Page 42 of Erik

With a glance at the mother of my son, I start, “To answer your question.” I turn to face Christine, the woman who owns my heart, but doesn’t want it. “Ms. Daee had a small role in the band’s biopic. She came by to wrap up some business, but she’s now leaving.”

When she walks away, shoulders in a slouch, I scoop Liam in my arms. I crush him in a tight embrace, feeling my son’s heart beating against my chest, his chubby arms folded around my neck. I must cherish these moments before Liam gets old enough to know better than to trust the monster he’s got for a father.

“What’s your friend’s name, Daddy?”

A parched throat makes my voice grate. “Christine.”

He rubs his forehead on my cheek, asking, in his delightful, temporary hiss, “When is Christine coming to our house again? She didn’t get to see my playroom that time.”

When his innocent words bring an avalanche of painful memories rolling down the hill, smothering me, I gasp for air. Disguising it as an expression of amazement, I round my eyes, and bounce him in my arms. “You’ve got a playroom? I wasn’t aware of that. You’ve got to take me to see it someday.”

He snort-laughs, “Silly Dad, you’ve played with me there. Remember?”

I roll my eyes upward as if in deep concentration. I shake my head. “Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Dad, stop!” He squeals, arching his back when I roll up his shirt and tickle his tummy with the scruff on my chin.

Laughing, I transfer Liam to Meg’s outstretched arms. “Thank you.” I tousle his hair, and he swats my hand away. “See you later, munchkin.”

“Okay.” His face lights up, eyebrows fly to his hairline. “Bring your friend Christine, so she can play with me.”

The gaping void in my chest expands. “Can’t promise you that, but I can promise I’ll read your favorite story at bedtime, okay?”

He nods, squeezing my cheeks with his chubby fingers, smooching my nose.

Rubbing a hand on my son’s back, I turn to Carlotta. “You guys should get going. I’ve got an appointment across town I can’t be late for.”

At the door, she turns to me. “You’ve been avoiding me for a week. We’ll have to sit down and talk at some point. I’ve got news to share and decisions to make.”

“I couldn’t care less about any of that, and I’m really late. Just go.”

She huffs, and leaves. At last.

I close the door, and pace the room, scrolling my cell phone for the therapist’s number. I press it and get his voicemail. “Dr. Daroga, Erik Crawford. We had a session yesterday, but some things happened since. Could you see me today?”

***

Two hours later, I seat on the edge of a plush brown couch across from Dr. Percy Daroga’s winged chair. Long, ebony fingers type away on a tablet, while I shuffle my feet, reliving the moment Christine ripped my heart out of my chest and trampled on it.

“When she rejected me, I felt that pressing need to cut myself, again. Had I been alone in the office, I’m sure I would have slashed my body, the deeper, the better.”

His green eyes trade his notes for my face. “Yet you didn’t, not even after they left.”

I stroke my chin, squinting my eyes at the ceiling. “Correct. It didn’t cross my mind as I played with Liam, which is often the case. I’m fine when I’m with him.”

“Do you feel loved when you’re with your son?”

I blow raspberries. “Of course.” My ears ring with the influx of blood as my temperature rises. “Haven’t you been listening to me? He’s the only person who loves me for who I am.”

“That’s too heavy a burden for your son’s shoulders to carry. What happens if he doesn’t return your love the way you expect? Or if he’s not around?”

Cold fingers grip my spine. I shudder. “Don’t even go there.” With the wrath of a fire-breathing dragon burning in my chest, I rumble, “How dare you? I’ve told you about the fire.”

Dr. Daroga offers me a serene smile, Monalisa style. “Which has got nothing to do with my question. Think of a scenario where your son, and your girlfriend Christine, aren’t available, regardless of possible reasons for that unavailability.”

I fidget on the couch. “The casual way you’ve added her in your narrative doesn’t sit well with me.” He remains unfazed. I huff, “Why would I want to picture my life without Liam. I don’t understand.”

His lips part in a broad grin, illuminating his face, his eyes sparkle like emeralds. “Not yet, but you will. Our time’s up.” He snaps the cover of the tablet shut, and unfolds from the chair, gesturing for me to follow him.

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