Page 57 of Because of Her

Her head bobs in excitement as she pulls off her spotty puffer jacket.

Young girls crowd around the tiny reception, women I can only assume are their mothers hanging back. I’m sure they assume I’m Maisie’s mother, too. The thought twists at my insides.

When the teacher calls all the girls into the class, I go to step forward with them. But all the other women hang back and I realise we aren’t supposed to go in.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” one mum says to another. Her hand rests on a young boy’s shoulder.

“Yes, go. Get this guy to soccer. I’ll stay here.”

“Thank you! I’ll be back before they finish.”

All around me, the women start chatting. They talk of juggling activities between kids and of the birthday parties they have to attend on the weekend. Of all the toys their children are begging for, and how little Josie needs a whole new wardrobe because she had a growth spurt.

Is this what mothers talk to each other about?It sounds draining, but they beam at each other.

“Is this her first class?” A woman younger than the others sits on the small couch next to me. A baby bounces on her lap, pulling the ends of her bright copper hair.

“Yes.”

“She looked very excited.”

The twisting in my gut loosens a fraction. “She was. Is. Ever since we went to the ballet exhibit at the Light and Sound Museum with her father.”

The woman nods, prying the baby’s fingers away from her hair.

“We wanted to go to that, too. Was it good?”

Conversation flows and I find myself enjoying chatting with this woman. Together we coo over her baby, and she tells me about the end of year concert the dance studio is planning.

The music inside the studio dies and the troupe of young dancers skip back into the waiting room.

“Cassidy, I had so much fun!” Maisie calls from across the room.

Next to me, the woman reaches out to hug her own child. “It was nice to meet you, Cassidy. Will you be here next week?”

“Mummy will bring me next week,” Maisie answers.

I smile down at her, twirling a stray piece of her hair back around her bun. The twisting in my gut finally gives way, replaced by a swelling from my heart.

“You know what.” I crouch down to Maisie’s level, tugging on her jacket. “Maybe we can convince Daddy to let me come the week after.”

She jumps into my arms. “Yes, please, Cassidy.”

Above us, the woman shifts her child to the other hip.

“See you then,” she calls out as she leaves, tugging her daughter beside her.

Maisie and I stop for ice cream on the way home. It’s probably too late in the day, but the Scoops shop calls to us as we walk past, and I can’t resist.

It reminds me of all the times Madison and I would save up our coins for ice cream. Of howbigI felt reaching over the counter to pay for our cones when I had no business feeling that responsible at such a young age.

I was only a little older than Maisie is now when our father became distant, and our mother left him. But no matter how many years I tried, I never got used to her absence. Until she left for good the year we both turned thirteen, like she’d been waiting for us to become teenagers. For a long time after that, all I felt was anger, but as I sit here with Maisie, it’s replaced by something else.

Confusion.

I’m not Maisie’s mother. I’m still far from that, but I could never imagine walking out and never seeing her again.Her joy lights up my day, and I want to savour every inch of that feeling, not throw it away.

But that’s exactly what my mother did. She threw it away. Not just me, but Madison, too. I’ll never understand why. Not now I know what she gave up.

---