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Crud, that was a bad joke. “She is. Don’t worry. Her baby will arrive really soon. Then she’ll be on a short break to stay home with her little girl.”
Syd bobs her head too fast. “Okay, is that gonna happen tomorrow?”
“Not quite. Once the snow starts to melt, Joy should be ready to visit. She’ll bring her baby to the studio when it’s warmer outside.” Which is a vague and unreliable estimate in Minnesota.
The little girl beside me goes quiet while trying to grasp that concept of time. “After Spring Break?”
“Somewhere around there,” I hedge.
Her lips squish into a contemplative pucker. “I think that’s three weeks away. Daddy marks off the dates on our calendar.”
“Now you can keep track of Joy’s maternity leave too.”
“Her what?”
“Never mind.” I swat that off our radar. “First, we have to cross our fingers and toes that Joy’s baby is born healthy and strong.”
Sydney immediately completes the task. Both hands resemble luck-inducing prongs while her ballet slippers shift with the effort to match. “Done.”
“Great job. We make an excellent team.” I give her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
The temporary glee fades from her expression. “Is Joy gonna forget about us?”
“What? No way. It’s not possible.” But my reassurance falls flat.
Tears collect in Syd’s eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Of course,” I insist. “She could never forget about us. We’re too important.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise. We’re like a family.”
Her blue eyes sparkle. “Really? You’re my family?”
I’m digging myself an impressive hole with this conversation. “Um, sort of. We’re your dance family. We gather for class and recitals rather than holidays.”
Her skinny shoulders hunch forward. “Oh, that’s not like a mommy.”
My stomach drops at the broken edge in her voice. It doesn’t take a detective to crack the code behind her comment. “You have a mom, Syd.”
“But she forgets about me.”
I find myself wondering how Morgan could willingly put herself in a position to miss these precious moments to begin with. Platitudes bog down my brain. It’s easy to say the wrong thing and cause permanent damage. “I’m sure she’ll come see you soon.”
Her tiny fingers draw invisible hearts on the floor. Meanwhile, mine is splintering. “That’s what my dad says, but she isn’t coming.”
“Maybe she’s waiting to surprise you.”
“She isn’t,” she murmurs almost mutely.
I avert my gaze like a coward. There isn’t anything I can say to make this better. That has to come from Morgan, or Jake for that matter. I settle for a distraction.
In a fluid maneuver, I sprawl flat on the floor with my arms and legs spread. Then I begin sweeping my limbs across the glossy wood in an arching pattern more suitable for the snow.
“What’re you doing?” The amusement in Sydney’s voice makes me smile.
I put more effort into the flat jumping jack motion. “Can’t you see? I’m making a dust bunny angel.”
