Page 35 of Teasing

“What are you doing?” he asks, even though he knows the answer. I’ve been taking pictures of our lives for as long as I can remember.

I show him the action shot, and he wipes his mouth with a napkin and looks at my box, waiting for me to eat. Stubborn pain in my butt. After a stupid stare-off, I open my box and peel the tomato off the burger and toss it into Camden’s box, then steal the pickles he’s pulled off his and set aside. “Are you ever going to see Dad?”

“Fuck,” he groans and puts his burger down.

“Ignoring him isn’t going to change it, you know.” I hate how weak my voice sounds, but I’ve been forcing a strong front all day, and I’ve got nothing left.

As soon as Rosie and I got to Sugar Hill Assisted Living, I knew it was going to be a bad day. One of my favorite nurses pulled me aside when we first walked in and let me know Dad was having a bad day. They’re happening more and more often, and there’s nothing we can do about it. “You need to see him, Camden.”

“I...” Cam has no words. He never does. Not when it comes to Dad. “I will.”

“When?” One little word, but there’s no mistaking the strength I muster behind it. “Because we both know we’re not promised a single minute in this life. And I don’t know how many minutes he has left.”

“Emmie—” God, the hurt in his voice is awful.

“Don’t bother. I’m not even sure why I try. You’re going to do what you want to. You always have.” I shove my chair back so hard, it nearly topples over as I stand. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for him. He deserves that much.”

“He won’t even know I’m there, Em.”

“I feel sorry for you if that’s what you think, Cam. His heart will always know. And so will yours.” I force back the emotion threatening to drown me. “I’m going to bed.”

“You didn’t even eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Just exhausted.

I yank my phone from my pocket as I head upstairs.

Emmie

Vivi . . . I need to talk to you

EMMIE

They say laughter is the best medicine.

I disagree. It’s coffee.

—Emmie’s Secret Thoughts

Sundays might be for football, but Saturday mornings are for baby ballerinas. Twelve of them, to be precise. That’s the size of the summer class this year, and each and every one of these babies brings a much-needed smile to my face.

“Miss Emmie.” Neveah twists and turns, playing with the way the sheer skirt swishes against her little legs. “Watch me.”

She does her very best plié, then beams with pride.

“That was fantastic, Neveah.” I hug her, then clap, getting the girls’ attention. “You all did such a good job today. Now remember, we don’t have class again until September. So I won’t see you for a few weeks. I hope you practice between now and then, but make sure to have fun too. And if your parents wantto take pictures of you practicing and send them to us, we’ll add them to our pin board for everyone to see.”

Twelve little girls squeal with excitement as I open the door, and they run out of the studio into the waiting area we’ve dubbed the fishbowl, where their parents wait with smiles and open arms for the girls. But one parent in particular catches my attention. The mouth-wateringly handsome one talking to Annabelle Sinclair, while Briar Rose sits on his hip, her long legs dangling down. I guess he finally gave in and is registering little miss Rosie for ballet class.

I stop to talk to a few parents before making my way over to my boss... well, bosses, I guess, and tap Rosie on the shoulder. “Well hello, little rose.”

“Emmie.” She basically throws herself at me with no worries that I might not catch her. Not that it would be an option when her father refuses to let go until he’s convinced I’ve got her securely in my arms.

Oh, Cujo . . .

“What are you doing here?” she asks, and Annabelle giggles behind the desk.

“She just finished teaching class, silly girl.” Annabelle’s grin grows as she looks between Maverick and me. “I’m guessing Emmie is the reason your daddy finally agreed to ballet classes, isn’t she, Maverick?”

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