Page 45 of Symphony of Salvation

“You’re stronger than this. You’ve proven it doesn’t have to be part of your life. Let it go. He’s one nice-looking man in a sea of millions, and you’ve managed fine without—”

A soft rap at the door drew me upright. Heat raced along my neck and burned my cheeks. “Just a minute.”

Constance kicked the door. If she could have growled or yelled, she likely would have.

I wet my face again, hoping to tame the flush before seeing what my daughter wanted.

The moment I opened the door, she yanked me by the arm, forcing me out of the bathroom before shoving her phone in my face with the time displayed. It was after eight. I’d been getting ready for over an hour.

It wasn’t hard to puzzle out what she was trying to tell me.

“I didn’t realize the time,” I said, grimacing. “If you had to pee, you could have said something with words instead of getting angry.”

She rolled her eyes and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. A moment later came the sound of an overfull bladder emptying into the toilet.

“Constance, I’m sorry.”

When she opened the door again, it was with a toothbrush dangling from her mouth and a scowl on her face. She held up a finger, asking for another minute.

“I’m done in there. Take all the time you need. I didn’t mean to be a bathroom hog. You should have spoken up.” As if that would happen.

She scanned my outfit, and her scowl shifted to curious confusion. Sniffing the air, she glanced at the counter where I’d left the bottle of cologne. Was it too strong? Had I overapplied?

Still brushing her teeth, she motioned to my clothing and the cologne.

“What? I’m going out… with a few teachers.”

Her penetrating stare threatened to strip the lie away and reveal the truth. She spat and rinsed before propping her hands on her hips and shaking her head.

“No? What do you mean, no?”

She signed with a flurry of hand movements.

“Constance, stop. You know I don’t understand. Please use words.”

But stubborn was her middle name, and she refused. Using the notes app on her phone, she typed a message instead and flashed the screen.You have a date.

The punctuation implied it wasn’t a question.

“No. It’s a work thing with teachers.”

Teachers? Plural? You know ONE teacher. Mr. Edwidge.

I sighed. “Yes, and we’re going out for a drink to discuss how we’re grading solos next week.”

You’re lying.

A fire burned the lining of my stomach. “I’m not. Why would you say that?”

Because you’ve been primping for over an hour. You’re going on a date. Who is she?

Ignoring the heartbeat pulsing in my throat and my clammy hands, I aimed to look adequately affronted. “There is noshe. I’m not going on a date. I’m having a conference with your teacher. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s part of the job I signed up for, and I don’t appreciate the inquisition. I don’t report to you.”

She rolled her eyes, pushed past me, and headed to her bedroom. I expected her to slam the door, but she left it open, returning a second later to shove her phone at me again, a new message typed out.

I took the device but stared at my daughter. “Can you please try, Constance? There’s no one here but me. At least practice.”

She motioned to the phone.

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