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47
The Townhouse
PARKER
The townhouse is on the Upper East Side of Manhattan just a few blocks away from Central Park. The six-story building’s facade is made from Indiana Limestone.
I’ve spent enough time with my dad and his architectural magazines and notebooks to know a good house when I see one, but this is far too extravagant. Especially if it was just going to be Hudson and me. This place is for a family with lots of kids.
The interior is composed of walnut floors, marble countertops, crystal chandeliers, and fireplaces in almost every room of the house. There’s even a fully built roof deck with an enormous garden and hot tub. Seven bedrooms and eight bathrooms. It feels a little much.
“Don’t you like it?” Hudson is leaning against the wall as I stare at the spiral staircase ahead of us.
It has a beautifully crafted black, iron-cast filigree banister and goes all the way up.
“I love it,” I tell him as I run my hand along the cold banister. “But what are we going to do with all this space?”
“Have sex in every room,” he says playfully and I make a face, but he just grins. “I have a healthy sexual appetite.”
“If you had to be the personification of one of the deadly sins, you’d surely be lust,” I tell him.
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing. According to physicians, there’s no limit on the amount of sex you can have.”
“If you have a lot of sex for the right reasons, then I suppose it’s okay,” I say.
Hudson looks away and taps the banister, completely changing the subject as he continues to ask, “So, do you like it?”
“I said I love it.”
“Good.” He bends down and lifts the box at his feet, before going upstairs and I watch him until he’s gone.
He woke me up early this morning to have sex and then he completely shut off after that and I can’t understand what went wrong.
He’s not outwardly angry at me either. He just seems to be silently lost in his own world and doesn’t seem to want me around much.
I can engage in an argumentative battle with him until he tells me what’s wrong or I can ignore his tantrum and wait for him to come around.
I’ll choose the latter because working with him is like working with a child. You have to have the patience and thankfully I do.
Besides, all fighting does is drive a wide wedge between us, so even if he’s going to be difficult, I’m determined to make it work and help him.
He doesn’t love you, at least not the way he’s telling you.Dr. Callahan’s words come into my mind again like a reminder.
I’m risking my self-worth and heart, but I want to try with Hudson. Whatever toxicity he’d experienced when he was small, made a lasting effect on him. I need to speak to a therapist and somehow get Hudson to one.
According to the other blog posts, it’s extremely difficult to get people with ASPD to talk or even get within a few feet of a therapist.
But I’m still willing to try and help him. There’s no way that there can’t be any help at all. Technology and science are developing so rapidly, so it can’t be an impossibility.
“Hudson.” I walk up the stairs, peeking into each room already fitted with beds and clean blankets.
I find him in the main room right at the top, going through the box he’d carried up here.
He’s leaning against the king-sized bed, flipping through stacks of papers.
“Are you busy?” I come up behind him and place my hands around his broad shoulders.
“Not really,” he mumbles, his eyebrows knit together as he stares at the papers. “Why? Is something wrong?”
