Page 53 of Doctorshipped
“I wish you would listen to the voice of reason,” he says.
“And that voice would be your voice?”
“One and the same.”
I chuckle. “And what would that voice of reason be saying to me on a weeknight in a small town when all the shops closed before eight, and my daughter is tucked in on the second floor of my home? Should I turn on reruns ofGrey’s Anatomyand take notes on how to woo women from the amazing Doctor Shepherd?”
“Well now, that’s not a half-bad idea.”
“I was joking.”
“You were joking? Maybe this town has been good for you after all.” Dad’s laughter fills the phone, and make no mistake, he’s laughing at me, not with me.
“So,” Dad says. “Tell me what’s new with my beautiful and brilliant granddaughter. I would have called earlier so I could talk to her too, but I had a commitment as the guest speaker in a class at Washington University.”
“I miss that.” The words are out of my mouth before I think better of it.
“Speaking to university classes?”
“That. And living in a metropolitan city.”
“Grant, for the most part, you didn’tlivein this city. Usually, you went to work and came home. You attended functions, most of which you groused about. You could have been anywhere.”
“Not true. Fiona had hockey. I went to her games.”
“I’ll give you that. If it weren’t for that girl, you’d truly be a shell of a man.”
“Well, this has been fun.”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll stop,” Dad concedes when he realizes I’m not going to sit by while he critiques my lack of any life outside Fiona and work.
“Tell me about Fiona, or anything. I miss you two.”
The first thing that comes to mind is Jayme. Am I really about to give my dad the satisfaction of bringing her up?
I guess I am.
“Fiona has this tutor …” the whole sentence isn’t out of my mouth before my dad pounces on it.
“The tutor, huh?”
“Yep.”
I hear my dad smile three states away.
Despite his direct and sometimes critical approach, my dad always wants what’s best. And he’s my closest friend and confidante. He stood by me through every bit of the ordeal with Margot. All he wants is to see me happy. Ironically, he raised a stoic.
I find myself saying, “It’s not anything yet. She might barely put up with me. And, she’s sworn to singleness. She’s feisty. Always smiling.”
Dad audibly sighs. He lives for these types of confessions from me. They come so rarely. And yes, I have some sort of twisted fascination with Jayme. Even I can see it’s rooted in feelings that are confounding. Maybe I’ll shake them eventually. Then again, maybe I won’t. That last thought disturbs me deeply.
“She sounds perfect,” Dad says with a chuckle.
“She probably is. Add that to the list of reasons she doesn’t need to get tangled up with a man like me.”
“Do you want to get tangled up with her?”
Do I?
