30. Carson
Carson
I really love that Maven started teaching Penny to play the violin last week, but being forced to hear her practice “You Are My Sunshine” on repeat is sending me back to my childhood, and not in a pleasant way. We’ve really got to throw another song into the mix soon.
It’s been over a week since the night I grouted Emma’s tile.
That’s the night we felt like we became a real couple.
Is it because Penny approved? Partly, maybe.
A lot of it is because we became even. Both of us striving to choose the other.
Emma has a need to prove that I’m worth sticking around for, and I have a need to prove she’s enough just as she is.
We’ve managed to go fishing with Ben once, and Emma stayed home—I had promised not to make her deal with hooks and animals, after all.
Our lives are fitting seamlessly together, like a zipper with no snags.
Our expectations are reasonable, and we’re in the stage of a relationship where we want to be around each other all the time and never get tired of talking.
More than once this week, I’ve nearly fallen asleep on the phone talking to her. I’m like a teenager again.
Sitting at the desk in my office, I look at the watch on my wrist and turn my arm so it glints in the overhead light.
When Jen gave it to me, I was the happiest I’d ever been at that point in my life.
A dad to a beautiful little girl, the husband to a fun woman, and starting a career I felt good at.
I could easily spend hours picking apart the years that followed and searching for the moment it all went wrong, but it was a thousand little moments that led to Jen leaving. Now, dating Emma, living with my mom, having Maven and Ben regularly back in my life, I can’t regret any of it.
Jen gave me good years, and she gave me Penny.
Emma makes me happy.
All of these things are true.
I pull out my phone and find Jen’s number, making the call I’ve been putting off ever since the day Penny hid in the corn maze. A little time was necessary to cool my anger, and I’m feeling zen about what I’m about to do.
If the woman picks up her freaking phone.
“Hello?” Jen says, acting like she has no idea who’s calling. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she thinks I’m Penny.
“Hey, Jen. It’s Carson. We need to talk.”
“Can it wait? I’m about to get on a plane.”
“No, it can’t. I promise it will only take a minute.”
She makes a frustrated sound, but she picked up the phone, so I’m past caring. “Make it fast.”
“It was not okay to give Penny a phone—”
“We’ve gone over this, Carson.”
“—then take it away. You are free to live where you want and date who you want, but you can’t take Penny along on that ride. That’s nonnegotiable.”
Jen falls silent.
“Next time you introduce a man to her, whether it’s virtually, in person, or through gifts like that, you have to check with me first. I expect that you’ll have been with him for one year, minimum, and I need to vet him.
I’m not about to let my daughter experience a roller coaster of emotions getting attached to guys or the phones they send her, just to have them ripped away without warning. ”
“Honestly, Carson—”
“Nonnegotiable, Jen,” I say firmly. My tone is kind, but it doesn’t allow room for argument. “You gave me parental rights, so I’m invoking them.”
She huffs. “Okay.”
“Please call her more. She loves to hear from you, even if it’s short.”
“I’m kind of busy right now.”
I grit my teeth. “Heading somewhere fun?”
“An audition in LA.”
“Good luck, then. Maybe you can tell her about it when it’s over.”
“I need to go.”
“Okay.” I shake my head, wishing it hadn’t come to this. “Bye, Jen.”
She hangs up, exerting control where she can, and I drop my phone on my desk.
It’s not the outcome I was hoping for when we moved to Vermont, but I feel better now it’s been handled.
I spent so much time trying to protect Penny from the pain of me falling for someone else, I let her find loss in another avenue.
It’s true that I’ll never be able to protect her from everything, but she’s only nine. I’m still going to do my best. It helps to have so many adults in her corner.
“Locking up, Doc,” Barb says from down the hall. She pokes her head into my office, wearing a black witch’s hat over her long, curled hair, and a black and purple dress.
“You look spooky.”
“I’m ready to party, Dr. Price. That wedding took it out of me.”
“Glad you can let loose.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “There’s a silent auction, you know. I don’t think Emma would be mad if you came and bid on something.”
“Excellent idea.” I grin, powering down my computer. “Maybe I’ll see you over there.”
“Have a good night,” she calls, escaping down the hall.
We’ve been working together the last week, staying late and calling through the patient files to find out who still sees us at this practice, who’s moved on, and who would like to come back now that we’re under new ownership.
It’s been successful, filling up the books.
I’m starting to feel nearly as busy as I was in Tennessee.
For the first time since opening our doors, I can breathe.
I really think this is going to work out.
The library is dimmer than usual, decorated with purple, orange, and green string lights.
The safety lights are on, too, so there’s no threat of anyone not being able to see.
A banner hangs along the back wall that reads brOOMS UP, WITCHES!
and there are two tables lining the wall with baskets and tickets for the silent auction.
Emma stands at the microphone with her friend Demi, fiddling with the karaoke machine as music flows through the room.
Autumn Ridge really turned out for this tonight.
I’ve never seen so many women in witch costumes in my life.
There are a wide variety—some only sporting a tiny hat on a headband and the rest of their clothes normal, and some who’ve decked themselves out in the whole shebang, striped tights and pointy boots and everything.
Obviously, Emma is one of those. She’s wearing a purple dress that cinches at the waist and has green stripes on some sort of underskirt. Her hair is curled and bouncy, her makeup dramatic. She looks amazing.
I spot Tate Walker in the back, so I skirt the women dancing and eating what looks like Sadie’s cream puffs. Might have to snag one of those on my way out.
“Hey, man,” I say, clapping Tate on the back.
He stands. “No costume?”
“I’m not supposed to be here.”
“You could borrow a witch hat and blend right in.”
I glance down at my navy scrubs. Not likely. “I saw Seth when I got here. There are no rules about it being women-only, are there?”
“Not explicitly.” Tate and I both look toward the brOOMS UP, WITCHES! sign.
Okay, fine. I knew my presence tonight was short-lived.
“I think you’ve been caught,” Tate says, nodding toward the back of the room where the microphone is set up. Emma stands there, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Her dark brown eyes are on me, and despite the stern demeanor, there’s a definite amused smile on her lips.
“Better go beg forgiveness. See you around.”
He settles back in his chair in the corner of the room, a book in front of him.
And I head to the woman I love.