Page 41 of Because of Her

“A ballerina had to have a ballerina’s name,” Callum adds with a gentle shrug.

He tucks the doll into the neck of his tee. It nestles against the soft skin of his neck, and I’m reminded of how comforting it felt to be so close to him. To feel his pulse against my cheek.

“Ready?”

Maisie’s voice shakes off my inappropriate thoughts.

Taking both her hands in mine, I stand in first position.

“Wait!” she squeals, turning back to her dad. “I need a ballerina bun.”

Callum nods, and kneels down. Placing Pavlova theballerina doll in his lap, he pulls a hair tie off his wrist. Maisie walks over, and before I have time to blink, Callum has whipped her hair into a bun that rests halfway between a messy up do, and a perfect ballerina donut bun.

After fixing the pink bow to the front of the bun, he places both hands on Maisie’s shoulders to spin her around.

“You ready now?” he asks, and she bounces in excitement.

I hold back the absurdity of it. Needing the perfect bun before having a silly dance with the lady who lives across the hall from her dad. But seeing Callum help her without hesitation makes the warm patch in my chest spread even further. When Maisie turns back to me, her ecstatic grin reaches her ears and I know the quick hair change was worth it.

I take her tiny hands in mine. “Okay, first position. Stand up tall, put your heels together, and point your toes out to the sides.”

She loses balance slightly, but settles into a semi turned out position, the natural flexibility in her hips helping stretch her toes out wide.

Together, we go through some simple moves. A plie, some pointing, a little sauté jump. Maisie’s grin continues to grow with each move, her little arms shaking in excitement at her sides. When the music ends and the exhibit lights fade, her shoulders start to slump. I’m unsure what this pull at my heart is, but I bend down on my knees to comfort her.

“It’s okay.” I place my hands on her shoulders to comfort her. “We can dance again another time.”

She looks up at me, hope glittering in her eyes.

“How did you learn to be a ballerina?”

“I went to ballet class.”

Maisie stares at her feet, tapping her heels together as she asks, “Daddy, can I go to ballet class?”

I hold my breath, wondering if I said something I shouldn’t have.

“I can look for a class,” Callum answers. “Last time we looked you were too little, but maybe now we’ll find one for you.”

I release the air I was holding, stretching my lips into a smile as I catch Callum’s eye. He smiles back at me with a nod, before turning to Maisie and announcing it’s time to go.

We walk through the exit in a row. Callum and I each holding one of Maisie’s hands. She dangles between the two of us, pulling her feet off the ground to swing in our arms.

It feels natural. It feels right. It feels … doable.

Like, maybe I was never destined to be a biological mum because I was always meant to find my way here. With Callum and Maisie. And I’m lost in the daydream while we walk out.

Until we walk past a lady pushing a pram. The future I had started picturing in my head crashes to a million tiny pieces, each one a shard of glass to my heart.

“Oh, is there a baby in the pram?” Maisie looks up to her dad, full of wonder.

He coughs, stutters a little bit before answering, “probably.”

She looks up at me, and breaks my heart without meaning to.

“Will you have a baby one day?”

I hear Callum’s swift inhale, while I struggle to find my own. I can’t find words, instead shaking my head in quick jerky movements. I turn away so she won’t see the tears welling in my eyes.

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