7. Carson
Carson
No one tells you how many steps there are to painting a room when you’re picking out a color and taking home an innocent little can of ballerina pink.
We got as far as pushing things away from the wall last night before giving up, and today’s been intermittent progress broken up by a trip to the office and a nature walk down the river, catching frogs and listening for birds.
I’m basically on my own now. Penny gave up halfway through taping and went outside to play in the backyard.
Furniture is all covered, the baseboards are taped, and outlet covers removed.
I haven’t even opened a paint can yet, and I’m tired of this project.
I can’t pour all my focus into the office without giving an equal part of me to Penny, though.
She needs to feel important and loved right now, and this is one small thing I can do for her.
Even if it’s taken all day to get essentially ninety minutes of work accomplished: paint, set up her new bedding, and install the hammock chair she was eyeing at the store the other day that I went back and secretly bought.
This room needs to feel like an oasis, a special place just for Penny where she can process and escape and feel loved.
Where she wants to be so she’s not wishing we were still in Tennessee.
Afternoon sunlight pours through the window, highlighting an old stuffed pink bunny Penny had found under the bed.
I snap a picture and send it to my sister.
Carson
Missing us? If you come visit, you can have Hops back.
She doesn’t immediately respond, so I toggle over to Instagram and my thumb hovers, resisting the temptation to scroll.
I’m not active enough on social media to do anything like unfollow Jen, but I don’t particularly want to see her posts, either.
Ever since the morning she stood across from me while I flipped pancakes and said she wanted a divorce, her life has been a steady stream of boyfriends and parties and girls’ nights in some attempt to become an influencer.
Back when we were still together, she tried using Penny to be a momfluencer for about five minutes before I put a kibosh on that.
My daughter’s too young to see the difference between content creation and quality time, but eventually, the hollow nature of Jen’s objective would have become clear.
Kids are insanely intuitive. Besides, my beautiful baby girl doesn’t need to be plastered all over the internet.
We never saw eye-to-eye on that one.
My phone vibrates, so I switch back over to messages.
Maven
Tell Penny she can have Hops. It’ll be like she’s hugging me every night.
Carson
You need a real hug? Because we’ll supply them. But only in Vermont.
Maven
Maybe soon. I’m still trying to get my passport figured out.
Carson
Mom gave your room to Penny, but she’d bunk with me if it meant having you here for a few days. We miss you.
Maven
Don’t tempt me. How are things going with Mom?
Carson
She’s busier now than I’ve ever seen her.
Maven
That’s saying something.
Carson
I know, but she still takes Penny when she can, which has been such a huge help. I think I can open next Friday.
Maven
I’m so proud of you! Video call me later?? I want to see the new office.
Carson
It’s not ready yet. But we’ll call before bedtime.
My fingers hesitate, but then they type without my permission.
Carson
Do you remember Emma from high school? She told us you used to be friends.
Maven
Emma Harper?
Carson
I don’t know. She’s a redhead and lives across the street from Mom.
Maven
Yes. Very sweet, likes to read.
Carson
Not a stalker?
Maven
No idea…but that would shock me if she was. I haven’t seen her in years, but I liked her in high school.
That’s about as good a review as I can get from someone who doesn’t know her currently.
Maven
Why? Are you into her? She’s smart, which doesn’t seem like your type.
Okay, rude. But valid.
How much do I say? I don’t want Maven to think I’m unhinged, but I also value her insight. There’s nothing to offer advice on besides what she’s already said, though, is there? I give a different truth.
Carson
Penny likes her. I want to know if I can trust her.
Maven
What did Mom say?
Carson
Yeah, like I’d ask Mom. You know she’d start planning the wedding.
Maven
I think you’re safe for a few months. She won’t push you into anything so soon.
I hope she’s right, but I’m not as confident as she is.
Our mom sacrificed so much for us, working as a single parent and providing for our needs our entire lives, making it so we never felt like we went without.
My dad left when we were little, and we haven’t seen him since.
Sharon Price is proof it can be done, that being a single parent doesn’t mean I’m failing my child completely.
But there’s also the residual feelings of abandonment that have lingered for years.
Yeah, I had friends, and the Walkers were particularly kind when we moved to Autumn Ridge, taking us under their wings and giving us a strong male role model in their dad and friends through their boys.
But that didn’t erase how it felt to have a father who wanted nothing to do with us.
I’m net positive though, and I can recognize that. My goal in moving home is to make sure Penny’s life is net positive, too.
I open the first paint can and get to work, blasting Noah Kahan from my phone—Vermont men for the win—and focusing on the most important lady in my life and her new pink room.
The room is half-finished when I pull a Coke from the fridge and head to the porch to watch the sunset. Penny’s working on upping her jump rope reps, doing a weird hop thing that looks complicated but she’s clearly enjoying.
Suddenly, she drops the jump rope and runs for the abandoned skates near the wooden steps. “Watch me spin, Dad!”
The air grows crisper as the sun continues to descend.
Crickets chirp and dry leaves rustle across the driveway like a Vermont October soundtrack.
I sip at my Coke, fighting a smile while Penny finishes strapping on her roller skates and stands on slightly wobbly legs like a new foal.
She glides back and forth on the small strip of sidewalk between the door and the gravel drive before attempting a slow spin.
Pulling out my phone, I look up Ben’s number and hit dial.
“Are you watching?” Penny shouts.
“Yes. You look amazing. Well done, Nickel.”
She beams.
“Hey man,” Ben says. His familiar voice reminds me of home, which is probably also because I’m sitting on my front porch.
If he hadn’t divorced—or nearly divorced—my sister, he’d still be my brother-in-law.
I guess he technically still is for now, but that whole situation aside, he’s always been my best friend, and I know I can count on him.
Which is why he was the guy I called when I needed help moving in last week, and he’s the guy I’m calling now.
“I think I bit off more than I can chew with this new office,” I say.
“What do you need?”
See? My point stands. My life in Tennessee was full and rich.
I liked working for Dr. Palmer well enough, but he was distant, and most of my friends were an extension of Jen’s friends, which meant I lost most of my golfing buddies in the divorce because their wives sided with her.
I won’t lie. The last year has been challenging, and having a solid person to rely on does something emotionally to me that I will never admit to in a million years.
I need to get to the point of my call. “How do you feel about making cabinets for my exam rooms? I probably need something for the reception area too, but you’d have a better idea than I would.”
He’s quiet for a minute. “Of course.”
“I’m opening next week, whether we’re ready or not, so there’s no real timeline on this.”
“I can meet you there tomorrow and take a look. Give you my opinion. Or Monday, if that’s better.”
“Penny starts school Monday, so how about we meet after I drop her off?”
“Sure. What else does the place need?”
“Everything, but I think I’m going to tackle one thing at a time.”
“Okay.” He accepts what I say easily, which I appreciate. “How’s Penny adjusting?”
I look up and find her squealing, her face lighting up as she gets better and better at spinning in a narrow circle. A knot in my chest loosens, but it’s mired in so much tangled rope, I’m not sure how much of a difference it makes. “We’ll see after the first few days of school. I’m nervous, man.”
“No one blames you for that. You’re doing your best, and she couldn’t have a better dad.”
Oh, how badly I needed to hear that. “I owe you, Ben.”
He laughs, his deep voice coming through the phone. “Salmon spawning is coming up. We oughta get you a license.”
“I’m there.”
We chat a little longer about the best time to go fishing as a car comes down the road and slows in front of our house. I don’t recognize the little white Corolla, but when it pulls into the driveway across the street and stops in front of the detached garage, I know exactly who it must be.
She would drive such a sensible vehicle.
Emma steps out, wearing a tight green dress that goes to her knees, with long sleeves. It fits her like a personalized glove, and I can’t help but stare. I remember—my hands remember—those curves vividly.
“You there?” Ben asks.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “I need to go.”
“Okay. See ya later.”
I say goodbye and turn off my phone, sliding it into my pocket, my eyes tracking Emma the entire time.
That dress is similar enough to the one she wore to that bachelorette party, it’s sending me back a week to the highlight of my month.
I want to cross the road right now, put my arms around Emma’s waist, and kiss her soft lips.
No. That’s insane. It’s the dress talking and my hormones replying. All these lonely feelings are flowing through me, giving me a weird desire to jog to where she’s standing and—
“Owwww!” Penny cries, crashing to the unforgiving concrete walkway. She lays at an awkward angle, blood seeping from her scraped elbow.