19. Carson
Carson
The Fall Festival is here in all its crowds and glory. Luckily, putting up a sign like my sister suggested for free initial exams and discounted services is bringing plenty of people to the table I popped up outside my door. We’re booking consultations and cleanings left and right.
Main Street is blocked off for the week and the schools are on Fall Break, so there have been plenty of kids dragging their parents over for a free toothbrush and some axolotl stickers Barb found on .
Why axolotls? I don’t know. Kids like them. Maven suggested capybaras as a backup. That set of stickers is arriving Thursday.
They’re definitely more popular than the free toothbrushes, weirdly enough.
Barb and I are wearing blue T-shirts with my dental logo on it and manning the table together now that the breakfast is over. “Have you made any decisions about the old patient files?” she asks.
“For now, we can continue pulling them out only when applicable.”
“You sure? You don’t want store them forever.”
“No, I don’t.” I scrub a hand over my neck. What I don’t say is that if this place fails, I’ll need to pass the boxes and boxes of patient files on to the next sucker who takes a stab at running a dental practice in this town.
Barb squeezes my forearm and looks at me in that distinctly motherly way. “Don’t give up yet, Dr. Price.”
“Carson,” I remind her for the umpteenth time.
“You’ve only just begun.”
“I’ll give it more time.” My phone rings, so I pull it from my pocket and hesitate when I see Jen is the one calling.
I haven’t spoken to her since she sent Penny the phone, and there are things that need to be communicated.
At the same time, when I turn my back to the road, I can see Penny playing in the treehouse through the windows of my practice.
I’m petty. I’ll be the first to admit that my gut reaction is to ignore the call.
Make her wait the way she makes me wait every time I want to speak to her about our daughter.
It’s a courtesy, anyway. I owe her nothing, according to our custody agreement and the state of Tennessee. Everything I include Jen in is entirely me being a good person.
My finger and my brain aren’t on the same wavelength, because one of them is screaming that Jen doesn’t deserve for me to jump at her beck and call, and the other is answering the call anyway. “Hi, Jen.”
“You aren’t going to believe who I met last night.”
I inhale, taking another step away from the table while Barb chats with a young family and offers their toddler a sticker. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“Ella Langley,” she says, like she didn’t hear me. “You should hear this woman sing.”
“I have.” On the radio, at least. You can’t live in the south and not hear her.
“Amazing. So incredible. There I was in Nashville, eating dinner and minding my own business, and she walks right on by. But my date—Stephen, you don’t know him—stops her! He actually did. Turns out, they knew each other way back. She took a picture with us and everything.”
Flabbergasted isn’t the first word I’d use to describe my feelings presently, but it’s the nicest one. “Can we talk about Penny now, please?”
Jen scoffs. “You aren’t even going to ask me how it went?”
“I genuinely don’t know what you mean.”
“Carson,” she says, dragging my name out. “You know about my dreams of singing on stage. This is a step toward making that a reality. I really thought…you know, of all people, I thought you would immediately understand why this is so exciting for me.”
This is it. A prime example of why I have Penny all the time.
I don’t think Jen’s a narcissist—not truly.
I’m not that kind of doctor anyway, so it’s not my place to diagnose.
But I think she’s the type of person who will always think of herself first. Everything is about her.
Even being a mom was difficult because she had to sacrifice for her child.
The things she would do with Penny were things to make her look good on her channel—in the last five years, at least, since she started trying to make a public name for herself—or reflected well on her to the people around us.
The kind of selflessness it takes to be a decent parent isn’t part of her genetic makeup.
“I was upset when you sent Penny a phone, Jen. Those kinds of big decisions have to be discussed with me first. You can’t make parenting choices on your own. Even if we aren’t together, we have to co-parent.”
“You made sure I had no right to parent at all, Carson. Why should I discuss anything with you?”
“That was a mutual decision.”
“Emotional coercion, that’s what Stephen says it was. You took advantage of a low point in my life.”
I don’t know whether to be happy she was thinking of Penny enough to talk about her or angry she’s discussing our family with some new guy. Either way, she was probably only playing her second favorite game: Pity Me.
Her first favorite is: how long can I stay out without telling my husband where I am?
At least I don’t have to live that way anymore.
“I’m sorry you felt that way.” I breathe deeply again. “As her other parent, I need access to the parental controls on the phone or she won’t be able to keep it. I also need you to agree to discuss big purchases like this in the future with me before making them.”
“Stephen put her on his plan, Carson. It wasn’t like a whole thing I had to do.”
For a second, I can’t breathe. “It’s the most recent iPhone.”
I can practically feel her nonchalance coming through the phone. “It’s not a huge deal. I just complained about wishing I could talk to her more and he made it possible.”
“As far as I know, you haven’t talked to her at all since sending it.”
“We text.”
“Okay.” I pace further away from the dental office. “Can you agree, please? We need to be on the same page when it comes to Penny.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to you first next time.”
“And give me access to her parental controls.”
“Whatever. Sure.” She sounds annoyed, but it’s not my job to make her feel like a million bucks anymore.
She has Stephen for that. If she was calling for me to lift her up and pat her back and tell her how amazing it is that she met some country star when she wants to be one herself, she shouldn’t have left me.
Besides, it’s hard to keep track of her dreams. Last I heard, she was angling for a role on Broadway.
I loved her so much. I tried so hard. Hearing her voice now drives bittersweet feelings all down my spine. She’s so familiar and comfortable, but at the same time, I don’t know this person. This isn’t the woman I married.
“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later,” I say. She hangs up without another word.
When I make it back to the table, I’m antsy.
Barb stacks my fliers back into neat piles, giving me a side-eye. “That family made appointments for next week.”
“For all of them?”
“Yep. Both the kids and the parents. I’m glad you thought to bring a computer out here. Our books will be full by the end of the week.”
“Thanks, Barb.”
She must sense that my gratitude extends beyond making one set of appointments, because her expression softens. “Why don’t you take Penny down to the story time? That’s where the family was headed. It’ll probably be just the thing for her.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
One lone eyebrow rises. “I can manage appointments and brag about the updates to the office, Dr. Price. You take an hour and get that girl out of here.”
“Okay, I will. Thanks.” The prospect of seeing Emma isn’t even my chief motivation, because it could be anyone running story time. I pop into the office and ask Penny if she wants to go. She doesn’t even let me finish the sentence before she’s out the door.
“Can I get a library card now?” she asks while we walk down the center of Main Street.
“I think we’re only going to hear stories today, Pen.”
“Please! Emma told me she has books for me when I’m ready.”
Guilt prickles. She’s had those books set aside for ages. But what part of my life is going according to plan? Nothing. I need to stop holding myself to any sort of standard.
Sheesh, I’m a real catch.
“Emma!” Penny shouts, running across the street toward the library. There’s a chair set up on the sidewalk in front of rows of folding chairs and a rug for kids to sit really close.
“Hi!” Emma lets Penny hug her, then steps back and picks up a stack of picture books. Her smile is bright while she pushes her glasses up her nose, the long sleeves of her sweater looking warm and cozy. “I’m so glad you came. We’re about to get started.”
Penny glances back at me, pointing to the rug, and I give her a thumbs up.
She plops down beside a girl who looks around her age, and I take a seat at the end of a row.
Emma catches my eye and smiles, genuinely pleased to see me.
She has no self-consciousness whatsoever about her role here.
I can’t help comparing her to Jen since I just got off the phone with my ex, but they could not be more different.
I have yet to spend time with Emma where she was not doing something for someone else.
None of those actions were because she would benefit in some way.
She is a selfless woman who thinks of others’ needs—including mine, and I was pretty much a stranger when we met in the bar that night.
Yeah, she knew who I was, but she didn’t know me.
This has nothing on how wonderful she is with my daughter.
“Good morning, everyone! Or is it afternoon yet? I don’t know.” Emma laughs, looking at her watch, and shrugs. “Who enjoyed pancakes with the mayor?”
A smattering of hands go up.
“Yummy, am I right?” She sits forward in her chair, her attention sweeping over the kids on the rug and traveling to the ones still sitting in their parents’ laps in the chairs. No one is left out. “We’re going to begin today with an old favorite of mine. Who has visited the pumpkin patch?”