Page 120 of Doctorshipped
Jayme:I’d love that.
The urge to use that word in my response surprises me. Do I love Jayme? I have overwhelming feelings for her. I’m not sure whether I’d say love quite yet, but the seeds of love are definitely there.
Grant:Great.
Fiona walks up with a loaf of bread, a bag of Cheetos, and a box of brownie mix.
“Nice bread,” I say.
“We need some fun foods too.”
“Hmph.”
“Well, I guess Miss Jayme hasn’t killed off all your grumpiness.”
“She definitely hasn’t.” I wink at my daughter and put an arm around her shoulder. “Would you want her to?”
“I might not recognize you.” She giggles.
“Well, there’s no threat of that happening. I promise to remain at least partly grumpy.”
“Whew. That’s good news.”
Fiona’s elbow meets my side in a playful nudge.
Thoughts of all she’s endured in her short life cause me to pull her in a little tighter.
She looks up at me and candidly says, “I love you, Daddy. And I love Miss Jayme too. And Grandiddlefiddlefoo. I’m so glad he came to visit us.”
“Your grandad loves his nicknames. And he loves you. We all do.”
Fiona beams. Her sheer happiness seems too effortless to achieve. Will that ultimately mean it’s all the easier to let her down? If anyone will disappoint her, it will eventually be me.
It’s one of the perils of parenthood. We stand on the highest pedestals in our children’s hearts, which means we are the ones with the greatest power to both impact them when we’re at our best, and disappoint them when we inevitably fall.
* * *
My palms sweatjust the slightest as I walk toward the door to answer Jayme’s knock. She never knocks, but this is our date. I offered to pick her up and she told me I was being ridiculous.
I informed her I had ulterior motives involving walking her to her porch at the end of the evening so I could kiss her goodnight. She giggled that deliciously shy giggle of hers and told me she’d kiss me on my porch, and my couch, and in the kitchen too, if I wanted her to. I’ll let you guess as to what my answer was to each of those offers.
I open the door and nearly suck in a breath. Jayme’s hair is styled in soft curls. She’s wearing a little makeup, but not so much that it overpowers her face. She’s got on a flowing blouse with lacy edging over black jeans and heels.
“Wow.”
“You like?” She tilts from side to side, gripping the edges of her shirt and shimmying it just the slightest.
“Like doesn’t begin to cover what I’m feeling right now. You are stunning.”
“Let’s not go overboard, Peppers. I know how you love to exaggerate.”
She’s teasing me, and her eyes sparkle with impishness.
“There would be no way to overstate your beauty. I’m a recently reluctant fan of those quirky shirts of yours—on you only. And now you’ve given me one more thing to picture when I close my eyes at night. You, wearing this—looking like this.”
“You picture me?”
Should I not have confessed that? Is it too much?
