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"And that's hardly a week," she laughs. "So naturally, I don't have much to give you. But I do think your schmoozing at the party last weekend may have done you some good."
"Really!?" I squeak. "Thank you so much for inviting me to that again. I can't thank you enough. What have you heard?"
"Just that you made it into their top three picks."
I throw my head back and do a happy hop in circles, not caring how ridiculous I must look to the other dance moms.
If I can just get that job at Bardot, all the hard work I've been doing for the past decade will finally start to pay off. Making it into the top three just puts me one step closer to finding out that dream has come true. So the dance moms can suck it.
After Addy gets out of dance class, we return home to eat dinner. My inadequacies as a replacement mom don't stop at my poor time management, unfortunately. I am also a bad cook. Or at least that's what Addy thinks.
"You can't just eat frozen pizza rolls all the time," I tell her as she pokes her fork around on her plate with a look of disgust.
"I don't eat frozen pizza rolls. I eatcookedones," she quips.
"Ha ha. Very funny."
She lets the fork fall to the side of her plate and flops her arms across the table. "Aunt Vanessa?" She calls for me in a tone that lets me know it's serious.
"Yeah, sweetie?"
"I wish mom was here." Her voice and expression are stoic, but silent tears stream down her cheeks.
I feel the pang of grief in my heart again - the same one that came over me in the lab earlier. But this time, I don't try to run away from it. When I'm alone with Addy in our apartment is one of the only times I let it wash over me.
"I know you do," I whisper, reaching out to take her hand in mine. "I do too. Every single moment of every single day."
"Will this ever get any easier?" she rasps, wiping her cheek.
It's been ten years since my sister passed away, and I have felt the weight of her absence nearly every moment of that decade. Addy only got three short years with her mom before she left us. Truthfully, I've given up on thinking it will get easier. But I don't know how to tell her that. She has a whole life ahead of her to live. How can she look forward to everything that's to come if I can't offer her any hope?
"I know it's hard," I reply, swallowing hard. "I can't do anything to bring her back. I would if I could. Believe me. But…the least I can do is try and help other people with her diagnosis. I can stop this from ripping apart more families the way it has ours."
She nods and sniffles. "Yeah. Okay. Maybe one day I'll do what you do. I can help those people too. Or maybe counsel other girls who have lost their moms."
"That would be amazing, Addy," I smile. "You have a big heart like your mom. I have no doubt you'll help a lot of people in this world no matter what you end up doing."
A few moments pass in silence and it's clear we've both lost our appetites. I suggest we ditch dinner for ice cream. I guess that's a perk of not being Addy'srealmom, as Noah put it. Sometimes I can give myself a pass to throw out the good mom rules and just handle things the way the cool aunt would.
After ice cream and a little TV time, I help Addy with her homework and hug her goodnight. As soon as I'm alone again in the kitchen, I pour a big glass of wine and sit down with my laptop at the table. I start googling everything I can about Bardot's cancer research, which has been a nightly ritual of mine long before I even had a chance of working for them.
If I can just land this position, I'll be that much closer to accomplishing everything I've promised to Addy. Nothing will bring back her mom, take away our grief, or right the unfairness of losing her so young. But the very least I can do is try to stop it from happening to other people.
As my eyes scroll countless words on the screen, soaking up every ounce of information I can find, my phone starts to ring. My heart jumps when I see it's one of the many numbers I've saved from the Bardot directory in hopes of receiving this very call.
"Hello?" I answer, jumping up from my seat.
"Good evening," a man replies. "Is this Dr. Vanessa Lopez?"
"This is her."
"Dr. Lopez, hi. This is Hudson Gray from Bardot Hospital of Beverly Hills."
"I know who you are," I blurt. "I mean, hello. Hi, Dr. Gray. How are you?"
"Doing well, thank you. Um, Dr. Lopez, I'm calling in regards to your candidacy for the head of oncology research position."
My heart pounds so loud and hard in my chest that I'm positive he can hear it over the phone. "Yes. I'm very eager for the opportunity to move forward in the process."
