm stumped."
She chucks the paper onto the wide brick windowsill and Danny leans forward to look, hands clasped in his lap. Doc isn't wrong; she's only filled in 5 numbers so far. "Maybe next time try the Beginners."
"Yeah, yeah," she grumbles, adjusting the cuff of her blouse. "Enough about my ineptitude in counting to nine repeatedly - how are you doing today, Danny?"
He takes a deep breath and measures his words before he says them, making sure he means what he's saying. "I'm good. Today I think I'm really good."
"That sounds very positive. What about today makes you feel that way?"
Danny inhales and tries to pinpoint the feeling that's making his chest light for the first time in a long time. It isn't that hard to do, and the words come so much easier now that he knows it doesn't really matter how he phrases it - just as long as he tells the truth.
"I did something either pretty brave today, or something really stupid. It's too soon to tell. Either way it goes, I feel better. Lighter."
"That's excellent. And it's good that regardless of the outcome you still feel like you did the right thing."
Dr. Franklin doesn't say anything else, doesn't ask him a question, and he's used to that by now. It's smart. You can get a lot of information out of someone by simply being quiet. People always want to fill that void. Danny's never made it more than two minutes before breaking down and volunteering information again.
"I - uh. You remember how you had me write all those letters to people?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Well, I destroyed most of them right after I wrote them. But there were a couple I kept. One - the one to my friend from work - I've been carrying that one around ever since, waiting for the right time to give it to her."
"And did you find the right time?"
"No," he says with a surprised chuckle. "Turns out there's never a right time to lay your heart painfully open. It took me two months to figure that out. So I did it anyway. Today."
"What made you do it?"
The question surprises him for some reason, his brain already five steps beyond the 'why'. "Um. I almost didn't. There were a few different times I had talked myself into getting rid of it. I actually threw it in the trash at work one day but then I was afraid somehow she'd see it or someone would try and mail it against my will."
Doc pulls a face at him and it's too much to go back and explain. "Doesn't matter. Anyway, I couldn't do it."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Because then it would be over. If I didn't have the guts to be honest with her then we'd be over."
"That's a pretty good reason to give it to her."
Danny shrugs. "I love her."
"I can tell. She knows that?"
"Yeah. And if she didn't, she will once she reads that letter."
"Well, I think no matter how she reacts it was definitely brave."
The corner of his lips pull up and he wonders for the millionth time in the short span of minutes since he handed it to her if she's read it yet. "Her name's Mindy. I don't think I ever told you that."
"Ha, really? No. You never told me that." She shakes her head, laughing. "No wonder you looked so freaked out when I introduced myself."
"Right?! I thought Richie planned it and was messing with me." Danny exhales with a huff and watches as dust particles get caught in the afternoon sunlight. "You'd like her, my Mindy."
"Tell me about her."
He does. Danny talks about Mindy, about how terrifying it is to fall for your best friend, about how he fucked things up. Danny talks a lot about how he can make things right.
Before he knows it there's a soft electronic beep as the clock hits 4:00, and his hour is up. Danny sighs, surprisingly a little disappointed the session is over, and thinks maybe he needs more friends. Maybe it would help to talk to someone other than a professional about his life - the good stuff along with the bad.
Dr. Franklin stands, clutching the sable-colored leather writing portfolio to her side. "I'll see you in two weeks, same time."
Danny's all the way to the door when he stops and turns back to her. "Thanks for everything. For today and . . . just everything."
She smiles back at him, tight-lipped and a little proud, and nods. "You're welcome."
"Oh," he adds as he turns the doorknob, glancing back to the abandoned puzzle. "That 1 you've got in the first box should be a 7."
"What? Seriously?" Danny can hear her jerk the newspaper off the windowsill as he walks down the hall.
There are four text messages, one missed call and a voicemail when he stops on the sidewalk outside the doctor's office to turn the volume back up on his phone. All from Mindy.
"You're in therapy?"
"Hello to you too." Danny loops the handle of his messenger bag over the back of the high barstool before he sits down. The coffee shop is crowded and it's slightly miraculous she found two seats at the bar along the window.
Mindy's frowning at him severely, mouth set and eyes wide, and is apparently immune to his attempt at humor. The words come easier than he imagined. "Yes. I'm in therapy."
"Because of me?"
"What? No.
"Good! You don't get to have therapy about me. I should get to have therapy about you." She says it jokingly but it just reminds him of all the many and varied ways he's hurt her.
"It isn't because of you. There's a lot of reasons, other things. Stuff I should have worked through a long time ago." He watches her closely. "But you have come up."
"Oh."
"Mrs. Chris Evans?" the barista bellows.
"That's our order." Mindy grins a little sheepishly.
"Yeah. I figured that out actually." He smiles back at her. She starts to slide off the stool but he places a hand on her shoulder. "I'll get it."
The guy behind the counter raises an eyebrow at Danny picking the cups with that name emblazoned in grease pencil across them before smirking knowingly. This is what life with Mindy is like, he thinks. It's having her too-bright Technicolor splashed across his gray. The barista winks at him. And screw it; Danny winks back.
Mindy knows his order, which is just a large black coffee with one packet of raw sugar, but still. He likes that she remembers. And that she doesn't try and get him to be more adventurous. The cups are hot even through the cardboard sleeves.
"Here." He places the double-shot caramel macchiato in front of her, and Mindy's face has taken on that pinched look of seriousness again.
"How did I come up in your therapy sessions?" she asks as he sits, voice low and firm at the same time.
"You're important to me. And," Danny swallows and rubs the palm of his hand on his jeans, "a lot of the things I messed up in our relationship had to do with other stuff. Things I was carrying around that I thought I had a handle on."
Danny takes a long swig of coffee and it singes his tongue. "It may have been pointed out to me by my very smart little brother that I was miserable and if I wanted that to change then I had to be the one to do it."
"You're miserable?"
"I was." Mindy gently touches the tips of her fingers to the top of his hand where it rests on the counter. It shoots a spark through his skin. He's missed her touch. "I miss you."
"You see me everyday," she shakes her head, and suddenly he's afraid that's how this is going to go. Maybe this isn't a second chance. Maybe this is closure. He has to at least make sure she knows that's not what he wants.
Danny flips his hand under hers and strokes the bones of her wrist. "Mindy, I miss you."
She looks down at their hands and when she looks back up at him there are tears in her eyes. She whispers, her voice watery, "I miss you, too."
"Yeah?"
Mindy shrugs, head bobbing in a way that says, 'duh, you idiot, of course I miss you'. "Did you mean what you said in your letter?"
"Of course I did. And I know it's not enough to make up for everything, but -" Danny takes a shaky breath. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you, the way I ended things with no explanation. You deserved to know. You deserve so much better than that."
"So give it to me," she says, squeezing his hand and smiling hopefully at him. "This time actually talk to me."
This time.
"I can do that."