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“Did you get my text about a joint counseling session?” Brahms asks.
Roger mumbles something I can barely understand. Since these two need to talk, I kiss Roger’s cheek in greeting. “Listen to your son, and don’t let Dad’s issues keep you apart.” I look at Brahms. “Text me when you plan to come see Aria and Ewan.”
Roger looks sheepish. “I know I promised to visit the kids too. It’s just . . .” he trails off awkwardly.
“It’s never too late,” I assure him and give him a quick hug before leaving them to solve their relationship. If not much comes from this conversation, I hope it’s at least a first step to find themselves again.
* * *
When I arrive back at home, I find an arrangement of flowers right by the door. The card reads.
I already miss you,
B
Sephie: Thank you for the flowers.
Brahms: I hope you like them. I didn’t know what to get for Ary and Ewan, so I’ll do it next time.
Sephie: When are you planning to come and meet them officially?
Brahms: The weekend, maybe?
Sephie: Did you fix anything with your dad?
Brahms: Not exactly. To quote him, “Your confession got me a bit miffed.”
Sephie: No fucks or bloody something? That doesn’t sound like your father.
Brahms: There were too many people around. The man likes to contain his anger. He’s still afraid that his spats will make it into some social media blog or Page Six.
Sephie: He should’ve worried about it when he was in his 20s and 30s. Now it’s a little too late.
Brahms: He’s ridiculous. But at least he’s willing to attend the therapy session with me so we can try to mend our relationship.
Sephie: Hey, I need to pick up my little terrors. Let’s chat later.
Brahms: Our little terrors. Do you think I can come over this Saturday?
Sephie: Saturday sounds good.
Brahms: Talk to you soon, beautiful.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Brahms
The driver is only twenty minutes away from Seraphina’s house, and I’m beginning to second-guess my decision to officially meet Ewan and Aria. Though I know I’ve spoken to them before, this is completely different. I’m not the grumpy patient from upstairs. Nope. Now, I’m their father. A man who has been absent for seven years of their life.
What if they hate me?
Maybe I should go back to New York and try another day. I mean, what if they don’t like me? I don’t have a great track record with them. Just whatever Sephie has told them, which is probably too generous.
My anxiety spirals as doubt creeps in. Before it goes too far, I text Seraphina:
Brahms: Are you sure this isn’t too soon?
Sephie: Too soon to what?
