Page 59 of The Accidental Dating Experiment
Dad clucks his tongue as we walk. That’s his thinking sound. We’re heading past a copse of trees. Some are maple, and instinctively, I glance down at the tree on my forearm. Dad wasn’t like this when she was alive. He wasn’t so arrogant, so obsessed, so disappointed. Back then, he joined us in the tree house she built. He went out for bike rides after she taught me how. He played board games in the kitchen with us for fun, not to decimate.
I dig down, trying to find the compassion to fill the silence. “I guess you’re looking forward to the party?” I ask, right as he speaks too, saying, “How are those online studies going? That’s what you’re in town for?”
We both laugh awkwardly. He gestures with his club. “You go first.”
Briefly, I contemplate dodging the topic of why I’m in town. But it’s best I tell the truth. Once we put that home on the market, it won’t be a secret. It’d be another rift between us if I don’t mention it.
“Yes. I’m working on the online course.” I clear my throat, then add, “But also a listener gifted us a house. Here in Darling Springs.”
He stops his pace near a sand trap, sounding a little like a robot reprogramming its motherboard as he sputters, “What? How? Why?”
“It’s a gift deed,” I start to explain, but he cuts me off.
“I know what a gift deed is. You mean, a listener of the podcast just gave it to you? Heartbreakers and Matchmakers?”
I’m the surprised one now. “You know the name of the podcast?”
“Yes. I do, Monroe.” It’s said firmly, brooking no argument. “Why would someone give you a house?”
“She lost her first husband. She’s off on a honeymoon with her new guy, and she said she wouldn’t have had the courage to pursue this romance if not for us,” I say, bracing myself for a snide comment. Or another backhanded compliment.
Instead, there’s only the sound of the leaves rustling in the early evening, the birds chirping as they settle. Then a contemplative huh as his eyes look a little lost. Finally, he clears his throat, maybe clearing some unexpected emotion too as he says, “That’s terrific.”
I’m not sure if the terrific news is the widow finding love again or giving us a house.
We reach the hole, but the group ahead of us must not be finished since a put-together woman in khaki shorts and a mint green polo swings her club gracefully, then watches the ball soar. When it lands far, far away, she gives a fist pump. “Yes,” she says, cheering herself on.
She spins around, then blinks, before she quickly smiles. “Hello, Doctor Blackstone,” she says. She’s about my dad’s age, with mahogany skin and tight black curls under a golf visor. She has the poised demeanor of a fellow doctor, and I’m not at all surprised when my dad says, “Good to see you, Doctor Wesley. Retirement must be treating you well.”
“I can’t complain,” she says, then nods up ahead. “I’m golfing with my daughter.”
“Excellent,” he says, then claps me on the shoulder. “This is my son. Doctor Monroe Blackstone.”
Of course that’s how he’s introducing me. I can hear what’s unsaid in the back clap too. Don’t tell her you’re not practicing.
I extend a hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” she says, warmly, then to my father she adds, “I see it runs in the family.”
Yes, medicine does. As well as the inability to sustain a relationship.
“Yes, it does. I trust your daughter is keeping the practice going?”
“Of course she is,” Doctor Wesley says with obvious pride.
“Wonderful,” my father says, and it’s a miracle he can get that one word out without coating it in the jealousy he must feel. He shifts gears quickly. “I’ll see you this weekend though?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she says, then her gaze lingers briefly on my father with a hint of appreciation—maybe attraction—in her eyes.
Save yourself. Find someone else. The Blackstone men are no good.
“I better go,” she says. Then, smiles at him. Just him. “Jameson.”
He smiles too. “Jada.”
Is my father fucking flirting? Kill me now.
I’m going to pretend that never happened.