Miraculously, Trina and I get along now. Well. We get along okay. After the last time, I've started helping her in the kitchen more. But we don't talk. Not much. Honestly? I'm still worried she hates me. It's been quite a while since Marvin introduced us, but sometimes my mind flashes back to the thought of her seeing us together, and I wonder if she still resents me for it.

Marvin and I don't talk about it either. And if I'm being totally honest, he's starting to get on my nerves. I don't know what it is. Maybe the fact that we go to his ex-wife's house for dinner more and more frequently nowadays, or the fact that he never helps us cook. Maybe that's just what happens when you're in a relationship. You'll get on each other's nerves.

And it's still weird to think of it as a relationship. We live together now. I'm sure the label was long overdue. But I still don't know how to feel about it.

This evening, Marvin and I arrive a little bit early. Trina meets us at the door, and she actually does say "hi, Whizzer," to me, which makes me feel a little better about her hating me.

"Have you started on dinner?" Marvin asks with a frown.

Trina shakes her head. "No, not yet. But I meant to tell you, I've been seeing the psychiatrist you recommended to me. Uh, Mendel."

"So he told me," he says, nodding. "It all went well."

"Well. Yes. I think so. He's a very nice man." She clears her throat. "Anyway. You two are early."

"What can I say? Traffic was easy on us today," I remark.

Marvin's still looking at his ex-wife. "Do you think you'll be seeing him again?"

"Yes, I will. Regularly, actually. You were right. He's been good for me."

"Well. Good."

There's tension. Even though their words would be taken as a simply civil conversation, I notice that Marvin is frowning, and Trina's looking at the clock, and nobody says anything else as the time is ticking away. I have had enough silent moments with Marvin and his wife, so I say something to get the conversation back on track. "Where's Jason?"

Trina waves her hand. "Oh. He's off somewhere. Do you know, he's been playing chess against himself a lot?"

"Whizzer knows. He's the one who taught him to play," Marvin informs her.

"Did you?" She looks at me, intrigued.

I say nothing. It doesn't sound like she thinks it's a very good thing. Maybe it's tiring, always having to tear your son away from his chess. Maybe that's just another reason for her to dislike me.

"Well?" Marvin asks. "Do you want to go get him so we can talk about dinner?"

"I don't know if that's the best idea," Trina sighs. "I tried talking to him earlier about going outside and he was just so engrossed he hardly heard what I was saying." She lowers her voice, even though it's unlikely Jason is around to hear her. "I think he should see your psychiatrist."

Marvin looks at her. "You do?"

"Yes. But he won't listen to me. I want you to talk to him."

"You want me to talk to him?" Marvin repeats. "I can't talk to him, Trina. I don't know what's been going on with him lately, but—"

"Please," she says. "Just come upstairs, okay? If he's going to listen to anyone, it would be you."

Marvin looks undoubtedly annoyed, but he follows Trina to Jason's room anyway. I stand by the door, seemingly forgotten by the two of them. I don't know what to do. Jason and I, we get along, but this is really something for his parents. I settle on waiting at the bottom of the staircase for when they come down.

I can hear bits and pieces. Marvin's greeting him, trying to subtly bring up the topic of a psychiatrist. I overhear him say, "I'll pay the bill until you're old!"

Oh, my God.

Trina's starting to talk to him, too, but from what I can hear, Jason is unmoved. He's telling them, no, he does not need a psychiatrist, and he won't go.

He's stubborn. That's another thing I've noticed about him. For a kid who doesn't talk much, he can be very strong-headed. I can't help but smile when he says, "Just because you failed as parents..." and Trina gasps.

Only a moment later do I hear my name, followed by a groan from Marvin. His reluctant voice floats down the stairs, "Whizzer, can you come talk to Jason?"

Me? I'm surprised. More than surprised. But I go upstairs anyway. And there they are, in the middle of Jason's room, a chess board abandoned mid-game.

"Jason wanted to speak with you," Marvin says with a sidelong glance at his son.

I can't help but smile. "Okay, Jason," I tell him, crouching down so that we're face-to-face. "What would you like to speak with me about?"

"Do you think I should see a psychiatrist?" Jason asks.

I pause. "Well. I'm not sure. I mean, it depends on—" I am interrupted by Marvin nudging the back of my head with his hand. Hard. "Ow!"

I turn to glare at him, and he gives me a raised-eyebrow, meaningful look. I sigh and turn to back to Jason.

"Maybe so. But—"

Trina clears her throat from behind Jason and moves her head in a nodding gesture. I've gotten the hint by now.

"Absolutely, Jason," I say to the kid, who is oblivious to his parents' signals. He glances up at Marvin, then at Trina.

After a pause, he finally says, "Okay, I'll go."

I shrug and look up at the parents. "He'll go."

"He'll go!" Trina sighs with relief.

"If he comes here," Jason adds.

Marvin exchanges a look with Trina. "They don't make house calls," he tells her.

The conversation is interrupted by a loud beeping. At first nobody knows where it's coming from, and then I realize it's my watch.

"Oh!" I look at it, and a lot more time has passed than we thought. It's dinnertime, and we've been too occupied with telling Jason to see a psychiatrist to even think about cooking.

And Marvin is not happy about that.