It was, I realized, the first dance I’d ever shared with my daughter, and I didn’t know when or if it would happen again. I couldn’t imagine dancing with her in a few years – by then, the idea would probably embarrass her – so I lived in the moment and gave myself over to the dance, thankful for yet another wonder at the end of an already unforgettable week.
“That was the most touching thing I’ve ever seen,” Emily said to me as we walked to the car. “I took some photos with my phone. I’ll text them to you later.”
“It was pretty special,” I agreed, still drifting on the melody of the song. “I’m just glad Bodhi didn’t try to cut in.”
“That wouldn’t happen. I asked him to dance, but he said no. Then, he told me he found a snail and he wanted me to pick it up.”
“Little boys and little girls are certainly different, aren’t they?”
“You get sugar and spice and everything nice,” she said, referring to the nursery rhyme. “Meanwhile, I get the snail.”
“No puppy-dog tails, though.”
“That’s only because he couldn’t find one.”
I laughed. “I’ll bet the kids are starving.”
“I’m starving, too.”
“The real question is whether we let them pick where we eat, or whether we get to pick.”
“Just a warning that if we don’t find something quickly, Bodhi might start getting cranky. And once that happens, you don’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity.”
“So… Chick-fil-A?”
“Bingo,” she said.
Needless to say, the kids were thrilled.
London was still wired when we finally got home, but her energy level started to crash by the time she was in her pajamas. I called Vivian and let London FaceTime with her for a few minutes; afterward, I decided to read Two by Two. As I finished, I remembered that Emily had promised to text the photographs of the two of us dancing. Pulling out my phone, I saw that she had, and quickly scrolled through them with London.
“Don’t we look good?”
London took the phone from me and stared at the photos.
“You can’t see my face because my hair is in the way.”
“That’s because you were looking at my feet,” I said. “That’s okay. I was looking at my feet, too.”
She continued to scrutinize the images. As she did, I remembered the photos I’d removed from the house and made a mental note to print one of these and have it framed.
London handed the phone back to me.
“What are we going to do tomorrow?”
“There’s art class, of course. And after that, we’re going to see Nana and Papa. Is there anything else you want to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“You could help me clean the hamster cage.”
“No thanks. It’s kind of icky.”
Right. Smelly, too, I thought. “Let’s see what you’re in the mood to do when you wake up tomorrow,” I said, tucking the covers around her.
I kissed her goodnight and went back downstairs. I turned on the TV, but the photos that Emily had taken seemed to call to me. I pulled out my phone again and lingered over the images with a smile on my face, more grateful than ever to be the father to such an amazing little girl.
Emily waved as soon as I walked into art class with London the following morning. London ran over to hug her, then went to chase down Bodhi.
“That was fun last night,” she said. “I think we’re a good team when it comes to keeping the kids entertained.”
“Agreed,” I said, reflecting that I’d been happily entertained as well. “And thanks for the photos – I’m probably going to get one or two framed. Even with just an iPhone, you clearly have an artist’s eye.”
“Maybe… or maybe I just sent you the best of the hundred or so I shot,” she said with a mischievous smile.
She jerked a thumb in the direction of the strip mall. “You want to grab a cup of coffee while the kids are occupied?”
“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do,” I said, holding open the door for her. And I meant it.
“It’s the cancer,” my mom insisted. “I just know he has the cancer.”
Standing in the kitchen, my mom was reprising her usual worries in particularly urgent tones. We’d barely walked in the door after art class when she pulled me aside for a hushed conference.
“Was he having trouble breathing again?”
“No,” she said. “But I had the dream about the hospital again last night. Only this time, there was no purple pig. And this time, the doctor was a woman. She was talking about the cancer.”
“Did you ever think it might just be a dream?”
“Do you have the same dreams twice?”
“I have no idea. I don’t remember most of my dreams. But I wouldn’t read too much into it unless you’ve actually noticed something amiss with Dad.”
She looked at me with a mournful expression. “The cancer sometimes doesn’t show many symptoms until it’s too late.”
“So you’re saying that because he feels fine, he might be sick?”
She crossed her arms. “Explain to me why I dreamed it twice.”
I sighed. “Do you want me to talk to Dad again?”
“No,” she said. “But I do want you to keep an eye on him. And if you see something, I’ll need your help getting him to the doctor.”
“I’m not sure I’d even know what to look for,” I protested.