Page 49 of Mornings By the Linden Tree
He smiled widely, unfolded his legs, and then went to his desk. I sat there primly, watching him tug a pastel yellow and black bumblebee backpack out from under his desk. Of course he had a bumblebee backpack. Why would I have ever thought he might carry an attaché case or a leather satchel like any other normal professional?
With a merry little step, he returned to me with a box of perhaps a dozen cookies resting inside. I plucked one out of the plastic container. He did the same and returned to his seat, recrossed his legs, and there we sat eating our cookies like two little boys. I brushed off the crumbs on my lap. He did not.
“So, if you wish, you can make yourself comfortable and we can discuss how deep your feelings for those in your life go.” I shuddered just thinking about it. “Lao Tzu said that being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage. You speak of control equating strength in your eyes. Can you be courageous enough to love someone deeply?”
I sighed and reached into the box for another cookie. “I’m not sure I know how, but…” I stared at the cookie resting in my fingers. “How does one climb down from the tallest tower they’ve walled themselves into?”
“That’s what we hope to discover.” I glanced over at him. He held out his cookie. I tapped it with mine. “Would you like to talk about Lennon or just eat cookies?”
Yes, he was the oddest therapist I had ever met. “Can we do both?”
“Of course. I should have brought some milk. Next time!”
I could plainly see us sitting here eating cookies and drinking cold milk from cups withSesame Streetcharacters on the sides. My cup would say C for cookieandcourageous. I was pretty sure his would feature Elmo and the letter would be S for self-introspection and silly socks.
Chapter Seventeen
My backyard had never been fuller.
Even though the weather was ghastly hot and humid, all the partygoers were cool and happy. Most especially Valeria, who was now officially four years old. She was the center of attention, a spot she now seemed much more comfortable with, seated regally under a small outdoor canopy I’d rented. The blazing August sun couldn’t touch the little ones sitting on the green grass in front of Lennon. The catering company had done a lovely job with such a narrow, tight area.
The food and cake were indoors, obviously, staying cool in the fridge until the performance was over. I’d hit up my new parents’ group on Facebook to ask if I should open presents first or have food slash cake and ice cream first. It seemed to be a fifty-fifty split with several saying they take the presents home to avoid upsetting any children. I, on the other hand, felt the children who were not the birthday person could learn a valuable lesson about control. And no, control was not always a dirty word. Teaching moments are invaluable. Mrs. Cole, who was seatedwith the kids—as if Valeria would let her new nana be far away—had agreed with me on that point.
“He’s incredible,” Marty said as he stepped up next to me with a tall glass of iced tea. He’d dressed down in shorts and a summer shirt with toucans. Toucans. What romantic birds.
“Agreed,” I said as I enjoyed watching Lennon doing what he did best. Performing for children. He was wearing his baggy overalls today, a straw hat, and a joyous smile. I could not take my eyes off him even if he were dressed like someone from Old MacDonald’s farm. That was the theme, after all. Valeria had wanted a farm party complete with pigs. When I’d explained the Boston City Council didn’t allow pigs within the city limits, she got very upset. Even going so far as to write—putting her name on the paper, then filling the rest of the random letters she could handle—a scathing letter we then had to mail. I’d sent it to my office, but she had been placated enough to have a farm bunny party instead of a farm pig party.
Marty cleared his throat just as Lennon launched into a song to help teach children sign language. Valeria, Penny, Chandler, and the other children were quite engrossed. The adults were also enjoying the show. Lennon was in his glory. Small strands of blond hair were stuck to his brow and the back of his neck as he placed his guitar aside to free his hands.
“You know, if you’re that hungry, you have tons of food in the house,” Marty commented. I shook off the haze of lust brought on from seeing Lennon sweat. I gave my partner a dry look that made him snicker. “Seriously, you stare at him as if he’s a canapé.”
“Go home,” I snapped and got a soft laugh.
“It’s nice to see you so wild about someone. He’s a really nice kid. Sorry, man.” I’d corrected Marty several times over the past few weeks since my relationship with Lennon had somehow been made public knowledge. Well, not somehow. Rissa had toldone of the other paralegals over coffee one morning and like wildfire the news of Ice Cold Wes was getting funky with his manny. A term I greatly disliked. I’d not been pleased. Rissa, who had been coming down with a summer cold, had been groggy on cold meds and just let it slip. She was incredibly sorry for that breach of privacy. And while I’d been upset, it soon became less distressing as more people in the law office began asking about Lennon and Valeria, and when they could meet them. Which was why I had a backyard filled with attorneys, their children, and their staff. “A nice man.”
“That he is. Very nice.” I could do nothing but concur. Lennon was everything I hadn’t known I was missing. If I could only find a way to tell him that he was the one who held my heart. I’d spoken with Dr. Bajaj a few times about my fears, but only just a few times. Those seemed to be mature discussions not to be had in front of a child, so I was now about to see a woman he had referred me to. I’d not yet had my first session and was doubtful about opening up to her, but I had been assured she did wear her shoes throughout the session, so yay on footwear.
Lennon finished his last song of this set, bowed, and told the partiers that food would be served shortly. He then hugged Valeria before moving to speak to the adults in the group. I prayed many would ask him to perform for their kids. He was so skilled but yet unable to break into something more fitting of his talent. Every time I broached backing him, his cockles ruffled, so I backed off. The man did have pride. That was a good trait.
“You seem happy, Wes. I’m glad you found him. I know I give you a lot of guff about dating such a young man—”
“Considering your wife is twenty years younger than you…” I let that hang.
He had the good grace to blush just a bit. “What can we do? Hot lawyers bring all the milkshakes to the yard.”
I snorted so hard my sinuses vibrated. “Stop trying to be rizz.”
“That is so not how that term is supposed to be used,” Lennon said as he ambled up to us, his face a sheen of sweat, his old guitar slung over his shoulder. “Stick to talking about sexy things like deposition or verdict. Oh, or whip out that Latin! I get all kinds of worked up when Wes lays habeas corpus or amicus curiae on me in bed.”
I rolled my eyes, but Marty found that hilarious. “I’ll have to try that on my wife when we’re getting frisky.” Lennon gave me a quick sideways hug, which was just perfect. He knew I was working through a lot of things, one of them being personal displays of affection. I’d never had any to publicly display with and found it uncomfortable. Quick little pecks or hugs, for now, were quite nice. It would take time, but I was trying to be less barricaded off emotionally. “Listen, would you be open in late September? I have a grandson who’s going to be three, and you’d be perfect for his party.”
“I’d have to check with my boss,” Lennon said as the kids started a game of hide and seek. Not that there were many places to hide in this skinny yard but more power to them.
“Oh, I thought you were an independent performer,” Marty lied neatly. I’d told him of my efforts to get Lennon to leave his current employer and form his own party company. An LLC was simple to set up. I could do it for him in an hour. “You certainly do have the talent. Why are you still slaving away for someone else?”
I stood silently off to the side, sipping on some lemonade, my eye on the children while my ear was attuned to the discussion beside me.
“Lack of funds to start up is the big thing,” Lennon confided, then plucked a glass of pink lemonade from the tray of a caterer passing through the crowd. All drinks were nonalcoholic at this party.
