3. Carter

Chapter 3

Carter

T he heavenly aroma of coffee beans swirls in the air around me. It’s 9:00am, and I’m sitting at my father’s favourite table at Spoonful, a quaint local cafe. We never sit anywhere other than the round table in the back right-hand corner of the cafe, adjacent to the window overlooking the many activities of Hyde Park. It’s the perfect place to people-watch.

There are several marshmallow-looking children playing in the playground, dogs running off leash in their fenced-off area, and a few couples and families rugged up from head to toe enjoying their Sunday strolls. Despite the fact it offers little warmth, it seems everyone is enjoying the rare bout of winter sunshine.

Inside the cafe, the radio plays softly beneath the chatter of baristas and cafegoers alike. The ring of the bell above the door has me turning my head in its direction. I raise a hand to signal my father, although it seems unnecessary as he’s already heading my way.

“Carter,” my father says as he reaches the table. “Good to see you, son.”

I stand, embracing him in a brief hug. “Good to see you too.”

If my father were twenty-five years younger, there’s no doubt he, Teddy and I would look like triplets. With his dark, salt and peppered hair—no doubt from the efforts of helping my mother raise my siblings and me—and deep green eyes flecked with shards of gold, there’s no mistaking who we belong to.

My father pulls his chair out, the wooden legs scraping lightly on the timber floors. We both take a seat. Neither of us need the menu to know what we’d like; we’ve ordered the same thing for years—a large Americano and an eggs Benedict each.

The waitress, a pretty blonde, approaches our table with a small smile. “Hello, gentlemen; the usual?”

A chuckle escapes my father. “Do we really come here that often?”

Grinning, the waitress replies, “I think your visits and my shifts happen to coincide often.” She turns to me, and a faint blush pinkens her cheeks.

“The usual will be perfect, thank you, Kate,” I respond, reading her nametag. If she knows our orders, the least I can do is address her by name.

“Won’t be long.” The apples of Kate’s cheeks deepen in colour before she returns to the counter.

My father’s eyes bore into me. “Yes?” I ask, amused.

“Oh, nothing.” He raises his brows, a smirk on his lips.

“Spit it out.” This turns the smirk into another chuckle.

“Our lovely waitress, Kate, seemed quite taken with you,” he responds.

It’s my turn to raise my brows as I give my eyes a small roll. “This again?”

My father beams widely at me, his dimples on full display. “Don’t be like that, Son, I’m trying to look out for you. If your mother were here, she’d already have given young Kate your number.”

“In that case, thank god she’s still away at her girls’ weekend retreat,” I reply with a smirk.

My father’s smile grows smaller, his eyes now less vapid. “Carter, you’ve been single for almost four years now. Don’t you want to share your life with someone? The support would be of great benefit to your impending life changes.”

I let out a small sigh, unnoticed by my father. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this speech in some form or another, nor is it the last I’ll hear of it. Since separating from my ex, both of my parents—and occasionally one or both siblings—often bring up my relationship status, or lack thereof. I haven’t been in a committed relationship since. Although they’re all aware of my reasons, I suspect they’d like me to find my ‘person’.

I look him in the eye, giving him a small smile. “I appreciate your concern, Dad, I do, but I promise you I’m happy.”

We were raised to address our parents as Mother and Father, but I decided to call him Dad when it’s the two of us.

His gaze roams over my face, searching for a flicker of anything other than happiness. I hold my smile while he does so. Seeming to have found what he was looking for, his eyes soften at the corners when he locks them on mine once more.

“You didn’t answer my question though, Son.”

I pause. He’s correct; I purposely evaded the ‘don’t you want to share your life with someone’ part because I simply can’t lie to him. I would love to share my life with someone, but that someone won’t be found by having my family attempt to chat them up on my behalf.?Despite my dad’s best efforts, these things can’t be rushed.

“I know.”

He gives a small nod, and it’s the only confirmation I need to know he understands. We had many difficult conversations over my teenage years. Difficult in the sense I offered up very little, and my father was left to work the rest out on his own. The benefit of that is now he knows what I mean, even when I don’t say it.

A different waitress brings out our coffee and meals, and we eat in comfortable silence. I’m finishing the last of my eggs when my father softly clears his throat.

“Do you remember your mother and my friend, Annette? From university?” My father pauses, waiting for my affirmative response. “Her daughter Molly is a couple of years younger than you and has recently returned to the UK after studying abroad.”

I look blankly at him, so he presses on.

“Molly has recently started teaching at Winnie’s school, and she recognised your brother at pick up yesterday. The two of them had a quick catch-up and the topic of your relationship status came up.”

I groan inwardly, retaining the blank expression on my face.?

“Any who, Molly seemed quite interested in hearing about the grown-up Carter once Teddy mentioned you hadn’t. She gave him her number in the hopes you’d contact her if you were interested in seeing her.”

Molly is beautiful, there’s no denying that. She was one of those cute children you knew would grow up to be something remarkable. That’s where my knowledge of her ends. I haven’t known Molly since we were children. I only know what she looks like because of the handy little thing that is social media.

Being well known in the media, whilst beneficial for my law career at the time, has its downfalls. I have women throw themselves at me all the time, but it’s only ever really for one reason: money. This is partly why I haven’t bothered to form anything real these past few years. You can never truly tell if someone is interested in you as a person or what your bank account holds.

Annette is a lovely woman, and I imagine anyone raised by her would be nothing less. Do I really have anything to lose by agreeing to a date with Molly?

“I’ll have Teddy pass on her number,” I say in a somewhat resigned tone and hope he doesn’t catch it.

My father almost jumps from his seat as he rips his phone from his trouser pocket. “Oh, this is excellent! I must tell your mother.”

“Calm down, old man, you’ll give yourself a heart attack.”

This earns me a well-deserved slap to the shoulder. I flash him a megawatt smile in return.

“You can be such a pest sometimes, Carter.”

Still beaming at Dad, I rest my elbows on the table, placing my chin against my clasped hands. “I know.”

The waitress who served our food returns to clear our table. We say our thanks and pay before heading towards the door. My father places a hand on my shoulder as we walk. The bell chimes once more as we exit onto the street, and my dad receives a text as we begin wandering down the footpath. He looks up at me with a sad smile. “Son, I’ll have to cut this morning short. That’s your mother saying she’s arrived at Annette's.”

Pulling each other in for a quick hug, we say our goodbyes. As my father’s figure retreats down a cobblestone street, my phone pings in from within my pocket.

I chuckle to myself as I read the incoming message.

Big Ted

Excellent choice, brother .

The message is accompanied by a number. I should’ve known Dad would get to him before I had a chance. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at Teddy’s message.

Fuck it, I’ve got nothing to lose.

Me

Hey Molly, it’s Carter Lawrence. If you’re not busy on Saturday morning, perhaps we could grab a coffee?

I hit send before I can change my mind. As I go to put my phone in my pocket once more, the text tone sounds again.

Molly

Hey Cart, so lovely to hear from you! I’m free Saturday; it’s a date x

I take a deep breath.

I have a date on Saturday.

This is a good thing, right?