Page 210 of Small Town Firsts

“B-but I want Mama!” She conveniently screams the words at the top of her little lungs just as we pass through the automatic doors. Several heads swivel our way—some with concerned looks, some offering empathy, and others looking perturbed by the noise. Let me just say, that last group can fuck right off.

I march directly to the sign-in desk, clutching my crying girl to my chest. “She needs a doctor. My daughter needs a doctor!”

The nurse looks up. “Sign in.”

“My hands are a little full,” I grit out. I mean, Jesus, would it kill her to help?

She huffs and spins the clipboard to face her. “Patient’s name? Date of birth? Reason for visit? Your name?”

I rattle off her info, and the nurse tells us to have a seat in the waiting area. My blood boils. Doesn’t she see my girl is hurt? “We need a doctor!” I implore, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Yeah, and so does everyone else here.”

My shoulders sag in defeat, and I walk over to a small cluster of chairs. In between trying to calm my still sobbing daughter, I’m shooting death stares to the nurse and checking the clock on the wall, wondering when Luke is going to get here, and when Natalie is going to call. Basically, I’m damn near crawling out of my skin.

After what feels like two lifetimes, the nurse calls my name, her voice monotone. I’m hopeful she’s calling us back, but my hope deflates like a sad balloon when she passes me a clipboard and a pen. “If you could fill this out.”

I’m sure this lady has seen it all and then some, and that this job is trying on the best day. But right now, I don’t have it in me to care. I clench my jaw to keep from telling her exactly where she can shove her paperwork and softly shift Tatum so I can take it from her.

The movement causes Tatum to let out a high-pitched, ear-piercing squeal, once again earning us a mixed bag of looks. “Shh, it’s okay, pretty girl. Daddy just had to get this paperwork that is apparently more important than actually helping you.” My attempt at comfort ends in a feral growl.

Back in our seats, I try my best to fill out the forms, which is no easy feat with a whimpering toddler in your lap.

The forms themselves present an entirely new problem.Insurance…no clue. Social security number…nope, don’t know that either. Family medical history…well, I know the paternal side. Allergies to any medications…that’s going to be another nope, with a capital ‘N.’

My panic spirals as I realize how little I know about my own child. My head swims, and my vision blurs. I think I’m shaking, but it could be Tatum, too. It’s probably both of us. Why didn’t I ever think to ask Natalie any of this? A good dad would know these things. Hell, a good dad would have never let this happen. Will Natalie ever trust me with her again? Should she?

I’m about twenty seconds away from passing out when theswooshof the doors followed by Luke’s bellowing voice. “Alden!”

I lift my hand, alerting him to where we are, and he rushes over to us, swooping in and saving the day—or at least a piece of my fragile sanity. “What happened?” he asks, gruff and all business.

“She fell at the park.”

“Popsie,” Tatum cries, and I pass her to him.

“I swear, I was watching her. I didn’t mean?—”

“Son. Take a breath. It could have happened to anyone.”

“No, this is my fault. If I?—”

“Alden. Listen to me. You’re a good man—a good dad. You didn’t hurt Tatum. It was an accident and could have happened to anyone.”

My shoulders slump. “But it didn’t. It happened to me.”

“Did Natalie ever tell you about the time Tatum fell in the bathtub?”

I shake my head, wondering where he’s going with this.

“Tatum wanted out, and apparently Natalie wasn’t moving fast enough, so she tried climbing out on her own. Nat only turned around to grab the towel from the sink, but in that blink of an eye, Tatum slipped, fell, hit her head on the faucet and went completely under the water. Natalie called us, crying her eyes out, saying she was an unfit mother, which we both know is untrue. My point is, accidents happen. It sucks, but that’s life. At the end of the day, Tatum’s okay. She’s happy, healthy, and loved. Cut yourself some slack, son.”

His words make me feel marginally better. “That may be true. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t even fully fill out these forms—there’s still so much I don’t know.”

Luke chuckles. “Son, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. I couldn’t fill them out either—to this day, Melanie even fills out mine. Quit worrying.”

Easier said than done.

“Did you get ahold of Natalie?”

---