in. Because even if that day comes true and it’s perfect in every other way, it won’t make up for the one thing that would make it complete. Because after today, there’s no denying that the things we’ve been trying not to think about are starting to happen.
Back home, CeCe opens the car door to let herself out, and I hate the idea of the day ending on such a sad note. There may be nothing I can do to slow down time as far as Tommy is concerned, but I can do something to make this day a little less awful for CeCe.
“Hey, Ceese?”
She turns and looks back at me, her tired face void of any emotion. Its blankness scares me, and for a moment I forget what I was going to say. But then she brings her hand up to her mouth and starts to bite the edge of her nail.
“What do you say we go for a mani-pedi after we get your dad settled inside?”
“Okay,” she says with a shrug.
Not quite the reaction I was hoping for, but at least it isn’t a no.
JILL RECOMMENDED A nail salon in a strip mall down on 98, tucked between the Best Buy and Office Depot. Once we get settled into the chairs for our pedicures, the old CeCe starts to come back to life. It may have helped that I let her pick out the color for my toes.
When CeCe was younger, before she started to resent the fact that we look so much alike, she loved it when we got matching colors. It made for some interesting meetings at work when I would show up with a rainbow of sparkling colors on my nails.
I expect her to hand me something purple, but instead she picks a pale, pastel pink. It’s a more subtle shade than the orangey pink that’s become my summer go-to, but I like the way it looks against my tan skin.
“If you want, we can go for ice cream after,” I say. She gives me a look that warns me not to push my luck. “Or we can just go back home.”
“Let’s go back home unless Dad is up and wants us to bring him some.”
I nod. “Hopefully he’ll have some energy back after a good nap. We wore him out today, but he’s really looking forward to the movie tonight.”
CeCe’s eyes light up at this. So far she’s really enjoyed the movies that have been on Tommy’s list for us to watch together, but what’s been even more special are the discussions they’ve inspired. Tommy and CeCe talk about everything from cinema styles to performance techniques, while I watch and listen, enjoying the way they connect over a mutual love.
Tonight, we’re supposed to watch Blues Brothers, and I’d promised to get some cheddar and caramel popcorn to make the classic Chicago mix.
When the manicurist taps my leg to bring my foot out of the water, I comply, not even thinking that the “hate” part of my love-hate relationship with pedicures might be coming. I realize too late that she’s about to start scrubbing the very ticklish bottom of my foot and I let out a little yelp.
CeCe rolls her eyes and I hold on to the edge of the seat, focusing all my energy on not laughing and not pulling my foot away from the manicurist.
“Are you ticklish like your mom?” CeCe’s manicurist asks.
“Not that bad,” CeCe says, smiling.
“She may look like me,” I tell the woman, “but she’s got tough skin like her dad.”
CeCe’s face lights up at the compliment. She settles back into her seat as her manicurist, a step behind mine, takes out the loofah bar.
Never one to turn down a challenge, CeCe keeps her eyes on mine, stoic as the manicurist scrubs her feet. They both watch me, and I cringe as if it’s the soles of my feet that are getting attacked with the exfoliator.
I hear the commotion outside before I see it. CeCe notices it, too. Our heads turn at the same time, our jaws drop—but for very different reasons. Because standing outside, on the other side of the glass pane, is none other than Monica Whistler.
CeCe lunges forward, but her feet are thankfully occupied by the manicurist, who has now moved on to painting the first layer on CeCe’s third toe. I thank God for tiny miracles and keep looking between my daughter and the semistar outside, as girls her age—and their mothers—pose for selfies with Monica.
“OMG.”