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She shakes her head and follows me to the grand piano in the center of our living room. Tonight, the moon is bright and it falls upon the piano, leaving a silver kiss atop the glossy surface.
I heft Niko into my arms and set her on my knee. Then, I take her hand and place it on the piano lid.
“Be careful,” I tell her.
She nods as if to sayI know.
Settling my arms on either side of her, I place my fingers on the keys. Softly, I pick out the melody of Beethoven’sSymphony No. 9.
Niko recognizes the pattern and grins, causing her eyes to fall into one happy line.
“Easy,” she signs.
I smile in response.
My daughter places her free hand on the keys and accompanies me. Together, we play in sync.
Her fingers dance over the chords with surprising dexterity. There is not a hint of hesitation or uncertainty in the way she approaches music. The notes are a comfort. A friend. She may not hear the way I do, but the way she experiences music is special.
Eventually, her eyes close and she plays without looking down at the keys.
I lift my hand, letting her take over the piece. Niko does not seem to notice that I have stopped.
I press a kiss to her forehead when the song ends. Waiting until she opens her eyes, I sign, “Time for bed.”
After carrying Niko into her bedroom, I set her on the bed and pull up the covers to her chest. She wiggles her toes beneath the blanket.
“Goodnight,” I sign.
Her hand shoots out of the blanket and latches onto the hem of my shirt. She tugs.
I look down at her, waiting.
“Will we see Deej again?” she signs.
I feel a sharp prick of concern. Like everyone in our family, Niko has a habit of keeping to herself. She rarely clings to one person. Even Akira, who has been watching over her since she was a baby, is treated with distance.
“Miss Williams is busy with her own life. She has no time to play with you,” I tell her.
Niko’s eyes flash with sadness. “But I like her.”
“In life,” I hesitate, “some people are only with you for a short time. Sometimes, you are not meant to be together always.”
“Like you and mom?” she gestures.
I pin my lips together because the divorce has always been a difficult one to express to her.
“Yes, like me and your mother,” I finally sign.
She frowns and then says aloud, “No.”
My eyes widen when I hear her speak. Niko only sounds out her words when she’s frustrated or upset.
My daughter pushes her hands into the mattress, sits up, and gestures, “Sobosays we make our own fate.” A wrinkle forms between her eyebrows. She signs forcefully, “I want to play with Deej again.”
I fold my arms over my chest.
My daughter stares me down, unwavering. It’s a surprising and uncharacteristic show of stubbornness. I can only blame it on her encounter with Miss Williams.
