Page 79 of Skating and Fake Dating
Carson asks, “Nickel for your thoughts?”
“The expression is ‘penny for your thoughts.’”
“Yours are worth more.”
I snort. “If only my maple butter were too.”
“Blondie, you have something special. Seriously. Have you thought about trying again?”
“Yes, but even if I just eke by, I’ll never meet my family’s expectations.”
“Maybe not, but have you ever considered that you don’t have to?”
I lean back, surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sure they’ll find a way to live with the disappointment,” he says, using air quotes, “of having a daughter and sister and niece who does what she loves, contributes to the community, and keeps the family legacy alive.”
Tipping my head from side to side, he has a point. “When you put it that way ...”
“And just think, when you achieve world domination with your maple syrup empire, they’ll be the ones begging for a jar.”
I laugh, feeling encouraged for the first time in a while. “Thanks for saying that. You’re insightful and supportive. Both things I’d like in a real husband.”
“Yeah. Well, I would’ve been, but I’ve learned to live with rejection.”
“Do you mean with Charlene? It might not be my place to say this, but Ted mentioned you were different before. More alive.”
“He said that?”
“Not those exact words, but I’m curious about pre-breakup Bama. He sounds like a fun guy.” Shimmying a little, I say, “Ooh. Do you have any old photos on your phone?”
Carson chuckles. “Yeah. Maybe.” He swipes his device, and the blue glow illuminates the small space between us as he taps his photo album app. I glimpse lots of hockey-related images. He stops and points to a picture of a recent photo of himself standing next to a considerably shorter and older woman. I cannot imagine that’s Charlene.
“Last time I was home. This is Lolly, my mom.”
“Your mom’s name is not Lolly.”
He looks at me as if I’m teasing his mother. “Uh, yeah. It is. Short for Loliana.”
“Carson, my mom is named Taffy—short for Taffany, like Tiffany—and yours is Lolly like lollipop.”
We both howl with laughter.
“Yes, both our moms have sweet-related names,” I say like things between us are meant to be for that very reason. But I keep the last part to myself.
Looking at the photo, I say, “You have the same color eyes.”
“There’s probably a better one in here somewhere.”
As we move backward in time through Carson’s camera roll, I see in visual detail the changes Ted described until we land on an image from his college graduation.
“She looks really pretty.”
“My grandaddy called my grandmother his Southern beauty queen and my mom his Southern beauty princess.”
I smile at the affection in his voice.
“You said she doesn’t travel much, so no chance she’d come up here to visit. I’d love to meet her.”
