Page 2 of Second Dance
“Dad, don't sound like that.”
“Like what?”
“All lonely and stuff,” Peter said.
“Oh, sorry about that. I'm not. Just curious how you planned to spend the day.”
Peter brushed his too-long hair off his forehead, having ignored my reminder that he needed a haircut. I'd been asking for weeks, but he just kept blowing me off. His thick hair was a lot like mine, as was his complexion, which often made people forget I hadn't been there from the very beginning. Bella's dark hair and warm skin tone mirrored mine too. Mattie, though, had been fair, with light brown hair and a quick smile. She'd told me a little about their father, enough for me to know he was of Italian descent. She used to tease that she had a “type.”Whatever their heritage, they were my kids. Their father had left all three of them and never looked back. I'd found them and never looked back.
Bella came in next, her long hair pulled into a ponytail, shorts paired with a cropped top that showed more midriff than I'd like. I didn't get the half-shirt trend, but I kept quiet. She already felt different from her friends, and I wouldn't make it worse by nitpicking about her clothes. Losing her mom had hit her hard—maybe harder than it hit Peter or me. Though grief isn't a competition anyone wants to win.
“Dad, what's all this?” Bella asked.
“Breakfast,” I said. “You hungry?”
“I don't think I can eat that.” She pointed to the stack of pancakes.
“Why? They're your favorite,” I said.
“No, they're not.” She leaned against the side of the island as she pulled a balm from her pocket and dabbed at her bottom lip.
They had been. But again, I bit my tongue. The minefield and all that.
“How about some eggs and strawberries then?” I asked.
“Yeah, I guess.” She sat next to her brother at the island.
“How about you, Peter?” I asked, just then realizing I had neglected to do so after asking him before.
“I can make my own plate.” Peter got up to fill a plate with a little of everything while I made one for Bella and then myself.
“You guys want to sit at the table?” I asked.
They both looked at me as if I'd suggested standing on our heads while eating our breakfast.
“Or here at the island?” I asked quickly.
“Island, Dad. What's gotten into you?” Bella squinted, gazing at me.
“Mom. The anniversary,” Peter said bluntly, sitting back at his favorite spot at the corner of the island.
Bella tugged at her ponytail but didn't say anything. Had she remembered and was pretending not to? Or had she forgotten? I couldn't decide which was worse.
“It's just another day,” Bella said. “Without her.” This was said under her breath, but I caught it. So did Peter, because he glanced over at me with a pained expression. But only for an instant. Then he returned his attention to his plate of food.
“I didn't think you'd even remember,” Bella said to me.
“Why would you say that?” That was a sucker punch if there ever was one.
She shrugged. “I don't know. You don't seem to think about much but baseball.”
Of course that wasn't true, but I let it go.
“What're you doing today, Dad?” Peter asked, clearly trying to change the subject.
“Not sure. I wanted to see how you two were feeling before deciding anything,” I said.
“It's not like we can visit her grave or anything,” Bella said.
