Page 122 of Rather: The Therapist

It didn’t matter how many times he said it. It felt like the first time every time. My heart was happy.

“That’s exactly what I’m not going to call out to you and say.”

It had been seven days since I’d seen Rather. Since I’d touched her. Since I’d kissed her. Since I’d heard her voice. Today, however, I’d make up for all the days I’d missed.

We settled in the car with Nikola in the backseat with Princeton. The stereo was shut off completely. It wasn’t music I wanted to hear. It was my son.

I took out my phone and opened the camera. As I pressed the button to record, I sparked his interest by revisiting the words he’d said over and over again.

“This way, son.”

He lifted his head with a smile on his face. Immediately, the words began flowing again.

“This way, son. This way, son. This way, son.”

“This way, son.” I joined him before turning the video off.

My father was the first call I made. I wanted him to know there was no need for him to come by my home to get Princeton for therapy. But, most importantly, it was crucial that he heard the voice of his only grandchild. We’d waited close to six years for him to say his first words. Most parents only waited a few months.

“Priest,” he answered.

“Listen.”

There wasn’t a response. Instead, he quieted and complied.

“This way, son. This way, son.”

Elation filled me. Princeton rocked back and forward, tapping his index finger against his chin.

“This way, son. This way, son. This way, son.”

“Priest. Is that my gran– Is that my grandson?”

Bewilderment was intertwined in my father’s words. There was doubt. There was excitement. There was pride. There was joy.

“It is,” confidently, I confirmed.

I could hear the broken pieces of his heart as they began finding their way back together. If Princeton never said a single word, we’d love him all the same. However, we understood his frustrations and desires to do more, say more, and progress more. Most times, it was as if the words were at the tip of his tongue, but he simply couldn’t get them out.

“Goddamn, man,” he spoke into the phone. The cracking of his voice raised fine bumps on my skin. “I knew he could. I always knew my boy could. I always knew.”

“Me, too, Pops.”

“That woman is a Godsend. Kofi had better get his shit together quick. If nothing else, Princeton needs her. She’s exactly what the fucking doctor failed to prescribe.”

She’s our antidote.

“I was just about to head that way to pick him up. Is he about ready?”

“Not quite. We just landed. You don’t have to worry about getting him to therapy this week. I’ll make sure he’s there on time. We’re already in the car.”

“Alright. Sounds good, son.”

In the background, Princeton continued repeating himself.

“I’ll hit you back later, old man.”

“Listen to him go. When you get tired of hearing him say that shit over and over, send him to us. We’ll listen until our ears bleed.”

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