Afterward, I relented when she asked if she could watch TV for a while, and she lay on the couch, yawning. Maybe it was just Vivian's voice harping in the back of my mind, but I felt that I still needed to let Hamshaw know about the accident. Because she hadn't returned my call, however, I felt like I had to do it in person.
I told London about swinging by the studio, loaded her in the car, and spotted Ms. Hamshaw in what I assumed was her glass-walled office. London elected to stay in the car. Ms. Hamshaw had looked over at me as soon as I entered, but took her time before finally making her way over to me.
"London wasn't in class on Monday," she observed, arching an eyebrow in apparent displeasure, before I even had a chance to speak.
"She was in a pretty bad accident on her bike," I said. "I left you a couple of voicemails. She ended up at the hospital. She's recovering, but she won't be in class today or Friday, either."
Ms. Hamshaw's expression did not change. "I'm glad to hear she's all right, but she has a performance coming up. She still needs to attend class."
"She can't. The doctor says she has to take it easy this week."
"Then unfortunately, she can't perform in the recital next Friday night."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"London has already missed two classes. If she misses a third, she's not eligible to perform. You may feel that to be unfair, but it's one of the ground rules of the studio. She was informed of that when she signed up."
"She was sick the first time," I said, with dawning incredulity. "On Monday, she was unconscious."
"I'm sorry to hear of her misfortune," Ms. Hamshaw said, sounding anything but. "As I said earlier, I'm glad she's recovering. But rules are rules." With that, she crossed her skinny arms.
"Is this because she needs to practice? She's one of the trees and she showed me what she's supposed to do. I'm sure if she's here next week, she'll have more than enough time to master it."
"You're missing the point." Ms. Hamshaw's mouth was a thin line. "I have rules for the studio because parents and students will always find a reason not to come to class. Someone is sick or a grandparent is visiting or there's too much homework. I've heard every excuse imaginable over the years, but I can't foster a culture of excellence unless everyone shows commitment."
"London's not participating in any competitions," I reasoned. "She hasn't been chosen to do so."
"Then perhaps she should practice more, not less."
I squelched the urge to let Ms. Hamshaw know what I thought of her ridiculous little quasi-military operation, and instead said patiently, "What do you suggest that I do? Since her doctor told us to limit her activity?"
"She can come to class and sit in the corner and watch."
"Right now her head hurts and she's exhausted. And on Friday, she'll just be bored if she sits and watches."
"Then she can look forward to the Christmas show."
"Where she'll be a tree again? Or maybe an ornament?"
Ms. Hamshaw straightened, her nostrils flaring. "There are other dancers in her class who demonstrate much greater commitment."
"This is ridiculous," I blurted out.
"That's what people generally say when they don't like the rules."
I brought London home and we ate the leftover Chinese food. Vivian called, and by the time the FaceTime session had ended, London could barely keep her eyes open.
I made the executive decision to skip her bath and got her into her pajamas. I read a short book to her in bed and she was asleep moments after I turned out the light. Descending the stairs, I told myself that I should use the rest of the evening to get some work done, but I simply wasn't in the mood.
Instead, I called Emily.
"Hey there," she said as soon as she answered. "How are things?"
"Not too bad, I guess."
"How's London? Bodhi said she got to be the teacher's helper, so she must be recuperating nicely."
"Yeah, she was pretty excited about that," I said. "And she's fine, really--just a little tired. What did you end up doing today?'
"Worked on one of the paintings for my show. I think I'm getting closer, but I'm just guessing. I could probably work on this one forever and never think it's done."
"I want to see it."
"Anytime," she said. "Thankfully, the other paintings I've started are going well. So far, anyway." She smiled. "How are you holding up? I can't imagine how scared you must have been. I'd probably still be traumatized."
"It was pretty bad," I admitted. "And tonight wasn't so relaxing."
"What happened?"
I replayed my conversation with Ms. Hamshaw.
"So she can't do the recital?" Emily asked when I finished.
"I don't think she was all that excited about it anyway," I said. "I just wish Vivian weren't so hell-bent on having her go there. I don't think London enjoys it at all."
"Then let her quit."
"I don't want another reason to argue with Vivian. And I don't want London in the middle of it."
"Did you ever think that by continually appeasing Vivian, you're just adding fuel to the fire?"
"How do you mean?"
"If you give in every time Vivian gets angry, then she knows that all she has to do is be angry to get what she wants. I mean, so what if she gets angry? What's she going to do?"
She didn't add the question, Divorce you? but the obvious truth of her observation startled me. Was that the reason things had started going downhill in the first place? Because I'd never stood up to Vivian? Because I wanted to avoid conflict? What had Marge once said to me?
Your real problem is that you're too damn nice for your own good.
At my silence, Emily went on.
"I don't know if what I said has any bearing. I could be wrong. And I'm not saying this because I want the two of you to argue. I'm just saying that you're London's father, and you have just as much right as Vivian when it comes to making decisions as to what is best for London. Lately, you have even more rights than she does, since you're the one who's taking care of her. You're the primary parent these days, not her, but you still seem to trust Vivian's judgment more than your own. To me, London seems like a very happy little girl, so it's clear you've been doing something right."
"So... what do you think I should do?" I asked, trying to digest what she'd said.
"Why don't you talk to London and ask her what she wants to do? And then just trust your instincts."
"You make it sound so easy."
"Other people's problems are always easier to solve. Haven't you learned that yet?" She laughed, a sound at once reassuring and refreshing.
"I have to say, sometimes you remind me a lot of Marge."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment."
"It is."
Emily and I chatted for another hour, and as always, after speaking with her, I felt better. More grounded. More like myself again, and it was enough to spur me to spend an hour on the computer, getting a jump on the next day's work.
In the morning, while London was eating her cereal, I explained what Ms. Hamshaw had said.
"You mean I can't be in the recital?"
"I'm sorry, sweetie... Are you mad you can't dance in the show?"
London's reaction was immediate. "It's okay," she said with a shrug. "I didn't want to be a tree anyway."
"If it makes you feel better, I thought you were a very good tree."
She looked at me as though I had cornstalks growing out of my ears. "It's a tree, Daddy. The butterfly gets to move around. Trees don't."
"Hmmm," I said, nodding. "Good point."
"Do I have to go to dance on Friday?"
"Do you want to go?"
When she shrugged instead of answering, it wasn't hard to read between the lines.
"If you don't want to go, then I don't think you should go. You should only go to dance because you like it and you want to go."
For a moment London studied the floating marshmallows in her bowl of Lucky
Charms, and I wondered if she had heard me. Then: "I don't think I want to go anymore. Ms. Hamshaw doesn't like me very much."
"Fine," I said. "You no longer have to go to dance."
London hesitated, and when she looked up at me I thought I detected a trace of anxiety in her expression. "What's Mom going to say?"
She'll probably get angry, I thought.
"She'll understand," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
After dropping London off at school, I went to the studio, where I met the animal trainer and Gus, a bullmastiff.
The commercial would emphasize tenacity and the plan was to have Gus tugging relentlessly on a dog toy. Intercut with the images of the dog would be four screen shots with the following captions: When you've been injured on the job,
You need a determined and relentless attorney
Call the offices of Joey Taglieri
He won't stop until you get the money you deserve.
Gus the bullmastiff ended up being quite a talented actor, and filming wrapped well before noon.
London wasn't quite as chipper when I picked her up from school as she'd been the day before. Limiting activity and TV required a bit of creativity, and I decided to bring her to the pet store. I needed shavings for the hamsters anyway, but I thought she might enjoy looking at the fish.
There were more than fifty different aquariums; each aquarium had placards that listed the specific types of fish. London and I spent more than an hour moving from tank to tank and naming the various kinds of fish.
It wasn't quite SeaWorld, I'll admit, but it wasn't a bad way to spend a quiet afternoon.
On the way out, she spent some time playing with a few cocker spaniel puppies that were tumbling around in a low pen. They were very cute, and I breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't ask for one.
"That was fun, Daddy," she said as we headed to the car. I had the bag of shavings and hamster food tucked beneath my arm.
"I thought you might like that."
"We should get some fish. Some of them were really pretty."
"Aquariums are even harder to clean than hamster cages."
"I'm sure you could figure it out, Daddy."
"Maybe. But I don't know where we would put the aquarium."
"We could put it on the kitchen table!"
"That's an idea. But where would we eat?"
"We could eat on the couch."
I couldn't suppress a smile. I loved talking to my daughter. I truly did.
On the way home, I swung by the grocery store. Using one of the recipes that Liz had given me, I picked up the ingredients for chicken quesadillas.
I let London pretty much fix dinner on her own. I walked her through each step--and I sliced the chicken after she'd sauteed it--but aside from those things, London did everything herself. She cooked the chicken, added the slices to tortillas, added the grated cheese, and folded the tortillas before putting each one into a pan so it could toast on both sides.
When the meal was ready, she directed me to the table, and I brought over two plates of food, utensils, and two glasses of milk.
"This looks delicious and it smells great," I commented.
"I want to take a picture for Auntie Liz and Auntie Marge. Before you start."
"Okay," I said. I handed my phone to her and she snapped pictures of both plates, then texted them to both.
"Where did you learn how to text?" I asked, amazed.
"Mommy showed me. Bodhi, too. He showed me on Miss Emily's phone. I think I'm old enough for a phone."
"You might be, but I'd rather talk to you in person."
She rolled her eyes, but I could tell she thought it was funny. "You can eat now if you want," she said.
I cut a piece with my fork and took a bite.
"Wow," I said. "This is very tasty. You did a fantastic job."
"Thank you," she said. "Don't forget to drink your milk."
"I won't," I said. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a glass of milk. It tasted better than I remembered.
"This is amazing," I said. "I can't believe how big you're getting."
"I'm almost six."
"I know. Do you know what you want for your birthday?"
She thought about it. "Maybe an aquarium," she said. "And lots of pretty fish. Or maybe a poodle like Noodle."
Maybe, I thought to myself, spending the day at the pet store hadn't been such a good idea.
After London had gone to bed, I gave Emily a call.
I caught her while she was lying in bed, and as always, we drifted into an easy conversation that was a mixture of reminiscing about our earlier years, and discussing details of our current lives. The call lasted for nearly forty minutes, and when I hung up the phone, I realized that talking to Emily was not only becoming part of my routine, but one of the brightest spots of my days.
On Friday afternoon, Vivian texted that she would be arriving between nine and ten, which was well past London's normal bedtime.
After receiving the text at work, I took a moment to wonder what, if anything, would be expected of me when she arrived, since London might not be awake. Would Vivian finally want to talk? Watch TV in the family room with or without me? Or would she head straight to the guest room? And what was I going to do all weekend?
I tried to repeat Emily's Zen mantra, but it didn't help. Part of me, I knew, was still trying to figure out how to please Vivian.
Old habits die hard.
With dance class off the schedule, I opted for another date night with London, with the idea of keeping her awake until Vivian arrived. I thought bringing her to dinner and a movie would be fun, and I was able to find a kids' movie that would end in time to have us home by nine. After that, London could hop in the bath and put on her pajamas, and with any sort of luck, Vivian would arrive right around then.
I revealed my plans to London when I picked her up from school, and as soon as we got home, she raced up the steps to start getting ready.
"You have plenty of time," I called after her. "We don't have to leave until five thirty."
"I want to start now!" she called back.
She was fully dressed by four and found me in the den, working on the computer, finalizing the still shots I planned to intercut in the dog commercial.
She'd chosen a white blouse, white skirt, and white shoes and stockings, her hair held back with a white headband.
"You look very beautiful," I said, mentally crossing off all Italian restaurants from the list of possible dinner destinations. A single slip and her outfit would be massacred.
"Thank you," she said. "But I don't like the Band-Aid on my forehead. Or my splint."
"I didn't even notice them," I said. "I'm sure you'll be the prettiest girl in the whole restaurant."
She beamed. "When are we going to leave?"
"We still have an hour and a half."
"Okay," she said. "I can go sit in the family room until we're ready."
"You could play with your Barbies," I suggested.
"I don't want to get my dress wrinkled."
Of course.
"What would you like to do?"
"I don't know. But I don't want to get dirty."
I thought about it. "Would you like to play Hoot Owl Hoot! again?"
She clapped her hands. "Yes!"
We played for an hour before I went to change. Like the last time, I donned slacks and a blazer, along with a stylish new pair of loafers. London was waiting for me in the foyer, and, trying to add a bit of ceremony to the occasion, I bowed before opening the door for her.
We had dinner at an upscale steakhouse and after a couple of minutes of adult-like conversation, London slipped back into little girl mode. We talked about Bodhi and her teacher and school and about the kind of fish she wanted in the aquarium.
Afterward, we went to the movie, which left London energized--perhaps it was the Raisinets--and eager to see her mom. Hurrying upstairs when we got back home, she quickly bathed and sl
ipped into her pajamas.
Vivian arrived at the house not long after I'd begun to read. London jumped from the bed and ran down the stairs. I followed, watching as London threw herself into her mother's arms, Vivian's eyes closing in contented delight.
"I'm so glad I got to see you before you went to sleep," Vivian said.
"Me, too. Daddy and me went on a date. We had dinner and we saw a movie and we talked about my aquarium!"
"Aquarium?"
"For her birthday," I said. "How are you?"
"Good. That's a long drive, especially when it starts at rush hour."
I nodded, feeling strangely out of place. I motioned upstairs. "I've already read to her if you want to go up."
She faced London again. "Do you want Mommy to read you a few stories?"
"Yes!" London cried. I watched as the two of them climbed the stairs. And though I was in my house with my wife and daughter, I suddenly felt very much alone.
I retreated to the master bedroom. I didn't want to talk to Vivian, nor did I think she wanted that either. Instead, I read in bed and tried not to think about the fact that Vivian would be spending the night under the same roof.
I fantasized briefly about her sneaking into my bedroom and wondered what I would do. Would I acquiesce with the excuse that we were still married? Or even as a last hurrah? Or would I have the resolve that Emily showed when David had made a pass at her?
I wanted to think I'd be more like Emily, but I wasn't sure I was as strong as she'd been. Nonetheless, I had a feeling that neither of us would be happy afterward. I was no longer a part of her future, and it would only reinforce the hold that Vivian still had over me, despite all she'd done. Moreover, I suspected that I'd feel guilty. Because as I imagined making love to Vivian again, I realized with sudden clarity that what I wanted even more than that was for it to be Emily instead.
In the morning, I rose early and went for a long run. I showered, made myself breakfast and was on my second cup of coffee when Vivian found me in the kitchen. She was in long pajamas, a set I'd bought her for her birthday a couple of years back. She went to the cupboard and pulled out a teabag, then added water to the teakettle on the stove.