Page 55 of Entirely Yours
I spend way too long plotting how to make her a permanent resident, not only of this house, but of this bed.
Of my life.
Jules left early this morning to go with his mom to New York City to see the new baby.
I think I miss him?
He’s only supposed to be gone a few days, but after last night, I know things have changed between us. Changed in the best way. The scariest way.
Dad walks in while I’m staring out the kitchen window, absentmindedly petting Cat. “Everything okay? You look like you’re fixin’ to rub that cat raw.”
“Oh!” I pull my hand off Cat, and he bats at my leg in protest. “I’m fine. Feels weird around here with Jules gone…”
Dad eyes me. “He’s only been gone a few hours.”
“Right! Of course. I just miss…” I look around the kitchen trying to figure out how to finish that sentence. “I miss how he makes coffee, is all.”
Dad looks like he doesn’t believe one word that is coming out of my mouth, but he’s not going to ask me aboutit. That’s one of the things I love about my relationship with him—he’s never going to try to force more information out of me than I’m ready to give.
He leans in and whispers, conspiratorially, “I like the way he makes coffee too.”
I clap my hands together. “OK, enough of that. We need to go in today to get Chloe signed up for kindergarten.”
Chloe will turn five next month. She’s never been to school before, so I’m a little bit nervous about how she’s going to handle being in kindergarten next year. Dad says it’ll be good for her to be around kids her age, and I have to agree with him. The other day she asked me why all her friends were old. By old, I think she means the Bardot brothers who have adopted her as one of their own. I didn’t have a good answer for her.
Chloe seems excited about going to school next year. I’ve cried about it at least a dozen times.
Dad knows how I feel about the whole kindergarten situation, so he doesn’t push any further. Instead, he makes a pot of his typical tar coffee, and we eat our breakfast in comfortable silence.
“I noticed the studio is almost done,” he comments as we’re cleaning up. One thing about Hank Rose is that he’s always supported me in whatever I set my stubborn mind to. He knew nothing about dance, but he insisted on being hands on when it came to raising me after my mom died. He learned how to do a perfect ballet bun, he honed his stage makeup skills with the help of my grandmother, and even stitched ribbons onto my shoes when I started en pointe.
“Yup. Signage is in the mail, and the website has started taking summer sign ups. It’s happening whether I’m ready or not.” I did finally decide on the name Whirlwind Dance Studio after confiding in Cole. Something about saying it out loud, the studio having an actual name, made this whole thing feel that much more real.
“You’re ready.” His confidence makes me smile.
“We’ll see,” I sigh. “I’ll admit, it was pretty cool signing Chloe up for a class atmystudio. I even met with a Hawthorne student the other day about helping me with classes. I think she can co-teach with me for a bit before taking over a few of the pre-school and beginner groups.”
“That’s great, hon. I’m really proud of you.”
I don’t feel like I’ve done a lot in my life to make my Dad proud, but I think he would scoff if I told him that.
Of course he can tell I feel some type of way because he changes the subject. “The coffee shop is looking good, too. It’ll be nice once the baby is here to have Jules so close. That baby is going to grow up sippin’ espresso while they pirouette.”
“I love that you know what a pirouette is.”
He looks mildly offended. “I only spent years practicin’ every flippin’ dance with you. ‘Course I know what a pirouette is.”
“Thank you, Dad. For everything you’ve given me, never judging any decision I’ve made. I couldn’t do this without you.”
Again, his confidence in me is astounding. “You could. But it wouldn’t be as fun now, would it?” He winks, patting my shoulder as he leaves the kitchen.
I go back to staring out the window, only looking away when my phone buzzes.
Jules
Baby is here! Meet Molly Louise Bardot-Olsson.
A picture is attached and ho-ly fuck. If I wasn’t already pregnant with his baby, I think my ovaries would explode. Jules has his hair pulled back in one of his signature man buns, his facial scruff is broken up by a huge, toothy grin, and his tattooed arms are wrapped around a tiny bundle of blankets. Sleeping Molly looks perfectly content in her uncle’s arms, and I don’t blame her one bit.
