Page 176 of Rather: The Therapist

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love, dear. That shit is ridiculous in itself.”

I nodded, unable to protest his claims.

“Up, up. Breakfast is ready.”

“Okay. Okay.”

I buried my head between Princeton’s neck and the pillow beneath us. Staying here all day was ideal, but there were a few tasks that weren’t up for negotiation. I had to get out of bed and get my day started, no matter how much I wanted to stay in.

I dragged my body from the bed into the upright position. My little shadow rose from the bed as well. I stretched my arms in the air and he did the same. Before his arms came down, I scrambled my fingers across his belly.

He fell over in laughter. Giggles were so good for the soul. I’d learned that over the last two weeks. Each time I heard Princeton’s, a part of me that I didn’t know was broken began to heal.

Dad. I signed. Is a hater.

His smile widened as he looked over his shoulder at Priest. His eyes returned to me shortly after.

Mom. He placed his hand in the air with his thumb against his chin. Is pretty.

My heart attempted to climb through my chest. Intensely, unrhythmically, it beat against the silk clinging to my skin. My head drew backward at an alarming speed, nearing snapping my spine and paralyzing me for life. Though it was still intact, I was immobilized by both my thoughts and Princeton’s words. Tears welled in my eyes as each breath I released shortened.

“Princeton.”

My voice was brimming with emotions, so many that it felt pointless. So, instead of using it, I used my hands. One went against my forehead in the salute stance and then came down onto the other that was just underneath my breast bone.

Son is so smart, I declared.

Because I couldn’t take the distance any longer, I grabbed hold of him and pulled him into me. Priest was mere feet away, eyes beaming with pride.

I love you, he mouthed.

In every lifetime. I responded.

I strolled through the door of Genre with a new book in-hand. This time, it wasn’t one from their shelves. It was the final draft of my very own publication. A local printer was able to get it printed and bound for a small fee. There were ten copies in total, nine of them were reserved for the women in my life that meant the most to me.

Mom

Range.

Rugger.

Roulette.

Roaman.

Royce.

Rome.

Egypt.

And, Kleigh.

I was pleasantly surprised by the dark figure near the edge of the patio dressed in black from head to toe. A thick coat shielded his body from the cold. Leather gloves and a black skull cap kept his hands and ears warm.

In his hands was a book from the shelves of Genre and a mug that resembled a tea cup. He was so consumed by the words on the pages that he wasn’t aware of my presence. His stillness was entertaining. I couldn’t recall a time when he was as quiet and as reserved.

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