17. Carson
Carson
Sunday morning, I leave Penny with my mom and head out in search of flowers. The market has a thin selection, but I choose a bouquet with vibrant fall colors, because it seems like something Emma would like, and it reminds me of her auburn hair.
Hair that was curled Friday night during her date with the wet blanket librarian. She could not have looked more bored if she’d tried. Was he listing off the Dewey Decimal System for her? Reciting old poetry? Cataloguing his recent reads?
Okay, not fair. I’m sure that’s the sort of thing that rocks Emma’s socks.
Should I read something? Would that give us more to talk about?
No. I’m being crazy. We always have plenty to talk about, and I’m not trying to date this woman, anyway.
I’m bringing her flowers because I’m a sucker for punishment. I want to see her.
I have an inkling Library Man won’t, and today of all days, someone should give this woman flowers.
I pull into my mom’s driveway and slide out of my black Lexus, bringing the flowers with me. As my feet hit the pavement to cross the street, I second-guess the wisdom of this, but it’s got to be a hard day for her.
Footsteps inside the house respond to my knocking. My heart races immediately.
Emma opens the door, revealing her hair back in a claw clip and a mustard yellow apron over her clothes. The scent of warm baked goods billows out. “Carson.”
“Hi. Cute pumpkins.”
Emma looks confused before she realizes I’m talking about the array of different-sized pumpkins on her porch. Medium, large, the tiny little cute ones you pick up at the grocery store. They’re artfully displayed on a bale of hay and match the burlap wreath on her front door.
I push the flowers forward like an awkward kid during my first dance. What’s going on here? I used to be so smooth. Now I’m rusty and robotic. “These are for you.”
She grows still, looking down at the flowers. “What for?”
My throat seizes up. In theory, it’s a reasonable thing to do—give someone flowers on the day their mom died.
Maybe I’m crossing a line if she didn’t immediately catch on.
Maybe it’s such a hard day for her that something like this will only make it worse.
I flounder. “I thought today might be difficult for you. They’re so you know that I’m—we, I mean—we are thinking of you. ”
She glances over my shoulder, looking for the other part of the we.
“They’re from Penny, too,” I hurry to add.
Emma takes the bouquet, her eyes misting. “That’s really thoughtful.”
Time to ease the tension. It’s thick in the air, tight and thinly stretched between us. “Cute apron. You putting Sour Dan to work in there? I’m still waiting on that jalapeno cheddar.”
She laughs. It sounds watery, which breaks my heart a little. “No. I’m making the chicken pot pie now, so it’s ready to go tonight. Actually—wait here.” She takes a step back, then returns, opening the door wider. “Come in. It’s cold and you’re letting the heat out.”
Her clumsiness is endearing.
She starts toward the kitchen. “I made way too many cookies. You should take some home.”
I step inside. Evidence of her baking fills the house. The kitchen is a mess, spilled cocoa powder and flour on the counter, eggshells in a heap. Stacks of chocolate cookies line a cooling rack and fill my nose with the familiar, homey smell.
“You want a hot one?” she asks, then looks at the time. “It’s probably too early.”
“Cookies for breakfast? Since when is that a bad idea?”
Emma gives me a look, but her lips are curling up at the corners, amusement fighting with the sadness in her eyes for precedence. Today, I would eat anything to cheer her up. “You want milk, too?”
“Sure.” I really just want to make sure her smile stays right where it is.
She pulls out two short glasses and fills them halfway with milk, then sets them on her table. After plating two cookies, she sits, letting out a soft sigh.
“Are they your favorites?” I ask.
“I’m partial to snickerdoodles, but these are my mom’s favorites. Maybe by association they’ve become mine.”
“The connected positive memories. I know how that goes.” I take a bite and warm chocolate melts on my tongue.
Sheesh, this woman can bake. “When we were newly married, Jen and I would eat a lot of spaghetti. Neither of us minded, and it was inexpensive and filling while we were trying to raise a baby and get through dental school. I can’t even see a picture of it now without thinking of her. ”
Emma nods, like she totally understands. “It pulls double duty, giving you good memories and making you miss her, right? Or—sorry, I don’t mean to pry. That’s what these cookies do for me.”
“It’s kind of like that, but more bitter than sweet. Jen chose to leave, which flushed more than ten years of a shared life down the drain.” I shove the rest of the cookie in my mouth. “When Penny grows up, she’ll only remember that she wasn’t enough to keep her mom around.”
Emma lowers her glass of milk to the table with a soft thud. “You know that’s not how it works, right? You should never have to be enough to keep anyone around. Your job is not to entice the other person in a relationship to love you.”
“I’m afraid Pen won’t see it that way.”
“Then that’s your job, right? To show her that no matter what, the way you feel about her isn’t dependent on anything she says or does.
It’s something we freely give. No strings, no minimum requirements.
My mom used to say love is debt-free, and I think that’s because you have to give it with no expectations. Real love is truly selfless.”
Her words ram into me one after the other, followed swiftly by memories from my years with Jen.
I loved her deeply—I wouldn’t have married her if I hadn’t—but as time passed, it became obvious how different we were.
She always needed more. More of my time, more affection, more words of affirmation.
She couldn’t be satiated, and the need to consistently make her feel like she was the center of my world became a chore.
I was never enough. The life I provided wasn’t enough.
I’ve never really thought about it like this, but if my love was debt-free, hers was only doled out after she felt adequately adored. She held affection close to the chest, releasing it in small, calculated doses. I ran myself ragged trying to be enough for Jen, and in the end, I wasn’t.
“Sorry, Carson,” Emma says, reaching across the table to take my hand. “I put my foot in it, didn’t I?”
“Not at all.” My gaze snags on the flowers resting on the counter.
Last time I brought them home for Jen, she had sniffed, unhappy they weren’t deep red roses.
It would have looked better on her page, she’d said.
It would have been more romantic. What I did was never quite right—it always could have been better.
“My ex-wife didn’t look at love the same way your mom did. ”
Emma’s hand tightens over mine, and I don’t move a muscle. “I don’t understand how that feels, but I’m sorry you went through something hard.”
I swallow thickly. “I’m not sure I understand it either. Right now, my priority is mitigating the damage this is going to do to my daughter.”
“From what I’ve seen, Penny has people in her life who love without conditions.
You, Sharon—I’m sure Maven falls under that same category.
You can’t change what’s happened, and you can’t make her mom be a certain way.
All you can do is your best.” She gives me a sweet smile, her brown eyes full and warm.
“From across the street, your best is looking pretty good.”
My fingers curl around hers. “Yet Penny’s new favorite color is the same as her mom’s.
She doesn’t want to go fishing with me like we used to—she told me it’s gross, which is something Jen used to say.
Her new obsession is making fake influencer videos in her room.
If I was enough, why would she be trying to turn into a miniature version of her mother? ”
“It’s her mom,” Emma says gently. “She’ll probably always want that on some level.
But Penny’s attempts at finding connections with her mom are totally independent of her relationship with you.
She doesn’t need to be like you because she’s comfortable and confident in how you feel about her. You’re her safe space.”
Her safe space. I close my eyes, exhaling. “How do you know exactly what to say? You aren’t even a parent.”
“Child development classes and basic observation, I guess.” Emma shifts in her seat.
I don’t know if she wants her hand back, but I’m not ready to release it. “So, uh…how was your date? You didn’t need to be rescued. That’s a good sign.”
Emma laughs lightly, the sound slightly forced. “It was fine. I’m not sure how much of the mediocrity is because I’m not giving him a fair shot, or if there truly isn’t much chemistry there.”
“You can’t force it.” I peer into her brown eyes and will her to look back at me, but she’s staring at our hands.
The energy buzzing between us is electric.
A live wire. Move and we might get zapped.
That has to be a two-way street, right? Surely I’m not the only one feeling the massive force field humming around us.
Emma slips her hand out of mine, wiping her palm along her thigh. “I don’t want to force anything, but I don’t want to lose out on a possible relationship just because I gave him a failing grade after one date.”
“You’re a good person.” I sit up, finishing my milk and wishing I was still holding her hand. It’s not fair to do stuff like that when it can’t go anywhere—when I won’t let it go anywhere. I don’t want Emma to date this guy, either. She deserves way better than him.
But I can’t say that. It’s not my place. “Just make sure he deserves to go out with you. Don’t settle.”
“I’m not…” She laughs, shaking her head. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Friends are allowed to worry.”
She gets to her feet and pulls out a Tupperware container, stacking cookies in it. “What did you decide to do about Penny’s phone?”
Redirection at its finest: super obvious subject change.
I reach for another cookie and pop half of it in my mouth.
“I never heard from Jen. She hasn’t replied to any of my texts or called me back, so it must have been a whim and now she’s over it.
Penny gets to keep it, but it stays in the living room where we can all be around while she’s using it. ”
“That sounds like a good compromise.”
“I hope so.” I stand while she’s snapping a lid on the Tupperware. “Are we going to see you tomorrow at the kickoff breakfast?”
“Probably, yes.” She hands it over, and I take it. “Stick around for cider and story time on Main Street, too. The library will be open, if you guys want to swing by and get Penny a card.”
Emma walks me to the door, but I pause on the steps. “You’re going to be okay today?”
Her eyes wash over my face, a soft furrow forming between her eyebrows. “Yeah. I will. Thanks for checking on me.”
I don’t say the words on the edge of my tongue, the ones that remind her I’m firmly in the friend category. For starters, it’s getting redundant, even in my own head.
But there’s a voice in the back of my mind whispering something dangerous. I don’t want to just be her friend.
Silence stretches without a reply while I turn those words over, peering at them from every angle.
“You okay?” Emma asks. Her voice is sweet, her concern adorable. She’s incredible, and that same niggling thought reminds me she’s nothing like Jen.
I’m still not in the right headspace for a relationship, and I’m not sure I can string my heart out on a line again only for it to become target practice for someone else.
“I’m good. See you tomorrow.” I hurry down the steps and wait for a car to pass before crossing the street to my front door. The entire time I’m running away, though, I’m struck by the same cycling thought.
Emma would never treat my heart like that.