I step near her but don’t allow myself to touch her and point her to the dining room table. I’ve set out crayons and coloring sheets. Thank God my daughter likes the simple things. I’ve already mentioned sign language to Katie, but I have no idea if she understands the concept completely. This is where I’m hoping Emily can help. It was her bright idea after all.
Katie joins us as we sit at the table, and Emily immediately begins chattering about fairy tales and fairy godmothers. She’s given my daughter a book and tells her they can read it in a little bit. They draw stuff on the paper I provided, and I’m sitting back watching and wondering how she’s doing it. Emily isn’t a mother, yet the way she nurtures Katie is coming so naturally to her. I’m sad on behalf of my daughter, whose own mother wasn’t half as caring.
“What did you draw there?” Emily asks. Katie slides the paper to her, and Emily looks at it, then glances at my daughter. “A birthday cake. Is it your birthday?”
Emily sits straighter, gazing up at me. “Is it her birthday?”
I’m shaking my head when I hear footsteps behind me. “It’s Jess’s birthday. Tomorrow.” My little sister’s voice is too high for someone in her thirties. Her hand extends over my shoulder as she reaches forward toward Emily. “Hi, I’m Tricia, his sister. You should totally come to his party tomorrow night at Tom’s.”
Uhm, what the hell? Sami Knight will be there, and I haven’t had the chance to tell Sami I’m no longer interested. I don’t need some catfight over me and on my birthday no less, but then I start to wonder.
Would Emily even fight for someone like me?
Sure, we’ve kissed, but isn’t that another fairy tale? Good girl goes for bad boy. Not that I’m that bad, but her opinion at times suggests I’m less than her. Small-town repairman. Single father. Living with my mom. Even though I’ve told her about my education, she doesn’t seem to care. It’s not who I am anymore anyway. I’m me, and I’m here, where I should be.
I tip my head back and glance up at my sister’s chin as she places each of her hands on my shoulders. “Just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” I mutter.
“Tom sent me on a mission.” She winks at me, and I hate how I now have two family members meddling.
“I wasn’t invited,” Emily says, keeping her voice steady as she gazes at Katie. Is she hurt? Would she even consider going to a party in my honor?
“Well, consider yourself invited,” Tricia says too cheerfully, patting my shoulder as I keep my eyes on Emily.
She isn’t looking up at me when she says, “I’ll need to think about it.”
I don’t understand what she’s getting out of this—sitting here helping my daughter—but I don’t ask. I’m just curious if this will work. Something shifts in Emily’s demeanor as she focuses back on my daughter.
“So Katie, your daddy told me he mentioned sign language to you.” There’s a pause. Of course there’s a pause. Silence fills the room.
“Do you know what sign language is?”
Emily picks up her iPad and taps on it a few times before holding it up to show Katie something.
“It’s a way to communicate with others. You get to speak with your hands.”
Emily goes crazy for a few minutes exaggerating how some people talk with their hands all the time. Waving them this way and that. Throwing them up in the air. I’m getting a real lesson myself, and Tricia’s presence lingers behind me. Her fingers hold me in place, still resting on my shoulders.
“Maybe we can learn to say happy birthday so you can say it to your daddy.”
I hold my breath for some reason. I’d prefer she speak the words. I want to hear her voice, but Emily helps Katie find a video on the internet, and together, the two of them follow the instructions.
“Happy.” Emily moves both her hands, palms facing her chest, and brushing them upward two times.
“Birthday,” she says next, then spreads her fingers on her right hand, taps her chin with her middle finger and moves it over her heart. She does the motion twice, repeating the word while making the two-step sign.
Happy Birthday, Katie mimics. I’ll need to learn what these symbols mean, and I reach for the iPad, staring at the paused video.
Can I do this? Can I learn a new language just so I can communicate with my child?
Happy Birthday, Katie gestures again. She concentrates on correctly positioning her hands, repeating the movements. Tricia remains behind me, digging her fingers into my shoulders. My heart races in my chest, and my eyes fixate on Katie.
“Can you do it again?” I ask her, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Can you teach me?”
Katie repeats the signs, and I practice them, a little uncomfortable with the movements but willing to learn as I watch my child’s face light up.
Emily taps Katie’s shoulder. “Let’s learn one more word.” She taps on the iPad, finds what she wants, and points to the video. I don’t hear an explanation, but Katie follows what she sees.
She lifts her right hand, palm out, and spreads her fingers. With the tip of her thumb, she taps two times just above her brow.
“What did she say?” I ask Emily, my voice hitching higher with anticipation.
“Let’s put it all together,” Emily says to Katie, and the two mimic the series of gestures, Emily speaking as they move their hands and fingers. “Happy. Birthday. Daddy.”
“Daddy,” Tricia whispers, and Katie repeats the sign for daddy.
When Katie finishes, I lean forward and open my arms. My baby girl slides off her chair and steps into them. Tugging her up to my lap, I hold her to me, closing my eyes for a second, overcome with emotion. When I open them, I see Emily watching me.
“Thank you,” I mouth like I did the other day in her nana’s dining room when I listened to her read. I knew my daughter was enraptured with her. I was enraptured myself. And confused. So confused.
Emily makes a motion, using her open right hand to tap her chin with her fingertips and then tipping her hand forward and down slightly in my direction. For a moment, I think she’s blowing me a kiss.
“Thank you,” Tricia whispers over my head, translating for me. “Why are you thanking him?” she retorts louder, giving a little snort of disbelief.
“For giving this a chance,” Emily says, keeping her voice soft.
I lick my lips, fighting against the fear—the fear I need this woman in my life and she’s going to slip out of it before I have a chance to do something about it.
Rule 9
Wishes rhymes with kisses, kind of.
[Emily]
I sit on the screened-in porch, contemplating how I’m down to only one evening before I need to leave. I know I can’t go. I don’t know how to ask my boss for more time off even though I certainly deserve the time. It’s not like I’ve been lazing away the days. The entire week has been an effort to clean Nana’s house and figure out the sink situation. Nana hardly registers the sink doesn’t work, but she notices that radio is missing, and she’s accused me of stealing it twice. I’ve done more research on Alzheimer’s and find accusations of stolen items is a common sign of early-stage dementia.