(an excerpt)
 FOR EVERY SEVEN THINGS I cannot do, Malcolm always reminds me, there are another seven which I can.
“Uh-huh.” I pick at my left thumbnail with my right forefinger.
“Oh, Casey,” Malcolm shakes his head. I look at the light gray hairs among the black stubble under his chin. I don’t understand why he has stopped shaving his neck. It’s not like he is actually trying to grow a beard—though he is a seriously hairy guy. Black coarse hair is pulled into a little braid at the back of his neck. He used to have a long shaggy ponytail. The trimmed braid is evidence of the girlfriend I have never met and don’t care to imagine. It is enough that Malcolm is a guy’s guy, with the normal silly love life of the unmarried middle-aged heterosexual.
“You’re not giving yourself much of a chance.” He leans forward, being sincere for the cameras. I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. I’m not supposed to do that, think of this as the movie of my life. This is my life. Malcolm is genuinely sincere. It doesn’t make any difference, but he is. Thing is that all I want to do is to shut him up. I should tell him what a fool he looks changing his style for the new girlfriend, trying to look like some old pastel-jacketed sitcom star from his college days. You ain’t no Sonny Crockett, Malcolm.
I don’t say that. I say, “I’m doing all right.”
I’m pissed. My eyes burn and I know I could cry. But I am not going to do that. I just look at Malcolm and curl my hands into fists in my pocket.
Malcolm doesn’t mind when I cry. He expects me to cry and yell things, and now and then stomp out of his office. I’ve done all that and every time he got to be all sincere and noble, to talk about what could happen if I would only let it—all with this flat-faced sincerity that makes me want to kick over his chair. My way of messing with him is I don’t do that shit anymore. Don’t speak, don’t shout, or kick, or any of the stuff he waits for. I read the book, the one about recovery that says you have to process trauma, have to work it through. Working it through can get noisy and mean and messy. I avoid noisy or mean or messy. I stare straight ahead, I hang on to what I have.
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