It's not much later, in Isabella's room, that she asks:
"So... is Alex really a dom?"
"I said ten years because you said you'd be thirty with cats," she waves her hand. "I also said it wouldn't take that long."
"More than half of your entire life so far you spent as a child, and trying to predict what your life will be based on the few years of adolescence you've had so far is... tunnel vision. The reason I have to think you'd be able to find somebody is that most people do, regardless of how awful their life is when they're teenagers, especially when said awfulness has a name and a treatment."
"Oh. No, I think you're just wrong about that. You're not the first depressed person to think something like that, why do you think your case would be different?"
"Look, Jackson, the world isn't a nice enough place that solutions to problems just pop out when you need them. I haven't taken over it yet. I'm not sure what you want me to say, and I really don't understand your reluctance. In the very worst-case scenario, you two break up and therapy doesn't work and you find someone else, which like you yourself said was just a matter of actually going to town. And, again, the worst-case scenario won't happen because therapy and pills and psionics will help."
"There's a difference between not listening and listening but disagreeing with you. What things have you said that I haven't listened to, as opposed to listened to and argued with?"
She shakes her head. "Is there anything I can say to convince you to go back to therapy?"