21. Carson
Carson
After I put Penny to bed, I sit at the table while Mom eats reheated lasagna. “How was work?” I ask, drained from all the responsibilities I’m constantly thinking about.
“School,” Mom corrects. “I’m getting closer to that PA license, and I’m ready to be finished with all this extra stuff. If I had known you were coming, I would have waited.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.” I pull out the chair next to her and lean back. “Are you coming to Kiss the Pig tomorrow? I think Sadie or James might take it.”
“Emma told me the money looks really close.”
“When did you see her?” I actively refrain from sitting up, yet my mom still catches the shift in my attention.
“She was outside when I got home, so we chatted for a minute.” She pauses, giving me a side-eye. “You know, she was my friend first.”
“I think Maven gets that title.”
Mom blows a raspberry. “I’m not giving up my claim. Not when it gets me fresh sourdough. Have you had her jalapeno cheddar loaf?” Mom closes her eyes. “Heaven.”
“She’s mentioned it. I’ll put in an order.”
“Oh, stop it.” She laughs, cutting another bite of her dinner. “How are things going with Emma?”
“You mean my friend Emma that I’m only friends with and nothing but friends?”
“Yeah, that one.” She pops open a Diet Coke and takes a slug. “You two have spent some time together, so forgive a mom for being curious.”
“Jen and I just got divorced.” Even as the words leave my mouth, they’re brittle and hollow. She’s definitely morphed into an excuse for me, because I don’t want to dive into my real feelings with my mom.
“A year ago. Yes, it’s important to grieve, but you can’t let that get in the way of living.”
I get up and pull a glass from the cupboard. “Marriage probably isn’t in the cards for me again.”
“You won’t live with me forever, honey.”
“That’s not really what I’m worried about.”
She sets down her fork. “What is it?”
I fill my glass from the tap and sit at the table again, wishing she would ask about the Giants. Or we could go back to talking about sourdough. “You’ll think it’s corny.”
“Then it’s probably corny, but I’m a safe space.”
My mom is the safest of spaces, and I know that wholeheartedly.
But that doesn’t make this any easier to say.
“Marriage means putting my trust in another woman, and I don’t have a great track record.
At the beginning, with me and Jen, I would have bet my life we’d stay together forever.
She was my person. We understood each other on a deep level and I loved her so much.
Things have changed, but I’ll never not love her, Mom. ”
Her eyes mist over. “You never have to stop. Jen will always be Penny’s mother, so she will always be in your life. Do you think I stopped loving your dad?”
“Ye—no? I don’t know. You were angry with him.”
“Part of me will always have love for him. He gave me my two biggest blessings. But yes, a bigger part was angry until I forgave him and moved on. I’ll never be able to be his friend again, but I don’t want him to suffer.
At the end of the day, I got the better end of the deal, anyway. I got to keep you and Maven.”
“Why didn’t you find someone else?”
“I dated off and on over the years, but I didn’t want you two to know in case it didn’t work out.
” She shrugs. “That ended up being a good thing, because it never worked out. I don’t have a grand plan to stay single forever, but dating wasn’t a priority when you were growing up.
Maybe we all would’ve been better off if I’d given it more effort, but I can’t regret how my life turned out. ”
“We were happy,” I confirm.
“Penny is too,” Mom says with conviction. “I can tell.”
“For now, but I don’t know how she’d take me trying to replace her mom. That’s another thing—I can love a woman, but that doesn’t automatically mean she’s the person I want raising my child. What if I meet someone and they don’t mesh well with Penny?”
“You know the answer to that already, Carson.” Mom gives me an affectionate smile. “If Penny’s an obstacle, then she’s not the right woman for you.”
Does she realize how bluntly she just boiled down my marriage? “I talked to Jen.”
Mom sits up now. “When?”
“This morning. She called about spotting a celebrity, thanks to her new boyfriend.”
“You doing okay?”
Am I? It was a shock, but until this discussion, I haven’t really thought much on it. A knock at the door stops me from answering. “I’ll get it.”
“You sure will,” she mutters.
I don’t even look back, because whatever she’s teasing me about is going way over my head. I probably don’t want to know why she’s saying that, anyway. I’m also not going to clock why I’m eager to get the door when it’s most likely an delivery.
Please don’t be .
I swing the door open and find Emma standing there in sweats and rumpled hair, her glasses perched on her nose and her attention squarely on me. “Hey.”
The air leaves my chest in a whoosh. “Hi.”
“I know this is weird.”
“It’s not,” I say quickly. Whatever’s going on, I want her to feel comfortable coming to us.
Emma lifts her hands, and that’s when I notice she’s holding…heads? With long hair?
“Is this a Halloween thing?” I ask.
“It’s a braiding thing.” She lowers the decapitated plastic heads. “I borrowed them from Sloan—you know, the hair stylist next door to my library? She had a few extras, but made me promise not to cut the hair. Can you promise not to cut the hair?”
“Sure. It’ll be easy since I’m still not sure what’s going on.”
“I have everything set up, but it’s not urgent. So whenever you have a free minute—”
“He’s free now,” Mom calls from the kitchen.
Emma steps close enough that I get a whiff of apple while she leans around the door frame to see my meddling mother. “Hey, Sharon! How’s school going? I forgot to ask earlier.”
“Closer to being done.”
“Thank heavens.”
“I’ll keep an ear out for Penny if you two want to do whatever you’re doing with those things.”
Emma’s laugh is magical. “It’s not as weird as it looks.”
“I trust you,” Mom says.
“Well, I guess I’m free,” I tell her.
“I can’t wait to hear about how not weird this is,” Mom calls.
“If you wake up Penny, that’s on you.” I grin as I step outside and close the door behind me. “She wants me to have a social life.”
“Can you blame her? You were thrilled to find one of Penny’s friends today, weren’t you?”
For the first time since moving here, I pull back from the situation and look down on it with Emma’s borrowed wisdom.
If my mom cares about me even a fraction of how much I care about my baby girl, she would be ecstatic to learn that I’m making friends, enjoying the community, finding my place here.
Anything that makes me feel settled would feel like a win.
Because that’s absolutely how I feel about my child. Any signs she gives of being happy are like living water for me.
“I was happy about that, yeah. It feels like the first time I moved here and she was shoving Maven and me out the door to go fishing with the Walker boys.”
That one ended up in a marriage, too. Maybe she’s magic.
“Your mom loves you a lot.”
“She does,” I agree, looking both ways before crossing the street. “Want me to carry your creepy heads?”
“They’re pretty light.” She tosses one and catches it by the hair. When we reach her house, she holds the door open and I find two tripods set in front of the sofa. “I figured we should sit on the couch while we do this because that’s what you’ll probably be doing in real life.”
“What is it we’re doing exactly?” And why does her house always smell like warm baked goods, sweet and soft and like I want to sink into it?
Emma laughs. “Sorry. Braiding. Didn’t I mention that? I’m going to teach you.”
She plops one head onto a stand and twists something to tighten it into place, then does the same with the second one. She sits cross-legged on the sofa and pats the seat beside her.
“You’re serious?”
“Of course. It’s really not hard. I figured it would be a fun surprise for Penny if you knew how to do a Dutch braid.”
“You only want to fix things so she doesn’t knock on your door at the crack of dawn, don’t you?”
Emma laughs. “No. I noticed she hasn’t asked in a week.
I assumed you’d forbidden her, but it’s really not a bother.
” She looks at me, and it’s clear she means what she says.
I truly trust she doesn’t mind being woken up by my daughter during a self-proclaimed hair emergency.
“But now you’ll know how to do it yourself. ”
“Possibly.”
Emma bumps her shoulder against mine. “Come on. I have faith in you. So, we’re going to start with a single braid. Take a triangle section and split it into three parts.”
“Not bad,” Emma says, chuckling.
“Liar.” I drop the end of a braid that somehow got thick and puffy by the time I reached the bottom.
The shapes are wonky. It’s not neat and even like Emma’s.
I understand the basics, and I think I’ve mastered how to hold the hair to keep it separated with my fingers, but I’m a long way off from creating anything Penny would approve of.
She tilts her head. “It’s not terrible. You have the motions mastered. You probably need to practice a bit and you’ll have it down.”
“Can we do another braiding session?”
“Are you going to tile my shower walls, too?”
I glance at her sharply. The last thing I should be doing is thinking of Emma and showers in the same space. “If they need it, yeah.”
“I’m kidding. This one’s a freebie. Sloan doesn’t need these back until she has her next updo class. We have a few weeks.” Emma leans back against the sofa and yawns.
She’s tired, but she still took the time to find a woman she knows, ask for two doll heads with stands, set them up, and invite me over to learn something tricky.
On top of all that, she’s taking the time to do the teaching, too.
Maybe braiding hair isn’t a big deal, and maybe with enough time and the right YouTube videos, I could have done all this myself.
But that’s not really the point, is it? This woman has proven through all these small actions that she genuinely cares.
I’m probably starved for affection, but I can’t get over how thoughtful she is. How much she considered me, my daughter’s emotional needs, my emotional needs.
Soon I’ll become a blubbering fool if I’m not careful.
I’ve never been the type to pin anyone’s worth on their relationship status.
Being raised by my single mother taught me incredible people can remain single—it’s just how it is sometimes.
Looking at Emma as she runs her fingers through the coarse doll hair and takes apart the braid, I can’t help wondering why she seems to think her best option for a man is Seth from the library.
Really? Him? She deserves more than a guy who grinds all over some random girl in a bar, then immediately tries to get with Emma.
Don’t tell me that’s not what happened, because I saw his jealousy that night when I was talking to her, and he immediately swooped in and took my place once the seat was vacated.
If he’s the sort to only want something when he thinks he can’t have it, if he’s turning Emma into a game, she’s going to be hurt. She deserves so much better.
“You okay?” she asks, looking into my eyes. I could bottle hers and drink them up like smooth chocolate.
“Yeah. Just thinking about how kind you are. That was…” I gesture to the doll heads, then run a hand over my hair. “It was so thoughtful, Emma.”
Her cheeks glow with a blush. “It was nothing.”
I lean my elbow on the back of the couch and rest my head against my hand, looking at her.
“You know, I did tell Penny to quit bugging you for braids. Even if I could see how authentic and genuine you felt about helping her out, I didn’t want her taking advantage of your kindness.
I didn’t want us to move in and throw ourselves at you time and again until you regretted the day you talked to me at the bar. ”
Her body seems to freeze. “I couldn’t regret that.”
The air is charged, thick and wavy, like I can see colors in the light. It buzzes, ready to zap if we move wrong. Maybe that’s why neither of us are chancing it. We’re like marble statues with hearts racing and eyes locked in.
Would it be wrong to lean in? We’re obviously attracted to each other, and she’s looking for love. She already told me she was looking for her Prince Charming, and the reason we can only be friends is because I’m not looking for anyone.
She makes a really good friend. All those boxes that matter—thoughtfulness, compassion, showing up when I need her—she checks them easily.
But do I check them for her?
No. I’m no prince. I’m a washed-up dad trying to rebuild my life after everything burned to the ground. Emma deserves better than me. She deserves way better than Seth, but that’s a decision she has to make.
“It’s late,” I say, sitting up.
She nods like she understands I’m running away. As much as Emma gives me room for imperfections and closing gaps between us, she gives room for running away, too. I have a feeling she would never pressure me, and it leaves me with a deep sense of comfort.
We stand at the same time, putting us right next to each other.
I’m so overcome with appreciation that I slide my arms around her and pull her in for a hug.
She inhales sharply before returning the hug.
I’m enveloped in sweet apples and her soft curves.
Her glasses knock into my shoulder, so I adjust, making it possible to hold her tighter.
Am I a masochist? Apparently. But I could stand here and hold her all night.
If this is all I ever get from her, it would fill my cup.
I can sense her reciprocation in the way she tightens her hold on me, how her hands scrape over my back.
I want to submerge myself in Emma—her smell, her skin, her hair.
I want all of her. To hear her laugh and watch her make sourdough and spy from the other room while she braids my daughter’s hair and makes her feel wanted and special and alive. I want all of it too much.
It’s not fair. I break away, coughing to clear my emotion. “So I’ll see you at Kiss the Pig?”
Emma is quiet. I’ve probably stunned her, but she follows me to the door. “Yeah. Seven o’clock.”
“Good night.” I slip out before she can say another word. If there’s a definition to running away, that would have made it in the description. Cold air smacks me out of my funk and I rub my eyes, crossing the road back home in the dark.
I can’t drag her into the messy triangle that is my divorce. She deserves someone who can give her their whole attention, not pieces of it because my priority will always be my child.
I’m an idiot.