Page 114 of Doctorshipped
Jayme seems to have moved beyond the shock of being caught kissing. She keeps looking over at me with an expression of mild bewilderment in her eyes. I’m not sure if it’s about Fiona’s lack of reaction, or the fact that we’re actually starting something romantic. Whatever it is, her face matches the awe I feel.
Fiona loops her arm around my waist. “I thought I wanted pumpkin spice. Then, it was just so hard to choose. Like, should I get apple crisp, batty butterscotch, or chocolate boo? But, I went for the pumpkin anyway. Do you have a favorite, Daddy?”
“I do,” I say, looking at Jayme.
Jayme grins, understanding my subtext. And then she mouths, “Me too.”
We’re so sweet it should be sickening, except it’s me, and her, and I refuse to tamp down my feelings or to shortchange myself. I’ve only ever had one other serious relationship, and life with Margot was nothing like this. We had feelings for one another, of course, but an equal measure of practicality went into our choice to pursue one another.
With Jayme, all pragmatic thought flies out the window. I just want her. Pursuing her might be crazy, or inconvenient, but I just can’t bring myself to care. All I know is how deeply I want her. I barely recognize myself right now.
Eventually, I want to tell her all the details of what Fiona and I went through over the past three years, but not now—not when we’re so enraptured with one another and just figuring out how this works. In due time, I’ll peel back more layers until I’ve shared everything. There’s no dark corner of my life I want to shield from her sunlight. I only hope I don’t ruin us. Dad assured me I won’t. It’s hard to fully trust something as good as what it feels like Jayme and I might have together.
We grab our cones. I pay. We’re settling into a booth when the bell over the door rings. This whole town probably single-handedly keeps the nation’s supplier of those little bells for shop doors in business. Every place we go there’s the gentle tinkle that sounds whenever someone enters or leaves. Maybe it’s merely to facilitate the turning of heads—just to be sure no one misses anything that could become a source of gossip.
Like now.
All four of our heads turn in time to see Ella Mae walk into the shop. She’s not watching us. With her face aimed at her phone, Ella Mae chats away like she’s having an actual conversation with someone. I’ve been around her enough by now to know she isn’t. She’s filming herself. Perhaps she’s live, meaning someone actually chooses to sit on the other side of her phone and watch her do whatever mundane thing she does next. Like getting ice cream.
Or turning her head. And seeing us.
Ella Mae’s sentence stops midstream. “I’m going to try the newest flavor, which is …”
Her jaw drops. I give her a look that says the world doesn’t employ enough lawyers and judges to cover the lawsuits she’ll face if she turns that camera toward us right now.
She must take my glare for what it is because she turns back to the screen, keeping it purposely aimed toward the door, avoiding the interior of the store.
“Uh. Sorry, peeps! Anyway, I’m going to order the Granny’s apple crisp flavor. And, I’ll check back once I’ve ordered. Comment below with your fave ice cream!”
She turns off her phone and walks over toward our table. Being Ella Mae means she never beats around the bush. I’ve learned that much about her over the past few months as well. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so unfiltered in my life. In one way, it’s refreshing. Everyone’s obviously aware of the underbelly of her directness.
“Wait a minute! No. Noooo. Waaaiit. Hold the plane. Hold the train. Hold the horse and buggy! Are you two?” She waves her finger between me and Jayme a bunch of times as she continues to rattle on.
Fiona’s eyes go wide, but more with curiosity than any sign of discomfort.
Ella Mae studies us, squinching her eyes. Dad dips his spoon into his bowl and brings a bite to his mouth, smiling at me from across the table as he pulls the spoon out slowly through his unrestrained grin.
Jayme looks first at me, then Fiona, then Dad.
“Oh. Okay,” Ella Mae says. “I get it. Now I get it.”
Jayme looks up at Ella Mae while taking a lick of her cone. Her nose touches the ice cream and leaves a dot on the tip. Without thinking, I reach over and gently swipe it away with the pad of my thumb, then I lick the drop off my thumb. The reactions to this simple gesture go like this:
Jayme blushes, her eyes catch mine, and it’s like one of those cartoons where everything else slows, so that only two people remain in this suspended moment while everything blurs around them. Jayme’s eyes momentarily heat in a way I’m sure only I recognize, and then she looks down for a moment to regain her composure. From my angle, I can see a grin bloom across her face, which she swallows back once she seems to remember she’s being watched by Ella Mae.
Fiona beams. Which makes me more than happy. She really is alright with me and Jayme being romantically involved. I feel like I won some coveted award.
My dad grins this proud smile that’s half smirk, half joy.
I clear my throat and go back to eating my cone while avoiding Ella Mae’s hawk-like assessment of our group.
“You should have told me, Jayme,” Ella Mae nearly whines. Then with a more commanding tone she asks, “Why didn’t you tell me when we were texting? The wholeBrooks is my manthing isn’t going to work, and noowwww I see why. Girl, you were holding out on me.”
Fiona giggles. Ella Mae is funny, when seen through my daughter’s eyes.
Ella Mae pauses. She looks at me like she’s appraising my value for auction. “This works though. Okay. we can do damage control … I just have to spin this.”
Ella Mae’s eyes move upward toward the ceiling, like she’s calculating something. You can almost hear the wheels churning in her head. She chews her bottom lip.
