After I dropped Bella off, I decided to spend some time with my adoptive parents. I picked up Sam and drove to my parents’ home. My mother was there by herself. My father was working. “Edward, what a pleasant surprise,” she said, hugging me. “I thought you had plans.”
“I do. On Sunday,” I chuckled, walking into the foyer. “Tonight, I wanted to spend time with you and Dad.”
“He’s filling in for an attending. He likes to take an occasional shift to keep his techniques up to snuff,” she explained, hanging up my coat. “So, you’re stuck with me.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I smirked, unclipping Sam’s leash. “It smells good in here.”
“I’m making some comfort food,” she explained. “It’s cold and dreary outside. So, I made chicken and broccoli casserole. It’ll be good for me and delicious for your father when he gets home after his shift.”
“Do you need any help?” I asked.
“Just talk to me. It’s been too long since we’ve had a mother/son date,” Esme crooned. “How are things going with your therapist?”
“Nice way to ease into the conversation,” I snorted, sitting down at the counter. She put a glass of wine in front of me, giving me an all-knowing grin.
“It’s been a couple of months. I’ve noticed a difference,” she said. “You smile more. You’re not as jumpy.”
“Therapy is going well. Dr. Gibbs and I have a pretty good rapport. The first few appointments were spent getting to know each other before delving into my neuroses,” I sighed, sipping my wine. “He also suggested that I see his partner, Dr. Marsden, who is a psychiatrist.”
“They want to medicate you?” she frowned.
“Only some anxiety medications, as needed. They suggested an anti-depressant, but I’ve dealt with my issues without medications for thirty-five years,” I shrugged. “However, I do have moments where I feel out of control or so angry that I need help calming down. Before, I’d use either alcohol or sex.”
“Edward,” she chided.
“What? It’s not like I was ever a virgin,” I snorted humorlessly. “My innocence was long gone, left the building when I turned five.”
Esme looked at me, her eyes wide. I’d never spoken so frankly about my childhood abuse. “Edward … I didn’t mean to … I’m sorry,” she sputtered. “Five?”
“People are ugly, cruel,” I spat.
“I knew it was bad, but five years old?” Esme whimpered, tears welling in her hazel eyes. “Who would do that to a five-year-old?”
“Raymond Burton and his brother, Ralph,” I said, my voice hollow.
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