Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 209(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 209(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
In many ways, I could see why he’d be mistaken for the girls’ “other dad,” except in the singularly most important one: Brody wasn’t my husband. Not even close.
And thank god he wasn’t, or, given my track record with relationships, I’d have run him off by now.
I opened my mouth to correct her assumption when Dean Larson leaned forward.
“You know,” she said confidingly, “I have to admit that I was initially hesitant to admit the girls to Mountbatten. We only accept a small number of new students each year as it is, and it’s so difficult to find families who don’t simply want to write a check and be done with it.”
“Wow.” I forced a chuckle and tugged at my collar again. “That’s wild. I can’t imagine.”
“Indeed. While we do our best to ensure that we accept a number of students from a variety of races, ethnicities, religions, socioeconomic backgrounds, academic abilities, family structures, and so on, in order to uphold our school’s values, we simply must have a high level of family involvement across the board. So when I saw on your application that your stated profession is ‘one of the state’s most highly respected trauma surgeons’—”
Dammit, Brody.
“—and that the girls’ mother is an ‘award-winning photojournalist’ who’s currently living abroad ‘capturing humanity’s stories’… by the way, thank you so much for linking me to her website. It was extremely informative—”
I nodded woodenly. Brody again.
“—well, I was extremely impressed, but you can understand why I was concerned that your family wouldn’t be capable of really taking an active role within our community. I know it might seem old-fashioned,” she said earnestly, “but there are many schools in the area where parents can send their children if they’re looking for rigorous, college-preparatory academics, and others where athletically gifted children can gain access to world-renowned coaches. What sets Mountbatten apart is our spirit. We care for one another here, Dr. Brighton. Our parents get to know their children’s classmates and their classmates’ parents. We function as a team. And it’s really impossible to achieve that if our soccer stadium is filled with paid babysitters scrolling their phones.”
“I see.” I wanted to argue that not all paid caregivers were like that. That many, like Brody, were incredibly invested in their children’s lives, while many of the children’s parents—namely, me—were the ones with a phone habit to break.
But then I imagined Jacey’s face when I told her I’d blown her shot at Mountbatten, and I held my tongue.
Dean Larson sat back in her seat and regarded me for a moment. “If you’d like, I can forward you some studies showing the effects that high levels of in-personal parental involvement can achieve—”
“No need,” I said flatly. I’d no doubt read them all… and had been triply glad that I had someone like Brody in my corner, smoothing out the rough edges of my life and making neat stacks of possibilities where there had once been impossible chaos. “I’m sure children thrive in this environment.”
I knew my own would.
I loved my daughters more than life, but no matter how kind Brody or my sister tried to be about it, the truth was that I hadn’t always been the best dad. Through Brody’s encouragement, I felt closer to the girls than I ever had, but sometimes, it seemed like children ran on raw emotion, and I… well, I did not. Plus, I regularly got so caught up in work that I missed half of the girls’ school events, playoff games, and awards ceremonies, even with Brody reminding me.
I would not let them miss out on this opportunity, too.
So I let my medical training take over, pushing out all peripheral distractions—like the truth—in pursuit of my objective.
“That sounds great,” I lied. “We’re… eager to get involved.”
“Wonderful!” Dean Larson exclaimed. “Then I’d like to offer Jacey, Cleo, and Mia admission to Mountbatten Preparatory! School starts next Monday. We look forward to meeting your husband and introducing the two of you to all the other parents.”
It wasn’t until after I shook her hand, wrote her an appallingly large check, and went out to my car to call Brody with an update that I let the reality of the situation crash over me.
The girls could only attend if I had a husband…
And how the fuck was I going to find myself one of those in four days?
2
BRODY
I ended the call with Grant—Dr. Brighton—and leaned over the table at the campus coffee shop table to bang my head repeatedly against my closed laptop. “Moron.”
“Wait, what? Are you talking about the admission people or Dr. Boss?” my friend Fen demanded, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. She nudged a fresh cup of coffee in my direction. “What did I miss? Did the snooty school love the girls? Or are we toilet-papering houses?”