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“You’re going back to school, Avery.”
When she starts crying again, I impulsively pull into Lucky’s parking lot. I need something—coffee, green tea, anything to get me through the rest of the afternoon. No sandwiches this time. I couldn’t stomach one even if I wanted to.
I park and order Avery to come in with me. When she refuses, I take the phone from her hand. “This is non-negotiable.”
The normal barista is working the counter. The one from the park. The weird one. The one I invited to church. The one who made me promise to keep her secrets. It seems like such an odd thing to say now. She doesn’t notice me standing there. Not at first. She’s busy staring at her phone. When I get up to the counter she looks up. Her eyes grow wide. Her knuckles whiten around the phone.
“You,” she says, and I can’t read her expression, but it’s almost like I’ve caught her doing something she shouldn’t be. Texting on the job?
“Don’t worry,” I say, nodding. “I won’t tell.”
She sort of smiles and takes my order. I realize I shouldn’t have come. Being here reminds me of the sandwich incident and my reconciliation with Grant feels too fragile just yet for any reminders. “The cappuccino is for my daughter,” I say, glancing back at Avery, who is sulking in a chair. She too is staring at her phone. I remember all the times I’d take her after school for donuts or hot chocolate or a croissant when she was little. Looking back, those seem like such innocent times. Before all the rules. Before I really minded having to follow them. I thought life was hectic then. I thought they’d keep me—keep us— safe. I had no idea.
Back then, I had no context of what parenting an adolescent would bring. I only knew what it had been like when I was a teenager, and still, that was seeing it from the other side. To be a parent, in charge of so many emotions while trying to manage your own, is something else entirely. “She was cut from drill team today,” I mention. I leave out the part where she was expelled from school entirely. Sometimes the truth is too much.
She glances at Avery. “I’ll add extra whip.”
“Thanks,” I say. “But I don’t think that cheers teenage girls up these days…I haven’t a clue what does, actually…maybe nothing.” I speak nervously. Off the cuff, which isn’t like me.
“How’s she taking it?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I say. I don’t say that she doesn’t talk to me anymore, not about dance, not about most things. She has her friends for that, and with the invention of smartphones those friends are ever present in our lives. I don’t say this, but it makes me long for the days I just wanted a break, even five minutes to go to the bathroom alone. In those days, at least I knew what was troubling my daughter, and I knew how to fix it.
I notice a bouquet on the counter. I lean down to inhale their scent. It helps hold back the tears that threaten my eyelids.
She smiles.
I inhale deeply. I probably look like a fool. But I’m an expert at keeping my emotions at bay. “Lilies. They’re my favorite.”
She nods. “Mine, too,” she tells me solemnly. I see sadness in her eyes. She hands me my green tea. Her hand touches mine. I glance over my shoulder at Avery. When I look back at the girl, she’s crying. “Are you okay?’
I hand her a napkin. “It’s my anniversary.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well—”
“He’s dead.”
A lump forms in my throat. “I’m sorry.”
“He always sent lilies.”
“It’s fine,” she says. I stare at the floor as she rings me up. Avery sidles up to me and takes her coffee.
“Have you given my invitation any thought?” I tread carefully. Now that things are better between Grant and I, and Beth too, I regret asking.
“I don’t know…”
“That’s okay,” I say. “It’s probably not your thing anyway.”
“Say,” she says, her tone serious. Intense. “I could work with your daughter. I used to teach dance. Ballet mainly. But I’m familiar with all kinds. My mother owned a studio. I mean, that was a long time ago—but still.”
“Wow,” I say, caught off-guard by her offer. “That’s very kind of you. But—”
“Wait,” Avery says, interrupting me. Her face is lit up. “A private tutor. That’s exactly what I need. I’ve been asking…”
“I’m really cheap,” the girl smiles. “As in free of charge.”
“That’s not necessary—”
