Page 110 of Sweet Thing

“No complaints.”

Janet had moved in a week ago, and we were finding our way with each other. She treated Mabel as a job, not that there was anything wrong with that, but I was used to getting more updates about Mabel’s welfare. What she had eaten, how she had enjoyed her bath, how cute she looked in her fifty-fifth Rebels onesie. The discussions with my new nanny were purely baby logistics and travel schedules.

No songs filled the air.

Last week, while I was at practice, Adeline collected her stuff from my place and left her key on the kitchen counter. Janet had already moved into a different room, further down the hall, so Adeline’s room remained empty, a void I tried my best to pass without remembering.

“Adeline’s in a funk.”

Swallowing hard, I turned to Theo. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I think she misses Mabel.” He frowned. “It was a good gig for her.”

“For me, too. But I needed to get Mabel settled, given that there’s still no sign of Vicki. Adeline can come see her any time.”

He nodded abstractly. “I’ll let her know.”

I moved on to another tricky topic. “About tonight … Sorry I wasn’t on my game.”

He gave me a long, hard look. Didn’t deny it. His next words offered me an out. “You worried about Mabel with this new girl?”

“A little.”

Still lying to my friend. But once I started this thing with his daughter, there was no going back to the honesty of before. I wanted to say this shift in my relationship with Theo was twisting me up, making me lose my edge, fucking up my game. But that wasn’t it.

I missed Adeline.

Not the woman who cared for my child, but the woman who made my life a million times better. She had told me she loved me, then told me I was a coward. She was right. Once Elle knew, I had a chance to come clean. To proclaim from the rooftops that I loved her daughter and to hell with the Rebels.

To hell with Theo.

But my feelings of self-loathing at what I’d done to this man, my identification with Sven, would always win out. Adeline loved me, but my love wasn’t pure enough for her. It was tainted with my betrayal.

I had never resisted touching someone as much as I had the moment the words of love left her lips. Instead, I balled my fists and denied that love. Told her how she felt because it was easier than admitting howIfelt. I was a dick and every word out of my mouth that day only confirmed it.

Adeline was better off without me.

Adeline

Zara Jacobs led her two-year-old,Jane, to the big rug in their living room and set her down in the front row. The birthday girl wore a neon-green tutu, a bubblegum-pink cardigan, and silver Wicked-themed slippers that matched her sparkly tiara.

Her mom grinned at me. “Sorry, she needed to potty.”

“Not a problem.” The delay gave me time to run through my set list for the zillionth time. As if this audience cared about whether I sangItsy Bitsy Spiderbefore theHokey Pokey(thoughHokey Pokey’sdance moves made that number a good closer). Gazing out at the crowd, ranging from infants to four-year-olds, I caught my mom’s eye. Tilly, elder stateswoman among her peers, waved regally. I waved back.

“Hey, guys! Are we ready for a song?”

None of these kids had become jaded yet, so only toothy grins and dancing eyes shone back at me. As long as I kept their interest, we should be good.

I stroked the strings and launched intoIf you’re happy and you know it.

Zara had seen my performance on Halloween and asked me to entertain the kids for Jane’s party (I’ll pay you, of course!). As I had recently been fired from my nanny job and had no career prospects, I immediately agreed, then whined to Rosie about what a huge mistake I’d made.

But it wasn’t a mistake. I’d loved planning the set, practicing with Tilly as my test audience, and learning from Aurora that the classic,Alouette, was a touch too gruesome for inclusion at a children’s party (it might be sung in French, but I drew the line at lyrics about plucking out a lark’s feathers and eyes). Focusing on this new phase also kept my mind off what I’d lost.

Fifteen minutes later, we had covered the classics and were in the exercise portion of the session. The more coordinated kids were sticking their left leg in, the less coordinated were opting for both legs. That’s when I spotted him.

He was at the back of the room with his daughter, his hands under her arms, holding her upright. Mabel, nightclub aficionado and music lover, danced with her daddy’s help. I had to blink away, or I would have strummed a bum note.

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