Page 121 of Rather: The Therapist

“You’re like–” I paused, taking a second to catch my breath. “Warm tea on a winter’s night. Like honey glaze on homemade butter biscuits. Like the stillness after the storm that lets everyone affected know things are okay now that you’re here.”

“Like ointment one slathers over their burned, bruised, or bitten skin. Like a love song. The kind they recorded in the eighties and nineties. Like a fresh face after a day in the brutal sun. Like lavender buds in cold water. Like light. Like warmth. Like comfort.”

Caught in my feelings, I quieted myself and placed a hand on my heart.

Still now.

“Like you,” he added, pointing his head in my direction.

“Like us,” I breathed.

TEN

Clarke’s beauty was something I’d never be able to accurately describe. It was one of those things you’d have to see to truly believe. Stepping off the plane and being met with it was better than stumbling into the living room with sleepy eyes as a kid on Christmas and finding boxes stacked under the tree.

It had been seven days since I’d kissed the city’s air. Negotiations had lasted three days longer than expected. Implementation had been a breeze once the numbers were right. Yet and still, it was a four-day process.

“This way, son.”

I ushered Princeton toward the car. As much as I’d wanted him home over the last week, I wanted him near. He and Nikola were packed and ready to board their flight the second negotiations were over and his therapy session for the week had ended. My presence was pivotal in Princeton’s world.

A day or two without me and he’d be fine. Anything more and he’d begin shedding pounds from the lack of hydration and nutrients. Dinner wouldn’t interest him. Neither would his usual activities. To keep his routine intact, they traveled along with him and Nikola.

“This way, son.”

Stopping in my tracks, I lowered my body to the pavement. His eyes had wandered off, but his words were sitting right on top of my chest.

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

He chuckled.

“This way, son. This way, son.”

A hand covered his mouth as he continued to find humor in his repetitiveness.

“This way, son. This way, son.”

I couldn’t help but laugh myself as I tried to understand if he was mimicking me and my constant demand to have him by my side or if he simply couldn’t stop himself from repeating the phrase over and over, again.

“This way, son. This way, son.”

Woody. Mmm. That’s all. That’s all I’d ever heard come from those little lips of his. The fact that had changed in a matter of seconds had me struggling to find balance. My head was foggy. My heart was pounding.

My thoughts were running rampant. My limbs, they felt pointless almost because I couldn’t gather the strength to pull my son in my arms. I could only stare at him.

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

He’s talking. He’s talking to me. His voice. His–

“This way, son. This way, son.”

“Are you making fun of your father?” Nikola tittered, taking Princeton by the hand.

Her question snapped me out of whatever state Princeton’s progress had tossed me in. A nod from my son confirmed our suspicions. I found my strength and managed to palm his head while standing on my feet, again.

“I’m going to remember that next time you’re wandering around the house in a panic because you can’t find me.”

“This way, son. This way, son. This way, son,” he repeated.

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