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“Daddy!” Em bellowed from the kitchen “Fruit snacks!”
“I’m coming!” I yelled back, and then said to Cass, “I’ll just be a second.”
Cass nodded, his mouth pinched.
I went and helped the girls get their fruit snacks, and I wasn’t really surprised when I heard the quietsnickof the front door closing behind Cass as he left without a word.
ChapterSix
On Tuesday night, I had the dubious honor of watching my mom and a bunch of other ladies of middling-and-upwards years tap dancing in Donna Fischer’s studio on Fourth Street. Linda, Cass’s mom, wasn’t there—she was still having problems with her stomach, and the entire studio had debated at length whether it was an ulcer. Mom, wearing stretchy leggings, a faded sweatshirt, and a bright yellow headband and matching wrist bands that were reminiscent of something out ofFlashdance, told everyone loudly and repeatedly that she was sure Linda would be just fine in time for the recital, but I could tell she was putting up a front. Probably because, for all I knew, mature ladies’ dance classes were as viciously political as middle school, and Mom didn’t want to show any of the other hyenas her soft belly. Figuratively, at least. Her high-waisted leggings weren’t doing anything to hide it in a literal sense.
“Remember, it’s ballthenheel, Frances!” Donna Fischer exclaimed as she click-click-clicked around the floor on her tap shoes.
If I’d thought holding a kidnapped Peachblossom captive in the trunk of my car and kissing my ex-boyfriend were the worst decisions I’d make this holiday season, I had another thing coming. Because here I was, in a pair of track pants and a faded Bruins sweatshirt, learning to fucking tap dance while a bunch of old ladies whispered behind my back that I wouldneverbe ready in time for the recital and weren’t gays supposed to be good at this?
I grimace-smiled at Donna and stepped down on the ball of my foot andthenmy heel.
Tap-TAP.
“That’s it!” Donna exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Wonderful!”
Mom winked at me like we’d be Fred and Gingering our way through the Christmas recital without a care in the world. There was no way I was going to let it get that far. If Linda didn’t get the all clear from her doctor, then I was going to have to fake an injury or something. Nothing dramatic. I’d already priced knee braces online. Liar Bob had helped me pick the perfect one.
While I ball-heeled my way awkwardly across the floor , Ada and Em sat in the back and colored. They’d dressed for the occasion—leotards, sparkly tights, and floofy princess skirts—and started off enthusiastically, but they’d thrown it all in at about the twenty-minute mark and retired for juice boxes and cookies. I wished I could have joined them.
I watched the clock on the far wall with the desperation of a man who hadn’t done any cardio in actual years, and dragged my ass through the lesson as a bunch of grandmas showed me up over and over again. I couldn’t even bring myself to regret having subjected myself to this, because by the time I was digging through my bag looking desperately for my water bottle—but also half hoping I’d packed vodka instead—Mom looked so damn happy she was glowing.
“Do you want to come over for dinner?” she asked. “Jake’s making spaetzle.”
“I promised the girls we’d get chicken nuggets if they behaved.”
“Another time, then,” Mom said. “Thank you for coming tonight, Frances.”
“This gets me off the naughty list, right?”
Mom cackled evilly. “Sure, but for how long?”
She kissed the girls and fussed over them for a moment, and then sailed out the door into the chilly evening air.
“Daddy, we are getting nuggets, right?” Em asked, once I’d gotten them packed in the car and we were heading home.
“Absolutely.”
“Because we were very good,” Ada said. There was a moment of silence from the back seat, and then a lot of frantic whispering, before Ada added, “Does Grandma see everything like Santa?”
“Um...what’s this about?”
“If you’re going on Grandma’s naughty list, are we going on Santa’s for what we did to Peachblossom?” Em’s voice wavered.
“Peachblossom?” I thought of the bag in the trunk. “What?”
“Brianna wouldn’t let me play with Peachblossom!” Ada exclaimed. “Which isn’t even fair because she hastwo!”
“So we gave her a haircut,” Em said.
“You—” I pulled into the drive-thru of the restaurant, put the car into park, and twisted around in my seat. Two guilty little faces stared back at me. “You gave Brianna’s Peachblossom ahaircut?”
Ada’s bottom lip wobbled.
