Chapter 2
TWO
Charli
The Brass Band: The musicians arrive one by one and fall into formation. The procession does not begin until everyone who belongs has found their place.
I guide Emma's tiny shoulders into position with my thumbs, supporting her belly with my fingers. Her muscles respond with a gentle tension that wasn't there three weeks ago.
"There we go. Look at that neck control."
Emma's mother leans forward, worry lines creasing her forehead. "But she still falls to the left side when she sits. My sister's baby was sitting unassisted at five months."
I adjust Emma's hips with a gentle pressure from my palm. The sunlight through the blinds creates stripes across her onesie.
"See how she's pushing through her palms? That's new. That's strength building." I keep my voice steady, matter-of-fact. "Every baby moves at their own pace. Emma's building her core strength beautifully."
"But the pediatrician said—"
"We track progress forward, not sideways." I help Emma roll onto her back, supporting her head as she transitions. "Let's look at what she's gaining, not comparing her to other babies. Trust me. You'll drive yourself crazy if you do that."
This is the conversation I have daily with first-time parents. Their anxiety simmers just beneath their skin. I understand it. I felt it too with Benjy. The constant measuring against invisible yardsticks.
Emma coos up at me, her legs kicking with excitement. Her muscle tone is improving. I can feel it in the resistance when I flex her knees.
"Try this at home." I demonstrate the proper position for supporting trunk rotation. "Fifteen minutes, twice daily. No more, or she'll get frustrated."
I place Emma into her mother's arms, guiding her hands to the right positions.
"Like this?"
"Perfect." I smile at her. "You've got this. Emma's lucky to have you paying such close attention."
The tension in her shoulders eases. I've learned that parents need therapy as much as their children do sometimes.
My phone vibrates against the counter behind me. The screen lights up with Benjy's school number.
My heart drops into my stomach.
"Excuse me one second." I stand, wiping my hands on my pants as I cross to the counter. Schools don't call unless something's wrong.
I press the phone to my ear, turning half away from Emma and her mother. Every nerve in my body stands at attention.
"Charli Parsons speaking."
"Ms. Parsons, this is Ms. Rivera from Westlake Elementary. There's been an incident involving Benjy."
"Is he hurt?" My voice remains level, but my free hand grips the counter edge.
"He's physically fine. No injuries. But we'd like to discuss what happened with one of the other children."
Relief floods through my body. "What happened?"
"There was a disagreement on the playground. Benjy pushed a child during recess. We've addressed it with both children, but school policy requires parent notification and a meeting. The principal would like to speak with you today if you're able to come in."
I glance at the wall clock. It's 1:50. We have ten minutes left in Emma's session.
"I understand. I can be there in thirty minutes."
"We'll see you then."
I end the call and take one measured breath before turning back to Emma and her mother. My client schedule flashes through my mind. Emma is my last appointment today, thank goodness.
I kneel back on the therapy mat, indicating for her to place Emma down.
We finish up what I wanted to show mom so they can work at home. She takes the paperwork I have to demonstrate the exercises and puts it in her purse before picking up Emma.
"Are you good for next Friday, same time?" I tap the appointment into the system while Emma's mother gathers their diaper bag.
"Yep, this time works perfectly for us."
"Alrighty. We're all set."
I grab all my supplies and put them in my therapy bag before saying our goodbyes. All I can think about is getting to the school and finding out exactly what happened today on the playground.
The school office smells like industrial cleaners and children's drawings. The secretary eyes me as I walk in. I smile as I approach her desk.
"Hi. I'm Charli Parsons. My son is Benjy Parsons—"
"Ms. Parsons, Principal Hernandez is expecting you," she says, cutting me off before I can stumble through being called to the principal's office.
I spot Benjy through the open door to the principal's office. He sits with his small back straight in a miniature blue plastic chair, his green eyes focused on the floor. His feet don't touch the ground yet.
The principal stands when I enter. She's tall with neat braids and a pressed blazer. Ms. Lin, Benjy's kindergarten teacher, sits in another chair, her expression professionally concerned.
"Thank you for coming so quickly, Ms. Parsons."
"Of course." I choose the adult chair next to Benjy. His eyes flick to me briefly but return to studying the floor.
The principal, Ms. Hernandez, sits behind her desk. "I'll get straight to it. There was an incident during recess today. Benjy pushed another student."
My face stays neutral. Benjy's shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly.
Ms. Lin leans forward. "Jason Kelley was knocked to the ground. He wasn't injured, but we have a zero-tolerance policy for physical aggression."
I nod. "I understand. We do, too. Don't we, Benjy?”
He nods yes, but doesn't speak or look up from whatever he's focused on the floor.
Being physical isn't normally a concern with Benjy, so I'm wondering if there's more to the story. Regardless, pushing is never the answer, and we've discussed this before.
"We've already spoken with Benjy about this. He knows pushing isn't acceptable." The principal's voice is firm but not unkind. "But we wanted you to be aware, and we need to document the incident."
Benjy's small hands curl into fists on his lap. His posture isn't defiant exactly. It's dignified. Like he's bracing.
I study him for a moment. "May I speak with him?"
The principal gestures her permission.
I slide from my chair and crouch down in front of Benjy, bringing my face level with his. His freckles stand out against his pale skin.
"Tell me what happened, Ben."
His eyes meet mine directly. They're clear and unflinching.
"Jason was making fun of Ava because she was crying. She lost her bracelet and he kept calling her a baby." Benjy's voice is steady. "I told him to stop three times, but he wouldn't listen."
"So you pushed him, Ben? You know that's not okay."
A small nod. "He was being so mean and he wouldn't stop. And she kept crying harder and harder."
Ms. Lin shifts in her chair. "We understand Benjy had good intentions, but he can't shove anyone, no matter what. Jason was wrong too, and he's receiving consequences for his behavior as well."
I hold Benjy's gaze. "You're right that someone needed to step in when Ava was upset. That was brave. But you should have gone to the teacher, not pushed him."
His expression doesn't change, but I see the flash of relief in his eyes. "You don't get to use your hands to make a point, Benjy. Not ever."
"Yes, ma'am."
I love that he was standing up for Ava, but I can't say that to him or Ms. Hernandez. I squeeze his knee gently, letting him know we're okay.
"Next time this happens, you find an adult. Or you walk Ava away."
He considers this, his head tilting slightly as he processes.
"The how matters as much as the why," I say quietly. "Do you understand?"
His chin trembles briefly before he steadies it with visible effort. I recognize that control. It's mine.
"Yes, ma'am."
He nods, relief visible in the loosening of his shoulders.
Principal Hernandez taps her desk lightly. "Benjy will have to apologize to Jason on Monday morning when we all get back to school. He's already left for the day."
"I understand." I turn to Benjy. "Can you do that?"
"Yes." No argument or drama.
The principal seems satisfied. "Thank you for coming in. We appreciate your support with this."
I stand and extend my hand professionally. "Thank you for handling this so well. Since we are so close to the end of the day, I'm going to go ahead and take Benjy with me."
"Of course. Thank you for being a part of the solution. I wish all parents were as involved and understanding in these situations.
I smile at her as we walk through the office, Benjy's small hand in mine. I don't lecture him. Not here. Not in front of others. His dignity matters to me.
Outside, the afternoon sun heats the asphalt. Children's voices carry from the playground. Benjy is silent until we reach the car.
He climbs into his booster, buckling his seatbelt. His legs swing slightly, not quite reaching the floorboard. I watch him for a moment longer, then turn around and start the car.
The radio plays softly between us. Three blocks pass before he speaks.
"Are you mad at me, Mommy?"
I keep my gaze fixed on the road, hands steady at ten and two.
"I'm not mad, Buddy. I do want you to understand why we can't push others, though."
We stop at a red light, and I turn around to face him. His small fingers trace the edge of his backpack strap. The afternoon sun catches his profile, highlighting how his features are sharpening as baby roundness fades.
"You stood up for Ava. That matters." I signal for a turn. "But strength isn't just about when to step in. It's knowing how to step in, and when not."
He nods, processing. I can almost see the thoughts forming behind his eyes.
"What should I have done?" he asks finally.
"Use your words first, which you did. If that doesn't solve it, then you get a teacher. Or stand beside Ava instead of pushing Jason. You can't go around fighting everyone's battles, okay?"
The light changes, and we move forward again. These small conversations build his compass, point by invisible point.
"Jason said girls are crybabies."
"And what do you think?"
"I think Jason's stupid."
I suppress a smile. "Maybe uninformed is a better word. Everyone cries sometimes. Even grown men."
"Even PopPop?"