“You’re taking me where?” Noah asked once again, his voice taking on that edgy whine I’d grown to hate.
“She’s just someone you can talk to—besides me,” I offered with a shrug.
“A counselor, Dad? You said counselor before.”
I sighed. “Okay, yes. She’s a counselor, but she’s a very good one. She’s not a shrink or a doctor. She’s just someone other than your dad. Look, between the move and a new school, I know a lot is going on right now. This hasn’t been easy for either of us, especially you. I just thought it might be a good idea for you to have someone neutral.”
“Neutral?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.
“Yeah, you know, someone who won’t cringe if you say you want to keep wearing your hair like that man-child singer…or if you want to talk about girls.”
“This is not a Bieber haircut, Dad!” he huffed.
A hint of a smile escaped him, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“It’s a skater cut,” he added.
I threw my hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay. It’s a skater cut. It’s cool.” He gave me a doubtful look, and I grinned. “Promise.”
“What is she like?” he asked as we made our way out the door and toward the car.
“I don’t know exactly. I did a bunch of research last night after you went to bed, and she came highly recommended on several boards. I called this morning, and it usually takes weeks, but I managed to get you in right away because she happened to have a cancellation.”
“Hmm,” was all I got in response. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his phone.
When I’d made the decision to move from our hometown of Charleston to Richmond, I had finally caved and bought him a cell phone. I’d known he’d miss his friends back home and need a way to keep in touch. I just hadn’t realized how in touch kids stayed nowadays. I was surprised his fingers hadn’t fallen off from overuse.
I also wanted to slit my own wrists for using a phrase like nowadays.
God, I felt fucking old.
Eleven years of single parenthood had done an amazing job of aging me past my years. At thirty-four, I felt a good ten years older most days, and that was even after running and going to the gym regularly.
Maybe this fresh start in a new city would be exactly what I needed.
As I set the car in park in front of a small office building and killed the engine, I looked up at the sign that read Family and Child Connections and hoped it would be exactly what we both needed.
“This place looks kinda hippieish,” Noah stated in displeasure as we made our way to the front entrance.
“What do you know about hippies?” I asked, taking in the wooden wind chimes and pewter fountain tucked away in a neatly kept small garden. It was the cheeriest office front I’d ever seen. I’d give him that.
“I don’t know, but Jake’s mom always said their next door neighbors were hippies, and they had those weird wooden things on their porch.”
I rolled my eyes. “They’re just wind chimes. Stop listening to your friends’ narrow-minded parents.”
“You dated her,” he reminded me as we stepped up to the door.
“Don’t remind me.” I shuddered. “Come on, let’s go in.”
Those two weeks were the worst of my life, and that was saying something.
Jake was a baseball player and a good one, too. His mom, Helen, was one proud Southern mama. There had seemed to be only two subjects Helen understood—well, three maybe—Jake, baseball, and Jake and baseball together.
Like most men, I’d watched my fair share of sports, including baseball. Since those two weeks, I hadn’t been able to see a game without dry-heaving.
It was a damn shame, too, because she had been mighty good in the sack—once she’d stopped talking. Hearing her scream my name had been the only time I actually enjoyed the sound of that woman’s voice.
After several hellish dates, I’d finally come to the conclusion that no amount of sex was worth that. Her tear-stained eyes, full of disappointment and hurt, had also led me to further realize that I shouldn’t date the mothers of my kid’s friends.
It was too messy.
That had been over two years ago.
Besides the random bar hookups here or there, my dating life had become a little dry. Sahara Desert dry, in fact.
Perhaps here in this new place, I’d finally find someone who wasn’t crazy or heartless, someone who didn’t care about baseball, and someone who would love Noah like I did.
Hell, I’d settle for someone normal right about now.
It was the exact opposite of what I saw when I turned my head and came face to face with Miss Prescott. She was wearing a long flowing dress that looked like an Indian sari, and her dark hair tumbled down her back in a loose braid. Noah’s words from earlier came to me, and I couldn’t help but grin as the word hippie flashed across my mind.
“Hi, you must be—”