Page 76 of With a Cherry On Top

“That’s what Sadie said?”

“I’m paraphrasing. What she said wasn’t nearly as nice.”

Chuckling, I look back at my smiling daughter. Little troublemaker.

“Might not be my greatest talent.”

“Yeah? Whatisyour greatest talent?”

I hold my breath, trying not to let my thoughts wander. “How was your show?”

There’s a pause before she answers. “It...went well, actually. Better than I expected.”

“And you’re okay home alone?”

Again, she hesitates for a moment. “Yeah? Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

Because I care. Because I can’t help but feel protective of her, even though I’m not supposed to. “Just making sure you’re good.”

“Thanks, but I’m pretty used to no one checking in on me. I know how to be on my own.”

“I know you do,” I say. “But it doesn’t mean you have to be.”

“Dad, can I still learn?” Sadie asks, tugging at my shirt.

Charlotte must hear, because she says, “Put me on speaker.”

I hesitate, then press the button. “You’re on.”

“All right, Sadie,” Charlotte says, her voice coming through warm and patient. “Let’s start from the beginning. Take three even sections of hair—doesn’t have to be perfect, just close enough.”

Sadie scrambles up, gathering her hair into clumsy little bunches.

“Make sure they’re separate, then take the right section and cross it over the middle.”

I tap the correct section, then watch as Sadie follows the instructions, her fingers fumbling as she crosses one chunk over the other. Her eyes quint in deep concentration, the tip of her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth, like she wants so badly to get this right.

And for a second, I just . . . pause.

Charlotte is teaching my daughter how to braid over the phone. My kid called her for help, and instead of brushing her off, instead of saying she was busy or telling her to ask me, Charlotte is here, guiding Sadie along like this is the most normal thing in the world. Like it’s not complicated or messy or blurred at the edges. Like we’re not supposed to be keeping our distance.

Something tightens in my chest.

Sadie loops the last section over the first and beams up at me, her dark curls woven into something that barely resembles a braid. A few loose wisps stick out at odd angles, and it’s a little uneven, but the pride shining on her face as she ties a scrunchie to the end is enough to make it all irrelevant.

“How does it look?” she asks, tilting her head so I can admire her work.

“Perfect, sweetheart.” I brush a stray curl from her face. “You look beautiful.”

She hums and presses her lips together, like she’s contemplating whether or not to believe me. “I think I need a second opinion. Can we send a picture to Charlotte?”

Charlotte giggles, and before I can answer, Sadie reaches for the phone.

I hand it over, and she immediately scrambles up on the couch, flipping the camera to selfie mode and angling her head just right. She sticks her tongue out, then tries a pout, then finally settles on a wide, toothy grin before snapping the picture.

As she’s tapping away, the shrill ring of the landline phone cuts through the air.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t make her regret answering your call,” I warn, ruffling Sadie’s hair before heading into the kitchen.

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