Page 1 of Rather: The Therapist

PROLOGUE

Nice and easy, my boy.

Tension coiled the pit of my stomach. The fork dangled in the air with medium rare, pan-seared filet mignon at the tip. With patience, I waited for it to disappear into the small mouth just inches away from me at the dinner table.

I didn’t blink. I didn’t move. I didn’t make a sound. The moment was pivotal. Any interruption could be the ending of a hopeful beginning. Each second pulled at my heartstrings.

Fuck.

The fork lowered, inch by inch, until it reached the glass plate.

Clink.

Another milestone was buried in the graveyard where hundreds more had gone to rest until being excavated. Some had only rested for days. Some for weeks. Others for months. Some we’d never see again, because they were simply too overwhelming for the small imbalance and big emotions to manage.

A faint sigh slipped through my slightly parted lips. Displays of exasperation were prohibited in fatherhood. In my case, essentially. It promoted discouragement and triggered stressors we fought hard to keep hidden behind my son’s handsome face.

Princeton wasn’t average. And, nothing about the way I’d chosen to parent him was either. He was special. I knew it. He knew it. And, everyone around us did, too.

In a single gaze, orbs could easily determine his level of difficulties functioning in a world built with children like him on the chopping block.

“Mm mm. Mm mm.”

The same, repetitive sound erupted from his lips as his head lowered and the side of his index finger went into his mouth. Flared nostrils contradicted the splintering of my heart.

The lack of communication, the inability to speak, and all the other shit stopping Princeton from being the adventurous, independent child he was trying so desperately to be gutted me so often. I wondered just how much I had left to carve.

“Hey.” I softened, weakening my resolve to meet him on the level he demanded. “Hey. Another day. There’s always another day, son.”

Though my words had a visible effect, the rocking had already commenced. The whipping of his head from one side to the other continued. The switch had been flipped and until his body and mind aligned, he wouldn’t be able to control his movements.

My lids sealed briefly. When I reopened them, an unfamiliar set of eyes rested on Princeton’s wiggly frame. My body began to overheat as boiling blood cruised through my veins. The pistol that was seated on my lap was now in my hand.

My finger was on the trigger, ready to apply the four pounds of pressure required to put a bullet right through the eyes of the busboy with a smile on his face and the deflated chest from sniggering quietly.

I’ll deflate that motherfucker for good.

“Mm mm. Mm mm.”

The only sound I’d ever heard come from my son’s mouth put life back into perspective for me. I released the breath I’d been holding and stood, instead. Catching an unnecessary body with him by my side would stretch his mind beyond its current capacity. I wouldn’t forgive myself.

My feet began the short journey despite my thoughts taking a second to catch up. Not willing to cause my son any more trouble, I clutched my piece as I stepped to the very rude, very uninformed employee. My tolerance was nonexistent when it came to Princeton, and I’d never had an issue making it clear for anyone.

“Say.” Clearing my throat, I wiped the sides of my mouth with my thumb and index.

My presence was unwelcomed. That much was obvious. I didn’t give a fuck. I hoped that was obvious as well.

“Do me a favor, homeboy.”

With the back of my hand, I patted his chest. His body swayed each time I landed.

“Yo, man, wh–”

“You see that young boy you’re so fucking amused by over there?”

I nodded toward Princeton.

“I– sor–”

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